Isabelle Drake's Blog

In 2007 you could buy a short story from Amazon for forty-nine cents. The program was called Amazon Shorts, and almost nobody remembers it. It was Amazon’s first experiment in digital fiction, and it ran for a few years before quietly going away. The Kindle turned up later that same year, and after that nobody needed a separate program for selling short fiction.

One of the stories in that catalogue was mine. It is in the book I have coming out next month, and getting there took it through four publishers and two names.

Brigand Flames started life in the fall of 2005 as Brigand Love, a Halloween short for Venus Press. Venus was one of the many small digital-only presses inventing e-publishing while the big New York houses were looking the other way. A pirate ghost, a woman tired of competing with a dead fiancée, an old journal bought at a charity auction. I loved that little story.

Venus Press, as is the fate of many new small businesses, didn’t last long, and my tale became an orphan. Yes, that is official publishing terminology. Publishing is a quirky business, part clinging to the past and part dreaming big about the future.

In 2007, after being toned down as requested, Brigand Love joined Amazon Shorts. Then the Kindle arrived, Amazon worked out how much money there was in selling other publishers’ books, and my story was orphaned a second time. I put the steam back in and sent it to Total-E-Bound, a British publisher that is still going today as Totally Bound. That was 2010. In 2014 it moved again, to Ellora’s Cave, and came out under a new title as part of their Exotika line.

Four publishers. Two titles. One pirate.

Fate Unbound began at Venus Press too, in 2006, in a line called Sons of Zeus. It went to Total-E-Bound next, first inside an anthology called Nectar of the Gods in 2008 and then on its own in 2009. Ellora’s Cave gave it a home in 2011, in their Twilight line, which was the heart of the EC paranormal catalogue.

If you were reading romance in the 2000s you probably remember Ellora’s Cave. Founded in 2000, EC built something the big New York publishers insisted could not exist: a thriving market for smutty romance. No women will want to read that trash. The first EC titles sold digitally, via floppy disks sent via snail mail, years before most people had heard of an e-reader.

They called it Romantica, and the paranormals were its wild heart. Vampires, shifters, ghosts, gods. That era wasn’t a trend so much as a permission slip. Anything was possible, as long as the emotion was true and the heat was hot.

When EC stopped its presses in 2016, rights went back to the authors. Putting these two out again as a pair is my way of keeping a little of that time alive.

I have left these stories the way they were. They are of their moment, bold and quick and unapologetic, right down to the handful of spelling and punctuation errors that neither I nor the very good Ellora’s Cave editors ever spotted. Those little quirks are our imperfect human fingerprints. I wouldn’t dream of wiping them away.

To the readers who found me back then, welcome back. To anyone meeting these two for the first time, this is what it felt like when digital romance was young and anything seemed possible.

Flames of Fate collects both stories. Out Tuesday, October 27.

Preorder for Kindle

A ghost with a proposition. An exile with orders from the Oracle. Fate never plays fair.

Two of my Ellora’s Cave paranormals are back, together in one volume for the first time. Flames of Fate releases Tuesday, October 27, and it is up for preorder now.

Brigand Flames

Unfulfilled in her relationship and beset by disturbing dreams, Lacey encounters a stranger on a business trip who is as mysterious as he is familiar. He stirs her memories as well as her lust. He wants her. Wants her body. Wants her help. Two lost lovers from a distant past ask Lacey for help of the most intimate kind, and by giving them what they want, she might find what she needs.

Fate Unbound

Exiled from ancient Greece, Taryn searches modern-day Los Angeles for the one man who can tame her wild heart. The Oracle’s decree: submit to every man who approaches, until she finds the single man who desires submission to her. Then, and only then, may she return to her beloved home. Adrian, the unrecognized son of Zeus, carries the opposite command: patience, restraint, and no pleasures of the flesh. The Oracle never said what happens when their fates collide.

Both stories previously published by Ellora’s Cave.

Preorder for Kindle

Releases Tuesday, October 27, 2026

There is a longer story behind these two — Venus Press, Amazon Shorts at forty-nine cents apiece, a British publisher, and a title change along the way. Will be told tell in a future post.

