Watch Me Turn - Exclusive Chapter 1 Preview

Mood board for Watch me Turn featuring a collage of images, a crow, chains, vampire fangs and a magic altar.

It’s release day!

I’m so excited to share Inked & Bloodbound with the world, because of course I am, but in some ways it feels like old news because I’m already working on the next book.

And the next one after that… and ideas for books in this series that feature new and exciting characters. I feel like I can’t write fast enough and I’m loving how expansive and rich this little universe is becoming.

To celebrate the release I wanted to share the first chapter of my standalone novella Watch Me Turn which is releasing November 25th 2025, and features Angel, a character from book one and a new character, Sofia.

If you’ve already read Inked & Bloodbound you’ll know that Lily is followed by crows throughout the book. Ever wondered why? You’ll get a huge hint in this novella. Also, Angel & Sofia appear in Book 2 of Lily and Cass’ story in a pretty big way. So if you’re craving more of The Dirty 6th universe, hopefully this will satisfy your insatiable blood lust.

Obviously this is a work in progress so some elements and words may change before release but please enjoy chapter 1 of Watch Me Turn below.

Love always,

May x

Chapter 1 - No Threat To Me

Most people don't come to us unless they're desperate, dying, or have something they can't afford to lose.

Tonight it's all three.

I got a text from the client about half an hour ago letting me know the guy is already inside, but I'm in no hurry to meet him. He'll still be in the same state when I get down there, so I'm taking my time—savouring the fresh air, and drinking in the deep indigo horizon. Using these last few minutes to check for signs of danger before making my move.

From all the way up here, I can see two cities blending together like a rich urban tapestry. Buildings lit by cold floodlights and the halogen glow of old bulbs. Somewhere in the distance I spot the warehouse where I'll be spending the next ten days. It doesn't look like much from the outside, if anything, it looks like a stain as nightfall drapes across the El Paso skyline, but I can picture what lies beneath. All the custom-built tunnels that twist under the corrugated walls bleeding rust, and snake under the dirty graffiti that marks its decaying face.

That's how it's supposed to look. Like a place where most passersby don't feel welcome. The physical embodiment of hostility that you'd ignore or even cross the street to avoid. It's one of many places used by my kind to conduct business in private. Away from daylight and nosy, human eyes.

I stretch my charcoal wings, relishing the last few moments of freedom before I'm forced to return to my human form. With a final crow, I take off from the telephone wire I've been perched on for the last thirty minutes. There's a beautiful breeze tonight, and I close my eyes to feel the air whipping through my feathers as I glide through the tops of the buildings.

The city rolls and shifts beneath me like a map, the Rio Grande a dark scar cutting it in two. Then the ground rises, asphalt replacing sky, until my talons scrape metal and I land beside my pride and joy. A midnight Honda CB750 motorcycle from the late seventies with chrome detailing and a custom leather seat in a deep crimson. I call her my Black Betty, and she is magnificent.

"Sorry old girl," I chirp. I've had to park her beside a graffiti tagged dumpster in an alley beside the warehouse. She's tucked out of sight from the main drag but still ready to go at a moment's notice. In this game you never know when you might need to make a quick exit and my crow form isn't always an option. I hop behind a stack of boxes, and shift back to human—well maybe not completely human—within a few seconds.

As the humid air licks at my naked body, I say a silent prayer of gratitude that a passing stranger hasn't stolen the backpack I stashed away earlier, otherwise I'd be up shit creek without a paddle. Or underwear.

I tear into it, pull out a ball of clothing and dress at breakneck pace. Hastily stepping into my ripped jeans and pulling a dark tank top over my head to cover myself. I tie a faded grey bandana around my neck, and by the time I've thrown on my beat up chucks and clicked my gold hoops and nose ring back into place I feel like myself again.

Usually that would be enough preening and grooming for one day, but with such a high-profile client inside I should probably try to make a good impression.

As if I wasn't nervous enough, my sister just had to remind me this isn't just another job. It's my chance to prove myself to our creator, La Madre Sangrienta. To show her that even if I'm the youngest, the least experienced, I'm still worthy of the blood that binds us. How well I do in this assignment could mean I finally earn my right to take on bigger projects, and more prestigious clients.

Soon I'll be more than just a glorified security guard. Spending my nights watching over smuggling routes and babysitting bad guys. This is my chance to finally make my name and do something better.

Mark my words, this job will be the making of me.

I rifle through my bag searching for an old lipstick I carry for occasions like this. Digging around amongst my detritus like protection stones and books until my fingers curl around a bullet shaped container. I apply a slick of red to match the blood I'll be protecting for the next ten days and pout into the wing mirror of Betty.

