Anti-Heroes
If you asked me to choose between having Han Solo or Luke Skywalker back me up in a fight, I'd pick Luke. If you asked me which one I thought would make a better husband and father, I'd pick Luke. If you asked me which one I would rather play in a game of cards, I'd pick Luke.
On the other hand, if you asked me to watch Star Wars without the character of Han Solo, I'd walk out from sheer boredom.
I'm not sure when my obsession with antiheroes began, but I would guess that watching Han Solo was right there at the beginning. Han was a little shady. You were never sure, especially at the beginning, whether he was really on the side of the good guys or if he was just around to make money. When he started hitting on Leia, he was all kinds of cocky, in the way where he might get a sexual-harassment lawsuit if he was doing it now and not in a galaxy far, far away. And he was extremely rude. To, like, everyone.
However, Han was the heart and soul of the movies. (The lack of a Han Solo character in the prequels is one of the many ways they went wrong, but that's a subject for an entirely different essay.) Take Han away, and all you've got is good versus evil in space with laser swords. Don't get me wrong, that's still pretty cool. But a character like Han Solo... well, that makes things really interesting.
I like characters like Han Solo. I like characters that struggle to do the right thing. I like characters who aren't even sure what the right thing is. I like characters who make it just a teensy bit hard for me to care about them. I like characters with flaws. Big flaws. Nasty flaws. Flaws that make me uncomfortable. I like Lestat. I like Tony Soprano. I like essentially everybody in The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I like bad guys. I don't have any intention of rooting for people who like to hurt other people, my enjoyment of slasher movies notwithstanding. What I like are people that you care about, people who you want to win, but people who do their best to win, even if it means they aren't very Pollyanna about it. I think those kind of people are more real. And while I'm not a stickler for extreme realism in my fiction, a realistic character—emotional realism, I suppose—is a definite plus.
So if those are the kind of people that I like to read about, obviously, those are the kind of characters I'm going to write about. My characters don't always do the right thing. Sometimes they do things that shock and disgust me. They inhabit a gray world. They aren't the bad guys. That's for sure. But sometimes they don't particularly act like good guys either. Still, I think their struggles are somewhat more poignant for the fact that they aren't stalwart heroes in the traditional sense. Instead, they're a little broken. They aren't sure which way to go.
If antiheroes intrigue you too, then you might like my books. Just remember that like Han Solo, my characters might shoot first.
In this scene from The Killing Moon, Dana Gray interrogates Cole Randall. Well, attempts to. This is the first time she's seen him since she escaped from him six months ago.
Her hands lurched off her lap, across the table. And then she was touching him. His fingers were warm.
“You ran from me, beautiful,” he said, caressing her knuckles.
“You were trying to kill me.”
“No.” His gaze was intense. “Not anymore. Not after what happened. You and I are connected now, don’t you see?”
She snatched her hands back. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She wasn’t connected to him. She couldn’t be.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Dana. I think about you when I wake up. I think about you before I go to sleep. I—”
“Stop.” She didn’t need to hear this. She needed to get the topic back to the reason she came. She needed to take control here. That was what Cole always robbed her of. Control. If she could direct the conversation, maybe she could stay on top of her feelings—her very strange, very disturbing feelings. She squared her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath. “So, what did you want to say about the rogues? How could you help?”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t thinking about me too. I know—”
“The rogues.”
He sighed. “They’re connected. I’m surprised you didn’t see it. But maybe you weren’t looking.”
“Connected? They live in different states. They have nothing in common.”
He shook his head. “I know who they are.”
“Say you do. What does it matter? They’re going to be locked up for doing it on purpose no matter what.”
“Are you sure they did it on purpose?”
“They admitted that.”
“According to the news reports I saw, they admitted only that they knew how to control their wolves on a full moon.”
Dana sat back in her chair. “If they could control themselves, and they didn’t control themselves, then it means they did it on purpose.”
Cole raised his eyebrows. “Does it?”
“Don’t play games with me. You either know something, or you don’t.”
Cole’s voice dropped several octaves. “I needed to see you. I thought maybe you needed to see me too.”
She felt the words like lightning, coursing through her, making her feel weak, but also lit up, awake. She wished she was touching him again. She wished the table wasn’t between them. She wished there was nothing between them. Nothing at all.
Yes, I needed to see you. Yes, all I need is to see you. I need you, Cole. I need you. What have you done to me?
She held his gaze, and she was sure he could see her response written on her face. He drew in a long, slow breath, like he was savoring her, tasting her.