Jaya Vinar teaches other people how to chase their dreams. She’s not taking her own advice.

She’s the star of her company’s motivational speaking tour. Sold-out presentations, record book sales, she is on top. But her past lingers nearby like a black cloud. When her boss saddles her with a “personal consultant” to keep her focused, Jaya does her best to scare the man off. Over-the-top, undone-buttons, spank-me-please style.

Small problem. The man she propositioned isn’t the consultant.

The consultant is three stools down, and he’s not scared off. He’s intrigued, and he’s about to guide her through three private sessions teaching her focus in ways that never appeared in any company handbook. Strawberries. A canoe. A whole lot of whispered instructions.

Actually, Conrad Dunn isn’t a consultant. He’s a therapist standing in for his identical twin and he’s sinking fast. Every hour with Jaya makes the lie harder to keep and harder to give up.

At night, after the lessons, Jaya pours herself into a sexy story she swears no one will ever read.

She’s wrong about that, too.

Sometimes losing the life you planned is how you find the one that was finally right.

Reader note: a steamy contemporary romance novella with explicit love scenes, a mistaken-identity setup, and a story-within-the-story that leans into light dominance and submission. Includes a scene in which a private piece of writing is exposed.

Kindle Countdown — on now

Finally Right

99 cents through September 17. Free to read in Kindle Unlimited.

Get Finally Right

An excerpt

The Troy, Michigan hotel bar was circled by oil paintings of thoroughbreds grazing on rolling hills. Thanks to the wall paneling and brass fixtures, it was businesslike and sophisticated, yet still cozy. Typical country club style, nice, but not all that fitting for a business hotel in a suburb known for its huge, flashy, upscale mall. Despite the slightly out-of-place interior, it was the kind of place young professionals dreamt about when checking in with the company’s credit card.

An ornate mirror ran the length of the bar, reflecting the brightly-colored liquor bottles. The only person seated in the row of tall stools was a brown-haired man in a nondescript navy jacket and khaki pants. A glass of white wine sat in front of him and his full attention was on his phone. She stood back, watching him for a few long seconds, a plan forming in the back of her mind. The idea rose up out of her recently shredded self-confidence, clawing its way to the surface, and pulling itself together like the shameful hussy that it was. She should’ve considered all the ramifications of the beastly plan, but she didn’t.

She unbuttoned two more buttons on her beige blouse then shimmied to reveal some cleavage. Once done, she fluffed up her hair, marched over to the bar, and slipped onto the stool beside the brown-haired man.

She settled onto the seat, crossing her legs slowly.

He didn’t look up from his phone, but the bartender spotted her and came over.

“What can I pour for you, Miss?”

She leaned to the right and nudged the man beside her. “What do you think?”

He blinked behind a pair of round glasses.

She touched her collarbone then ran her fingertips down the front of her blouse, pausing at each button before dropping her hand to her lap. “To drink.” She tipped her head toward the bar. “What do you think I should get to drink?”

“Ummm…”

She tapped her fingertips along the inside of her thigh. “As a professional, I’m sure you have an opinion.”

He glanced at his glass, his face crinkling. “I’m having a Piesporter. It’s, um, nice.”

Jaya lifted her eyebrows as she turned back to the man behind the bar. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she said with an innocent smile.

The bartender nodded then moved over to take the order of someone who’d just sat on Jaya’s other side. “Coming right up,” he confirmed to Jaya as he passed by, tossing a white bar towel over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said, leaning over to draw the man’s attention back to her. “I never know what to order. ‘Cause, you know, I’m so scatter-brained and disorganized.” She offered him her prettiest smile and did a tiny shimmy with her shoulders. It was, admittedly, a little over the top, but she really did want to shake him off quickly and effectively. Before he knew what hit him. “You’re going to take care of my little personality flaws, right?”

His throat jerked when he swallowed. He took a sip of his wine then set the glass down carefully, still holding on to the stem, as though he might take another sip right away.

“What are you going to do first?” she asked.

“Do?” He held tight to the wineglass.

She lifted her eyebrows and blinked. “To me?”

“You?”

