Frosting and Fur(in-Progress)

Chapter IV: Tres Leches

D'Angelo typed away at his keyboard, hoping to capitalize on a burst of inspiration before it faded.

Liam raised his blaster, aiming his weapon at the pirate's chest.

"Let the girl go!" His gaze grew stern. "Either we all walk out of here, or none of us do."

The pirate raised his brows.

"You would risk this human female's life?" the creature asked.

"As I said. All of us or none of us."

"I don't understand you." The alien creature loosened its grip ever so slightly. "Surely the bounty on my head isn't worth this effort."

"It isn't."

The woman elbowed the alien in the gut, slipping out of his grasp. He hissed, reaching for her arm. Liam fired twice, one shot to the chest and one to the head. The pirate fell to the ground, his appendages shriveling up as his life dissipated. The hostage ran to Liam's side.

"Thank you so much."

"No need to thank me, ma'am. Let's get you home."

She stared up at him with emerald green eyes...

...

"Crap. Not again..."

D'Angelo tapped the delete key and corrected his mistake. Somehow his brown-eyed damsel in distress kept finding ways to change her eye color to green. Took him hours to defeat the urge to change her into a rubenesque amazon. He was starting to get annoyed.

Leaning back, he looked out of his office window. Down below the busy sea of New York City foot traffic ebbed and flowed as people moved along the courses of their own stories. His office sat on the third floor of a ChinaTown incubator space. He was high enough to watch people swim in the sea of Canal Street's hustle and bustle, but too low to get a good view of the Manhattan skyline. Little Italy and SoHo were within walking distance as were the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. Whenever there was a gridlock alert he parked his car in Fort Green and walked.

The distraction of the real world helped his mind return to the task at hand. D'Angelo was working on a new novel. Ghost writing paid the bills, but he wanted more. Slaves to the Moon was a flop, but he knew deep in his bones there was a New York Times Bestseller in him. A werewolf novel set in modern day America didn't take the country by storm like he'd hoped and like beta readers had suggested. Maybe this novel about mercenaries on the run from the organization who made them set in a utopian future might.

He stretched and let his fingers hover over the home keys.

She stared up at him with honey brown eyes-

The door flew open and slammed shut. Chantal Choe leaned against the frame, out of breath as if she'd ran the whole way there. Chantal was a Korean-American graffiti artist who rented space on the other end of the incubator. She was average height with a slim build and toned calves. Half of her face was covered in piercings under a stylish pixie cut. She wore a large hockey jersey and leather shorts. Her footwear alternated between Dr. Martens and vintage Converses. Chantal usually kept to herself, but, when she wasn't lost in her work, she loved bouncing ideas off of D'Angelo.

"Sup, Choe?" D'Angelo asked, realizing he wasn't going to be getting any more words on the page any time soon. "What new ideas do you have for me today?"

"Ah, I have a good one," she answered, sucking in a lungful of air. "How about: a goblin and her prince charming go on a twisted adventure to end a curse!"