She couldn’t let this go on. She was supposed to be in control. Even talking about work, only work, he’d wormed his way inside, taken over. She had to stop it.
She got out of the chair. “So you’ve got nothing, in other words. You’re wasting my time.” Her voice was disdainful. Good.
Don’t notice how tightly you have me wrapped around your finger, Cole. Please, think I hate you. Believe I despise you.
“You did need to see me.” He wasn’t asking.
Oh, God, if she didn’t get out of here, she was going to lose it. That hypnotic voice of his was going to undo her. She didn’t know what she might do. She stalked to the door.
“Do you think about me, Dana?”
She looked at him, her blood starting to thrum just beneath the surface of her skin.
“I think about you constantly. I think about touching you again.” His voice was a purr, sweet, soft, and liquid.
“Shut up.” She choked on the word. She had to get away from him. She had to stop whatever spell he had on her. She tried to turn the knob on the door, but it was locked.
“You have incredible skin.”
She cringed, but something inside her loved that. Something inside her uncurled, stretched out, and preened. There was a part of her that craved his praise. She banged on the door.
“Think about that later tonight, when you’re lying in bed alone. Think about my fingers on your skin. My lips on your skin.”
“Brooks, damn it, open the door!”
The door opened. She threw herself out of the room.
“Dana,” called Cole. “Look for the connection. You’re going to feel so stupid to have missed it.” He was laughing. God, he was laughing, and the sound was echoing into her ears, recording itself.
She slammed the door on his laughter, and it cut off. “Fuck.”
She wanted—more than anything—to open the door again. Closing herself off from him felt like losing a limb.
*WARNING: The following excerpt contains sexually explicit material. Discretion is advised.*
Vigil climbed inside with grace. He moved like a cat, all darkness and fluid motion.
My bed was directly under the window, meaning that he perched there, crouched at the foot of my bed, facing me.
I pulled the covers up to my chin. I was wearing what I usually wore to bed—a white t-shirt that I’d stolen from one of my high school boyfriends. It was big and stretched out and comfortable. I always slept in that t-shirt and only that t-shirt. I thought wearing underwear to bed was tantamount to torture. I hated the way the elastic dug into my skin.
Still, I might have to revisit my pajama choices if Vigil was going to make a habit of coming through my window in the middle of the night.
“About the knocking,” I said. “You could really try it.”
“This was easier,” he said, moving off the bed.
I would have gotten up too, but I was self-conscious about my lack of clothing. I stayed where I was. “Why are you here?”
“I saved another girl. I thought you might want to talk to me about it. You said the advantage that your newspaper has over the television networks is access to me. So, you want another story?”
“Oh,” I said. That was actually pretty decent of him. I was sure that Henry would be pleased if I showed up tomorrow with another exclusive on Vigil. Of course, it meant that I would probably have to stay up tonight and get a draft done after I interviewed him, but I could handle that. I pushed the covers aside, forgetting about my skimpy t-shirt. “Let me get my recorder.”
I got out of bed.
And then I remembered what I was wearing, because I watched his gaze travel over my body. His jaw tightened.
I grabbed the edge of my shirt and tugged it down further over my thighs. Damn it. My recorder was in my purse, which was hanging over the back of my desk chair. I picked up my purse and started to go through it.
His voice was deep and rumbling. “Are you wearing anything under that shirt?”
I turned to face him, clutching my purse against me like it would protect me. “I could put something else on. If you’d… turn around?”
He closed the distance between us in two steps. (My room wasn’t very big.) He took the purse away from me and set it down on my desk. He had to reach around me to do that. His body came sinfully close to mine, centimeters from touching me.
I licked my lips. “I need my, um, recorder.”
“Fuck your recorder,” he growled. “Do you ever wear actual clothes that cover any meaningful parts of your body?”
“What?” That wasn’t fair. I didn’t dress provocatively. Of course, the second time I’d seen Vigil, I’d only been wearing a kimono, and the third time I’d been wearing a halter top and tight jeans. “I didn’t know you were going to come through my window tonight, you know.”
He caught me around the waist, almost roughly.
The shirt rode up, dangerously so.
His lips found mine, and I melted into his arms. His body was hard against me, and I felt dizzy.
He ran his hand over my back, over my ass. His hand was hot through the thin cotton of the shirt.
I clutched him tighter, thrusting my tongue into his mouth.
He didn’t stop at the edge of my shirt. His hand kept going, exploring my bare thigh. He lifted it as his hand slid further toward my knee, bringing my leg up around his hip.
I gasped.
He pushed one of his legs between mine, and my naked sex brushed over the spandex of his costume.