If it wouldn’t have completely ruined the effect, she would have laughed at his panicked expression. Instead, she kept going, keeping her eyes wide with mock innocence. “Yes. To me.”

He flattened his palm to the edge of the bar and swayed. This was going to be even easier than she expected. He turned away, watching his own hand as he slid his fingers up and down the stem of his glass.

The rebellious side completely took over. “I know I’ve been naughty and caused a lot of trouble for people.”

He looked over and she went in for the finish. She batted her eyes, pressed her lips together then asked, “Are you going to put me over your knees and…”

His hand stopped and the bartender set the glass of white wine in front of Jaya.

She wiggled on the stool and the hem of her skirt rose a few inches. “…and spank me?”

His face went blank then flashed with distress. “I—I–”

“Dale told me to cooperate fully.” She pressed her lips together, glanced down then said, “I’m ready to do that.”

Victory was hers. She could taste it.

He snatched up his glass, downed what was left, scrambled off the barstool, and called to the bartender. “Just leave it on my room tab.”

The bartender nodded as he stepped over to pick up the empty glass. “Take it easy,” he called at the man’s back, as he waved one hand but didn’t turn around.

As Jaya turned to her drink, she caught her own reflection in the mirror. A smug smile tugged on her lips. She almost wished it hadn’t been so easy. Just as she was about to look away, she felt the tug of someone else’s gaze. The man beside her was also looking into the mirror, smiling. Not at himself but at her.

She quirked an eyebrow then noticed his deep chestnut hair. Her stare dropped to take in his shoulders, hugged by a professional but attractive navy suit jacket. Intelligent and knowing eyes gazed back at her and her smirk faltered then dropped.

Kindle Countdown — on now

Finally Right

99 cents through September 17. Free to read in Kindle Unlimited.

Get Finally Right

You left your hot pink Stanley — the one covered with stickers you collected at a book conference in New York — at the trailhead. There's sand all over the backseat that will still be there at Christmas. You have a tan line shaped like exactly one sandal strap, somebody said "pumpkin spice" out loud on August 12th, and the pool closes Labor Day whether you've used it or not.

Enter the Painkiller, a drink that takes your small complaints seriously.

This tasty number was invented in the 1970s at a bar in the British Virgin Islands that had no dock. No dock, you ask? Right. To get a drink you swam ashore, which meant your money arrived wet, hence the name: the Soggy Dollar Bar. That may be the highest standard a beach bar can set. You have to actually want it.

The official Painkiller calls for Pusser's, a dark navy-style rum made the way the British Royal Navy issued it to sailors right up until 1970. Nutmeg, clove, caramel, a little leather taste. Swap in a light rum and you haven't made a Painkiller, you've made more of a Piña Colada with ambitions. Pusser's trademarked the name in the eighties, which tells us how seriously they take it.

Maybe you'll take it seriously, too. Maybe you won't. Either way, you'll like the amped-up pineapple and the cool name. And thinking about swimming to a bar out in the middle of the ocean, away from lost mugs, sand, and email.

Grate fresh nutmeg over the top. Not the jar. Ten seconds, like you mean it.

One note: it tastes like a fruit plate but does not behave like one. Pineapple and coconut cream are excellent liars. Make one, sit down somewhere, and let it get to work on that sandal tan. Make two…could be a whole different story.

Make one:

INGREDIENTS

2 ounces Pusser’s rum4 ounces pineapple juice1 ounce orange juice, freshly squeezed1 ounce cream of coconutDIRECTIONSAdd the rum, pineapple juice, orange juice and cream of coconut to a shaker with cubed ice and shake vigorously but briefly to combine.Strain into a hurricane glass or snifter over crushed ice.Garnish and serve with a straw.

GARNISH

nutmeg, freshly gratedpineapple wedge

Books, This N’ That, and a cocktail

The Newsletter

photo: Freutcake

You want cocktails. I have them. There’s a new one every month in my newsletter, shaken together with book news and more good stuff.

Sign me up

It’s still hot, pumpkin spice season may be on the horizon, but you have summer weekends left. Let’s craft one properly.

Lets' do this quiz and make it happen.

