I do love a good monster hero. The bigger, the badder…the better.
I don’t do vegetarian vampires or vegan werewolves. In fact, I’d like to invite them to all come over and borrow my nail polish and a Midol. The closest they’ll get to my knickers is if they’re wearing them themselves. Harsh? Probably. But where’s the journey in redeeming someone who has no sin? How do you exemplify the transformative power of love and forgiveness if there is nothing that makes him unlovable?
Especially more so than us. That’s the attraction. If someone who is so far gone to the dark can claw his way back up to the light, then maybe it means that we can too. Maybe that means we’re lovable too. Maybe we can take our greatest weakness and turn into our greatest strengths just like our monster heroes.
What I like about these creatures is their very monstrosity. That’s why I want to read about them. They’re so complex. And often, in these stories, the characters we see as monsters are often beastly on the outside, but more human than some of us on the inside.
My favorite stories to write and to read are where the monsters are redeemed, but without changing their nature. They learn, they grow, but they’re still themselves. They don’t try to be something they aren’t, they become better beings on a metaphysical level without trying to fit into some mold that someone else designed for them.
In my November release from Total E Bound Hex and the Single Witch, my monster hero is the son of the Devil. He’s rotten to the core, but oh so delectable.
“I see them.”. Caraway wanted to turn and run screaming in the other direction. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Morningstar today. He was always such a bastard and, for some reason, his favourite pastime was goading her. His disciples didn’t generally bother with her, but they all took great amusement in watching the verbal sparring matches.
“Wormwood,” he said cheerfully as he approached.
Damn it. No chance he would move on to other prey. He was disgustingly cheerful. “Morningstar,” she acknowledged.
“I see your footballer troll has moved on to greener and leaner pastures,” he replied in a pleasant tone.
“I don’t know about greener,” Coriander interjected. “That would imply less experience, as opposed to the drive-thru lane she has in her cunny.”
He raised a black brow and smirked. “You have a wicked tongue, Coriander.”
Leaner? Had he just called her fat? He insulted her constantly for her witch heritage, but he’d never stooped to insulting her shape. She could admit she was curvier than the average UMM co-ed, but Caraway thought it looked good on her. And why was he calling her cousin by her first name when all he ever called her was ‘Wormwood’?
Not that she cared.
Her power gathered and crackled in green light around her fingers.
“Just catching the ’leaner’ part of that comment, are we?” he drawled. Morningstar turned his attention back to her and eyed her up and down, his dark eyes glittering with blatant appreciation. “I didn’t say leaner was better.”
She couldn’t decide which irritated her more—that he was ogling her or that she liked it. Caraway flushed under his perusal and decided it was definitely that she liked it. A cardinal sin, if she’d ever heard of one. He was a right bastard, as Coriander liked to say. Through and through. As good as he looked, there was nothing but shit underneath.
“I don’t give an eye of newt what you think is better, Morningstar.”
“Really?” His gaze raked over her again.“That’s too bad.”
Was he flirting with her? He’d succeeded in raising Hell, because she was in it. He must want something from her and she was determined to figure out what it was before this all got way out of hand. “And why is that?”
“I’ve decided I like you, Wormwood.” He paused to look at her again. “Yes, I like you very much.”
“Now you’re just being mean.” Caraway scowled.
He laughed and damn if the sound didn’t settle deep in her belly and make her want. Anything with a womb would tear down cities with her bare hands just to hear that laugh again and know it was for her alone.
“Caraway,” he said, his tongue lingering over the syllables as if he were actually tasting them. The way he said her name was like a caress and it slipped inside her, touching dark places that burnt.
No! No, bad Caraway! She mentally slapped herself. He was the Devil. Or he would be when his father abdicated. Whatever. He was bad. By Hecate, she liked it better when he was insulting her.
“Don’t you have puppies to kick?”
He laughed again.
What are your favorite monster heroes? Talk beasts with me. I’ll give away your choice of Hex and the Single Witch (to be delivered in November) or The Real Housewives of Olympus to two commenters.
Note from Saranna: Please be advised that Hex and the Single Witch is an erotica title with explicit scenes involving more than one partner.