I run my teeth over my fangs, and lick the excess pigment away.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

———————————————————————--

"She sent you?" the man sneers, his bony face barely containing his disgust. "She does know this is a serious job, doesn't she? A very sensitive situation which is why I asked for a professional."

"I am a professional," I say, offering my hand. "I'm Sophia, and I'm very good. You can call La Madre if you need to verify."

He curls his lip and recoils from the handshake. A beat passes between us before he speaks. "That won't be necessary. I just hope you understand the stakes."

This guy has been pissing me off since the moment we met. Sending verbal jabs and filthy looks in my direction every chance he gets. I'm losing my patience, so despite trying to make a good first impression I barely contain my sarcasm.

"We're all aware of the stakes. I have been briefed on the stakes. The stakes are known. I'm here to guard the stakes." It's a lie, of course, I only have the bare minimum details but I'm not telling him that.

He clucks his tongue in response and it echoes like a shot. The emptiness of the warehouse makes everything seem more naked. Exposed. There are no soft edges to hide behind. No comfort to be found. Just broken glass and barren concrete. The smell of musty damp and the remnants of copper wiring torn from the walls.

"Will I be meeting with the Primus? Mr Lazaro?" I ask hopefully. The man paying the bill at the end of this, the man I am here to impress. The man I put lipstick on for.

"No," he laughs, but there's no warmth to it. "You will not. He doesn't need to concern himself with such matters. He entrusts me to deal with all critical issues."

His gaze traces up and down my body, taking in the frayed jeans, wild curly hair and general grungy vibe before he gives a pitying half smile. I straighten up on instinct—pushing my shoulders back and throwing him my meanest glare to show him how dangerous I am but it doesn't seem to work. He narrows his focus. "How old are you, exactly?"

"Um. We talking, vampire years or total?"

"Vampire. Why would I be interested in anything else?"

"43 years vampire," I reply quickly. His mouth moves to say something but I interrupt before he can. "But as you probably understand, Bruja are different. I was practicing magic as a human for over a decade before I was turned so I'm very strong. You can check my credentials again if you want, but La Madre will tell you the same thing. I'm what you've got, and I'm your best shot at keeping this guy safe."

He rolls his gaze skyward but I'm not offended. I look at this guy, this company man, second tier vampire mafioso destined to serve for eternity. To never be more than second fiddle to the big boss. This is the so-called brains of the operation? I'm not impressed. All I see is thinning blonde hair slicked back over a burgeoning bald spot, his skinny chest padded with a stake proof vest and leather holster containing a pistol sized crossbow. This is a man with something to prove, or a score to settle and a chip on his shoulder. I know his kind, and they don't intimidate me.

He catches me eyeing the crossbow and his hand automatically twitches towards it, like he's double checking to make sure it's still there. After a short stare down, where both of us practice the art of loaded silences, he gives up first.

"Fine," he sighs. "Follow me."

We're bumping shoulders as we wind through the concrete tunnels under the warehouse, but he makes no effort to make conversation so I decide to annoy him instead. Idly chattering away about everything from the weather to the lighting as we pass through the barely lit underground corridors. He doesn't respond, aside from the odd grunt here and there.

"What did you say your name was?" I babble. I know it of course. It's Julian. I could use it, but I find that when dealing with old white men with fragile egos it's always fun to humble them every chance you get. Remind them of how forgettable they are. They hate that.

When he tells me for the third time, the barely masked fury drips from the word and I take a crumb of pleasure knowing how far under his skin I am.

"Tell me something, Jonathan. When were you turned?" I ask with a grin.

He clenches his teeth. "It's Julian, and that's none of your business."

"I say 50 years, maybe 60, tops?"

He mutters, "it's more than 60."

"But less than a hundred, right?" I say.

"Yes."

"Thought so."

He ushers me around a corner where the tunnel opens up into a larger space. It has the same industrial feel but with a higher ceiling and the first real signs of life. There are a few scattered couches, and a bank of mismatched monitors set on an old wooden desk but nothing is turned on.

The deeper we seem to get into the tunnel system, the more civilized it becomes. The lighting becomes less flickery, and the nasty damp smell and physical signs of neglect give way to smooth, freshly painted walls and newly fitted sconces housing bulbs that glow with soft warm light. It would be far more peaceful I'm sure, were it not for the sound of my voice.

When we pass through that room and arrive at a circular door with a huge bank vault lock, he stops and turns to me with a pained 'please shut up' look. I don't give him a chance to speak.

"Tell me about the guy. The one I'm watching, how long ago was he bitten and branded?"

He snaps at me. "Mr Ruiz was turned at approximately 3:33 this afternoon by the Primus at The Hollow—the underground city in Austin we call home. Shortly after, he was transported here by a familiar and has remained in this room ever since. He was sedated prior to turning, but I believe the effects will have worn off by now. He will be experiencing dissociation, and pain, but the thirst will not begin for at least another day. He is feverish, highly agitated, and very, very confused." He pauses and cocks his head. "Are you ready to meet him?"