Pick your answer in each set and add up the points 

You arrive at:

7 a.m., before another soul11, like a civilized person4 p.m., for the good lightAfter dark

You set up:

Up by the dunes or in the middle of some trees, away from everyoneRight at the water or wherever the best view isWherever the umbrella or camp chair already isWherever you can see everything that’s happening

In the bag:

Your laptop, which you swear you won’t openA paperback you’ll actually finishThree magazines you won’tSunscreen, cash, and nothing elseIn your glass:
A cold beer, no ceremonyA thermos nobody gets to ask aboutSomething frozen and ridiculousWhatever gets handed to you

Your company:

No one, gloriouslyOne person who doesn’t need entertainingThe whole loud crowdSomeone you met an hour ago

At sunset you’re:

Asleep under a towel or blanketAlready planning next summerStill in the water or wandering in the forestNot going home tonight

6–10: Off Duty

You didn’t come for the beach, trees, or whatever is there. You came for the peace. That’s not antisocial. That’s yours.

11–15: The Competent Hedonist

You know exactly how to have a good time and you’ve built it to run without you managing it. Snacks handled, book finished, nobody crying.

16–20: The Reason It’s a Party

Without you it’s four people looking at their phones. You bring the cooler and make the story everyone retells in February.

21–24: Not Going Home

You saw “after dark” and knew immediately. You’re not chasing anything. You simply want what you want and you’ve stopped pretending otherwise. If I wrote your August story it would come with a warning label, and you’d dog-ear it.

Books, This N’ That, and a cocktail

Sassy, classy, and a bit smart-assy

You liked this one, I’ve got more. There’s a new game every month in my newsletter — along with a cocktail, book news, and more good stuff.

Sign me up

The hot story Wattpad pulled from top five

Salvage

Five linked stories, one book. At By Request Inc., clients name what they want and Dan McKenzie delivers.

Get Salvage

Daniel McKenzie walked away from the glittering underground world when he enlisted. Military service would give him purpose. Discipline. Control. Or so he thought.

Back in his canyon farmhouse overlooking the LA coast, he's restless. After his best friend drags him to Tigers, one of the city's exclusive clubs and one of his old haunts, he finds himself back in the life he thought he'd left behind. A connection takes him deeper in and soon he is delivering intimate experiences people can't find anywhere else.

Helping couples and singles discover new styles of physical intimacy. A husband who hasn't felt anything since the war. A wife who never confessed her desires. A woman who fled her hometown and the shaming memories there. All encounters contracted, consented to, and finished before the sheets are cold.

He's skilled. He's needed. He's burned out.

Months of shapeshifting for others leave him empty. When he retreats to the isolated Northern California manor where his journey began, he plans to stay alone.

Then Lorelai arrives during a winter storm.

She doesn't come to submit. She comes to heal. And she sees straight through his carefully constructed walls.

For the first time in his life, Dan wants something, someone, that isn't part of a performance. But wanting means risking everything: his control and his boundaries.

✦✦✦✦

“Come with me.” He leaned closer, the sun’s rays making his skin glow. “I dare you.”

Dan’s words hung in the air, taunting her. He’d only dared her on a hunch but it was obvious from the glimmer in her gold-flecked, hazel eyes that he’d guessed right.

This woman didn’t back down from a challenge.

In her tailored suit and high-heeled shoes she was everything he expected but there was something else stirring behind that gaze. A part of herself she didn’t like to think about, he was guessing. A part she was trying to hide. This woman was so different from Tara, Abby, and the women at the beach house parties. They’d been so sexually confident, demanding and open. What drove this woman to Winona?

The curiosity rushing through him was as intense as the lust. But this wasn’t supposed to be about him.

Try telling that to his dick. Because according to his cock, and the rest of his overcharged body, this was all about him getting her bare legs wrapped around his waist.

Her gaze zigzagged across the yard, taking in the shrubs clinging to the clean lines of the fences before landing on his face. “I’m sure you have something better to do than play tour guide,” she said, brushing a few strands of her sleek brown hair from her eyes.

He lifted one eyebrow. “I’m not playing.”