I let out a strangled cry.
His lips pulled away from mine. “God damn it. What are you doing to me?”
“I…” My voice was a squeak. “You touched me first.”
He let go of me, moving to the other side of the room. Disappointment washed over me. I very much enjoyed being close.
My pulse was thrumming just under my skin. I felt lightheaded. I clutched the top of the chair to steady myself.
He was still staring at me, his gaze flitting from the top of my head to my bare feet and back up again.
I watched him too. He was lean and large, hulking and powerful, and the swell of each of his muscles glowed in the light coming in through my open window.
“Are you going to get your recorder or not?”
“Oh,” I said. Right. I turned around, bending over to look through my purse.
Too late, I realized that bending over exposed me.
I started to straighten, but he was already behind me.
He pressed against my ass, and his hands were inside my shirt, moving over my hips, my waist. “You can’t expect me to keep my hands off of you after you just did that. Not when you’re not wearing anything except this fucking shirt.”
My breath grew shallow at his touch. “I could put something else on,” I panted.
His hands moved higher, pushing the shirt up at the same time. He found my breasts and cupped them. “Is that what you want to do? You want to get dressed?”
I moaned, leaning back into his solidness. “I probably should, don’t you think?”
“No,” he groaned. One of his hands left my breast and slid down my body, nudging between my legs. “I don’t think you should do that at all.”
I twisted my head, finding his lips.
His gloved hands moved on me, sending swirls of pleasure through my body. I kissed him fiercely, writhing under his touch.
Internally, I began scolding myself. What the hell was I doing? This man wore a mask and a spandex costume. I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know anything about him. And here I was, practically naked with him, letting him touch me in all my most secret places. The right thing to do was to stop him. The right thing to do was to tell him to get away from me.
I broke our kiss, filling my lungs with air. I was going to tell him to stop. I was.
He pinched my nipple.
I cried out. Sensation shot through my torso, lighting up a fiery line directly to my clit.
He was touching that too, his fingers making languid circles around it, teasing me. Torturing me.
Everything felt so good.
I was lying to myself if I thought I was going to be able to end this. I didn’t want it over. I was really enjoying it.
I arched my back, pressing my breast firmly into his hand, my ass into his pelvis.
And I felt his erection, long and hard and hot, pushing into my backside.
Oh mother of god, the crazy masked man was hard for me, and I liked it.
I ground my hips into his, rubbing against his hardness.
He grunted. His hands moved from my breast and clit to my hips, holding me in place. “Fuck,” he whispered in my ear, his voice ruined.
I let out breath long and slow, sagging against him. My shirt had settled back over my chest. The cotton rested against my hardened nipples. I was excruciatingly turned on.
“I want you,” he said. “Do you want me?”
Compelled by V.J. Chambers
Synopsis:
Eight complete novels for only $0.99
Dark. Raw. Provocative. Sexy. Tortured.
Are you ready to go to the edge?
In a V. J. Chambers story, love is searing… but it cannot be resisted. Stakes are high. Danger is imminent. Morality is gray. And characters aren’t perfect.
Read the first books in five different series. And get three standalone novels as a bonus!
Collection contains:
Goodreads: https://www.
Dark. Raw. Provocative. Sexy. Tortured.
Are you ready to go to the edge?
In a V. J. Chambers story, love is searing… but it cannot be resisted. Stakes are high. Danger is imminent. Morality is gray. And characters aren’t perfect.
Read the first books in five different series. And get three standalone novels as a bonus!
Collection contains:
- Vigil (Standalone): NA Superhero Romance
- Out of Heaven’s Grasp (Standalone): NA Contemporary about a polygamous cult
- The Killing Moon (Cole and Dana #1): Werewolf Urban Fantasy
- Slow Burn (Assassins #1): NA Romantic Thriller
- Frenzy (Standalone): NA Romantic Thriller
- Breathless (Jason and Azazel #1): YA Paranormal
- Dancing Days (The Helicon Muses #1): YA Portal Fantasy
- The Toil and Trouble Trilogy, Book One: YA Urban Fantasy
Goodreads: https://www.
Purchase:
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V. J. Chambers writes about being inexplicably attracted to the dangerously alluring. Her works span mundane settings and fantastic ones. She writes about serial killers, cult leaders, werewolves, witches, for-hire assassins, zombies, space pirates, and regular everyday people.
She lives in Shepherdstown, WV, with her boyfriend Aaron and their cat Isis.
She lives in Shepherdstown, WV, with her boyfriend Aaron and their cat Isis.
Author links:
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