I swallow. This shit just got real. "Has he been secured?" I ask.

Julian reaches into his shirt collar and pulls out a gold chain with a key on the end of it. The shiny edge catches the light as he slips it over his head and hands it to me.

"Yes. He has been secured. This is the master key to the restraints."

I fasten it around my neck, "I'll guard it with my life."

"You'll find everything you need inside." Julian continues. "The refrigerator is stocked with 10 days of blood and milk, plus a little extra. The herbs, magical items, and everything on the list you provided in the cabinet. There's no cell signal down here but there's a single landline phone that only dials us. Enter 666 on the receiver and you'll be connected to one of my associates at The Hollow."

I pull my phone out to verify, and he's right. There really isn't any signal down here. Not a single fucking bar. There goes my entertainment for the next 10 days. "Hey Jimmy, you got a wifi password?" I ask expectantly.

His face is stony, "no, there's no Wifi here. This isn't a vacation. You're here to watch him and protect him until he's strong enough to protect himself. Mr Ruiz is a very important man, and it's essential he turn vampire without any interruptions."

I flick him a fake salute and a nod. "Protect the asset. Got it."

"You'd better," he leans in and fixes me with his beady shark stare, "because once that door closes you're on your own. That lock won't open again for 10 days. This is not a game. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I say, using the most serious voice I have.

He punches in a code, sending a series of high pitched beeps echoing down the hall. He looks back over his shoulder at me, "this thing is set on a timer for your safety so once it's closed, no code will unlock it. But in exactly 240 hours this door will open and my men will be waiting. If all is well, we will release the final payment and you will be free to go."

I crane my neck for a closer look, "are you sure all this is necessary?" I say, eyeing the thick steel door. "I might look young but I can handle myself just fine when there's trouble."

He spins the enormous handle, and the entrance heaves open with a deep groan.

"Mr Ruiz is going to be the most wanted man in the world in a few hours. Every sicario, and cartel underling for hundreds of miles is going to be hunting for a trace. Trust me. This is the safest place for him. And by extension, for you."

I laugh nervously, "no pressure, then?"

Julian doesn't return the laugh. His face is stony and unwavering. "He will become vampire, and he will do so under your protection. Failure is not an option."

I peer through the crack in the door, and make out the corner of a bed, a glimpse of a foot, the soft warm lighting. The sudden realisation that I'm going to be trapped in this little room with a man I barely know anything about, sends a chill down my spine.

"Who is this guy?" I whisper.

"You'll find out soon enough."

The door seals behind me with a sound like a tomb closing. A deep, mechanical grinding followed by the definitive click of electronic locks engaging. I press my palm against the cold steel and push, just to confirm what I already know. Nothing. Not even the slightest give.

Two hundred and forty hours. Ten days. I'm well and truly trapped.

I turn around and take in my gilded prison, letting out a low whistle. Julian wasn't kidding about this place being built for someone important. The space is bigger than I expected and very different from the warehouse upstairs. You'd never know that a thousand square feet of pure luxury carved out of concrete and steel lay beneath the surface. Marble surfaces, herringbone floors, sandstone walls and wood paneling. A soft amber lighting emanates from hidden fixtures, casting everything in a warm glow that's easy on the undead.

Someone put a lot of thought into building this place. It's not a shitty prison cobbled together by an opportunist. It's a specialized sanctuary designed to keep a very particular kind of prisoner comfortable while they undergo transformation. The kind of prisoner who's used to the finer things in life.

It must have taken months.

Months of watching, patience, planning. Waiting for the perfect time to strike. I wonder if this poor bastard knew. Did he feel it? The sense that his time was running out? That someone was after him and would stop at nothing to get him and turn him?

A creak from the ornate wrought iron bed bolted to the ground in the corner interrupts my train of thought and I'm drawn to the warm body cuffed to the looping metal.

He's awake.

He tracks my every movement with the kind of predatory intensity that makes the hair on my arms stand up. He's pretty as hell. A heart shaped face, dark eyes, soft dark waves and full lips, but he's not inviting me in. 

His very being is darkness. A threatening aura warning me to keep my distance. His every pore emanates warning and menace. Globs of fever sweat pool on his olive skin and cling to the ends of his hair causing it to curl across his forehead in damp strands.

But those eyes...

"You're not what I expected," he says coldly.

"Yeah? What were you expecting?" I ask, setting my backpack down on the couch and kicking my feet up on the mahogany coffee table.

"Someone older."

I smile, letting a hint of fang show. "Looks can be deceiving. I'm a lot more dangerous than I look."

"So am I," he says quietly. "Remember that."