She looked him in the eyes for only a heartbeat, then her gaze fell, inching down his chest over his stomach then zeroing in on his crotch. When her gaze made it back to his face, he said, “You’re a woman who knows what she wants, right?”

Her mouth tightened. “I’m a woman who knows what she needs and what I need is a job.” Despite her unyielding words there was a hint of humor in her bright eyes. “So if you don’t mind,” she gestured for him to open the door.

This time when he guided her, she moved with him, matching his strides as well as she could in the shoes. “You’re a city girl through and through, aren’t you?” he asked, pointing to the fuck-me-hard heels.

“That a problem for you, cowboy?” she asked, lifting her carefully arched eyebrows.

“This look like a cowboy hat to you?” he said, tugging on the brim of his baseball cap. He regretted the quick response as soon as the words passed his lips. She wasn’t judging him; she was simply coming back from his question. And he of all people should understand her reaction.

“What are you then?” she asked, not put off by his reply.

“Not a cowboy.” To take back the edge he’d put into his voice, he offered her the same slanted smile that softened her up earlier. “What are you?”

“Not a city girl,” she said, matching his cocky grin with one of her own.

There it was again, a piece of herself she was hiding from. But he wasn’t going to push for answers. Partly because he didn’t want to get into her business but also because he knew what it was like to have other people assume they knew who and what you were. And he didn’t want any part of assumptions like that.

“Got it. You’re not a city girl,” he said.

“And you aren’t a cowboy.”

The hot story Wattpad pulled from top five

Salvage

Five linked stories, one book. At By Request Inc., clients name what they want and Dan McKenzie delivers.

Get Salvage

Daniel McKenzie walked away from the glittering underground world when he enlisted. Military service would give him purpose. Discipline. Control. Or so he thought.

Back in his canyon farmhouse overlooking the LA coast, he's restless. After his best friend drags him to Tigers, one of the city's exclusive clubs and one of his old haunts, he finds himself back in the life he thought he'd left behind. A connection takes him deeper in and soon he is delivering intimate experiences people can't find anywhere else.

Helping couples and singles discover new styles of physical intimacy. A husband who hasn't felt anything since the war. A wife who never confessed her desires. A woman who fled her hometown and the shaming memories there. All encounters contracted, consented to, and finished before the sheets are cold.

He's skilled. He's needed. He's burned out.

Months of shapeshifting for others leave him empty. When he retreats to the isolated Northern California manor where his journey began, he plans to stay alone.

Then Lorelai arrives during a winter storm.

She doesn't come to submit. She comes to heal. And she sees straight through his carefully constructed walls.

For the first time in his life, Dan wants something, someone, that isn't part of a performance. But wanting means risking everything: his control and his boundaries.

✦✦✦✦

“Come with me.” He leaned closer, the sun’s rays making his skin glow. “I dare you.”

Dan’s words hung in the air, taunting her. He’d only dared her on a hunch but it was obvious from the glimmer in her gold-flecked, hazel eyes that he’d guessed right.

This woman didn’t back down from a challenge.

In her tailored suit and high-heeled shoes she was everything he expected but there was something else stirring behind that gaze. A part of herself she didn’t like to think about, he was guessing. A part she was trying to hide. This woman was so different from Tara, Abby, and the women at the beach house parties. They’d been so sexually confident, demanding and open. What drove this woman to Winona?

The curiosity rushing through him was as intense as the lust. But this wasn’t supposed to be about him.

Try telling that to his dick. Because according to his cock, and the rest of his overcharged body, this was all about him getting her bare legs wrapped around his waist.

Her gaze zigzagged across the yard, taking in the shrubs clinging to the clean lines of the fences before landing on his face. “I’m sure you have something better to do than play tour guide,” she said, brushing a few strands of her sleek brown hair from her eyes.

He lifted one eyebrow. “I’m not playing.”

She looked him in the eyes for only a heartbeat, then her gaze fell, inching down his chest over his stomach then zeroing in on his crotch. When her gaze made it back to his face, he said, “You’re a woman who knows what she wants, right?”

Her mouth tightened. “I’m a woman who knows what she needs and what I need is a job.” Despite her unyielding words there was a hint of humor in her bright eyes. “So if you don’t mind,” she gestured for him to open the door.

This time when he guided her, she moved with him, matching his strides as well as she could in the shoes. “You’re a city girl through and through, aren’t you?” he asked, pointing to the fuck-me-hard heels.

“That a problem for you, cowboy?” she asked, lifting her carefully arched eyebrows.

“This look like a cowboy hat to you?” he said, tugging on the brim of his baseball cap. He regretted the quick response as soon as the words passed his lips. She wasn’t judging him; she was simply coming back from his question. And he of all people should understand her reaction.

“What are you then?” she asked, not put off by his reply.

“Not a cowboy.” To take back the edge he’d put into his voice, he offered her the same slanted smile that softened her up earlier. “What are you?”

“Not a city girl,” she said, matching his cocky grin with one of her own.

There it was again, a piece of herself she was hiding from. But he wasn’t going to push for answers. Partly because he didn’t want to get into her business but also because he knew what it was like to have other people assume they knew who and what you were. And he didn’t want any part of assumptions like that.

“Got it. You’re not a city girl,” he said.

“And you aren’t a cowboy.”

The hot story Wattpad pulled from top five

Salvage

Five linked stories, one book. At By Request Inc., clients name what they want and Dan McKenzie delivers.

Get Salvage

I spent a chunk of July doing something I'd been avoiding, readingmy own blog.

Not all of it. But enough. I'd been meaning to assess thingsand tidy the place up for over a year, and cleaning means going back through,and going back through means thinking, considering, and making decisions. I’vebeen keeping this blog for over twenty years, so, yeah, a lot to think aboutand go through.

I got to work. I deleted posts that no longer serve anyone:contests that closed a decade ago, giveaways for books that have since gone outof print, announcements about events that came and went while some of you were offliving your best life elsewhere. Nobody needs a link to enter a drawing thatended in 2009. Or do they… No, they don’t.

Next up, the labels. If you'd clicked one before, or lookedat them, you might have found a mess. I had eighty-three of them. There werelabels used once. There were three different ways of saying the same thing. Igot them down to twenty-three, so now when you click "cocktails" or"horror" or "pin-ups," you actually land somewhere with awhole shelf waiting. Cheers to that.

Here's what I didn't expect: reading your own archive is astrange experience. There's the version of me who was brand new and terrified.The one who wrote about a signing like it was a moon landing. Posts aboutpublishers that no longer exist. Whole years where I was clearly figuringsomething out in public without knowing it.

And a lot of Ellora's Cave.

If you were reading erotic romance in that era, you knowwhat I mean. EC books had their own culture. Can I define it? For one thing,less careful than a lot of what came after. They weren't trying to berespectable or mainstream. That was rather the point.

Which brings me to what's next.

Back in March at BookLoversCon in Vegas, I kept meetingreaders who were hunting for those old titles. Not politely curious. Actuallylooking. Talking about how they were different and why. It turns out there's anappetite for that particular vibe that never went away, and the books have beensitting quietly out of reach.

That got me thinking about the four EC stories of mine thatwere just languishing on my hard drive, feet up, cocktail in hand, but alone.

After I unpacked from BLC, I dug them out, dusted them off,and started making plans to get them back out into the world.

More on which ones, and when, very soon. In the meantime,the blog is tidier than it's been in two decades — have a look around, click alabel, see what turns up. Twenty years is a lot of cocktails, zombies, andpin-ups.

From Mistress of the Undead

Belmont pushed himself off the floor, shuffledto the bathroom, not bothering to flush the toilet after he pissed. Stillnaked, he made his way to the kitchen, set the kettle on, grabbed his Frenchpress. He reached into the cabinet over the sink for the bag of coffee beansbut all he found was an empty space. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, hereached further back, felt around the vacant space, smacking the bottom of thecabinet.

“Don’t bother looking. I drank it all.”

Hayden froze. Waited for his brain toprocess the voice. Still reaching in to the empty cabinet he called over hisshoulder. “Belmont?”

“Who else?” The old man grumbled. “I triedto stay awake but gave up around five. They must’ve brought you in after I fellasleep.”

He slammed the cabinet closed then crossedto the front room. The old man sat on the couch. His clothes scattered acrossthe floor. Thankfully, this time, his ancient dick was covered by his stripedboxers. “They brought you here too?”

“Turns out, I never left,” Belmontreplied, giving Hayden’s naked body the once over.

Hayden stalked to his bedroom, grabbed thecover off the bed, wrapped it around himself then shuffled back to the frontroom. “You been here the whole time?” He dropped himself into the chair. “Itwas only one night, right?”

Instead of having the decency to coverhimself up, the old man just sat there, his sagging chest and spindly old kneesexposed. “I knew they’d bring you back once they got what they wanted and yes,only one night.”

Hayden sank into the chair. “Shit.”

 “That’sthe way they do it. Fucks with your head, doesn’t it? Makes you wonder if itever happened?”

That pretty much summed it up. “You’vebeen through it.”

“Actually, no. But I’ve seen it happenenough times.” The old man paused, then looked Hayden over again. “What’d theydo to you?”

No way. He was not ever going to admit toany of that. Did not want to talk about Matthew touching him. Did not even wantto think about what he’d done to Mattie. “I need coffee.”

“Get dressed. We’ll go get some. My treat.”He shoved himself forward, bracing his palms on his thighs as he stood. “It’sthe least I can do. I ate your stash of Girl Scout cookies.”

Hayden spotted the torn green box on the floorbeside an empty can of tuna. “Those were from last year.”

“You think I cared?” he asked, pulling onthe pocket-laden travel khakis he’d tossed over the back of the couch. 

Hayden pointed at the TV. “You chargeanything on pay-per-view?”

“What?” He zipped up the fly his pants. “Youmean like porn?”

“No dude. Like on Prime.” He grabbed thetrash from the floor and took it to the kitchen.

“I watched some Breaking Bad on Netflix.”

“Not the Walking Dead?”

Belmont waited until he’d come back intothe front room to reply. “Very funny. No. I like Walter. He proves that oldguys aren’t useless losers like you think.”

“That’s an actor reading a script. You getthat, right?”

Belmont ignored his jibe. Hayden let itgo. Binge watching Netflix and eating an entire box of stale cookies would’vebeen preferable to what he’d been through the past fifteen hours. “Fine. Let’sgo get a coffee.”

Read the rest in Mistress of the Undead 

If you are a reader who also drinks, and if you're here, I'mgoing to assume yes on both counts, this cocktail was practically invented foryou.

If you go looking for this recipe online there are versionseverywhere, and some of them have gone completely off the rails. Blue curaçao?Crème de menthe? We are not doing that. We're doing the version from GregSeider, a New York bartender who also wrote Alchemy in a Glass, which means hehas both the credentials and the vocabulary to be trusted.

His Tequila Mockingbird is a spicy margarita riff builtaround something we don't use nearly enough in cocktails: watermelon. And Iknow, watermelon sounds like it should be easy, but it's actually a bit of adiva. Too little and you can't taste it. Too much and it waters everythingdown. Get it right, though, and you have something bright and juicy and just alittle dangerous.

The good news is you don't need a blender. Just a muddler,some fresh watermelon, a jalapeño (yes, trust me), blanco tequila, fresh limejuice, and agave syrup.

Muddle the watermelon and jalapeño together first, shakeeverything up, fine-strain it into your glass, and what you're holding is thisgorgeous, fragrant, fire-engine red cocktail that goes down embarrassinglyfast.

Consider it emergency preparedness for hot weather. Or aTuesday. No judgment here.

INGREDIENTS

1 slice jalapeño

3 watermelon cubes (each about 1 inch cubed)

2 ounces blanco tequila

3/4 ounce lime juice, freshly squeezed

3/4 ounce agave syrup

DIRECTIONS

Muddle the jalapeño slice and watermelon cubes in a shakerto extract the juices.

Add tequila, lime juice, agave syrup and ice, and shakeuntil well-chilled.

Fine-strain into a rocks glass over fresh ice.

GARNISH

Garnish: sweet mint spring or lime wheel

this recipe from liquor.com