Broken. Chapter One. The First Mistake.

Chapter One


The First Mistake

The lights in the train car flicker as we pass through another tunnel. I let it pull my attention from my e-book on nursing etiquette and I glance around the train. I hadn’t noticed how many people have gotten off since I first stepped on. The once full car is now empty leaving only me, a snoozing old lady and a hooded, broad-shouldered man with his back turned. I guess we’re all from the same part of town. Poor bastards . . . and I mean that in every sense of the term. We’ve long since passed both upper and middle New York. From here on out, luxury isn’t a word anyone knows.

As we exit a tunnel, the lights above me stabilize and I let my attention float out the window. Masses of colors and shapes blur past. I’ve always liked graffiti, or at least the pretty kind. Nothing brightens your day quite like a good painting of an animal in a hoodie telling the government to go fuck itself. It’s nice to see the constant shades of gray, black and white broken up by a rebellious streak of color. Even when it’s dark like this, at one a.m., it’s nice to have something stand out in what feels like a never-ending blackness.

I return my attention back to my book and read the words on the screen. I try to become intrigued even though I’ve lost my place. I haven’t been a student nurse for long. I’ve learnt enough to know how to dress a wound and insert a cannula, but that’s the extent of it. I spend most of my time watching other nurses, learning as much as I can through them, not with my head stuck in books. I’ve never been good with reading. It never sticks and, as a result of that, I now spend every minute of my life outside of the hospital studying for the exam in three weeks. I’m a hands-on kind of girl, one who chose nursing as a career not only to help people, but for the thrill of not knowing what’s going to come through the door each second. I crave suspense and the unknown. I live off the flurry of excitement and nervousness that comes with surprise.

Strangely, my skin prickles at the thought, like it knows something I don’t, and a loose tendril of excitement twists around my spine. Subtly, I shiver and relish in the feeling, until the random bout of excitement disintegrates and I feel nothing once more.

A crackly voice blares through the speakers announcing my stop, but I don’t need anyone to remind me where I live. I’m aware of it—hyperaware. I couldn’t forget, even if I wanted to.

I reach for the large, brown bag at my feet and pull on the strap, slinging it around my neck and adjusting it between my breasts. It’s heavy and my spine complains as it takes on the weight. Ignoring it, I fumble with my tablet, closing the flap on its screen before the train has arrived at the platform. As the brakes screech and the sound of the slowing wheels becomes more prominent, I move from my seat and into the aisle. I keep my eyes downcast to my black runners, mentally ticking off my checklist, making sure I’ve got everything.

I grip the pole in the middle and wait patiently as the screeching sound of train brakes echoes through my carriage. The vibrations seize my shoes and tingle up my legs, like a million tiny spiders, as metal clings desperately to metal in a desperate attempt to get the train to stop. Eventually, it slows before finally grinding to a halt. I feel a large body move into the space beside me, but I don’t bother to lift my eyes. Living in this part of the city, I’ve learnt to keep to my own. Something as simple as a glance in the wrong direction can get you in trouble, and trouble is the last thing I need at this time of night.

Two distinct dings chime through the train car and a recording of a robotic woman thanks us and reminds us to watch our step. I linger for a few seconds before the doors pull open with a groan. I move forward before they fully open, and conveniently, so does the stranger beside me. What the fuck happened to common courtesy? Ladies before gentlemen?

With a squeak, I bounce off of the man’s large frame and into the edge of the door. The door shudders as I collide with it and I curse as the tablet I clench in my left hand slips from my grasp and crashes to the dirty, concrete floor, along with my stomach. I stumble forward in an attempt to regain my balance and I manage to, but the cracked screen of my tablet is long gone. Irredeemable. And I don’t have the goddamn money to fix it.

I look up at the man in the black hoodie with the broad shoulders. He keeps walking, his shoulders square and his head down, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder.

“Hey!” I shout after him, but he doesn’t turn around.

I scoop up my tablet and clasp it against my chest. I look east, in the direction of my home, but the rude stranger heads west. Common sense tells me to forget about it, to not follow the large stranger into the shadows, but my empty, moth-eaten wallet demands he replace what he broke. My hunger and hardship team with my pride. There’s no way common sense has a chance. It’s stupid to risk my life for money, but these are dark times and money is the only thing keeping me from throwing myself off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Behind me, the doors of the train close and I hear the brakes release the tracks. Despite my better judgment, I march in direction of the stranger, leaving my sanity and an empty train behind me.



I hate the taste of it. Even so, I let the metallic tang trickle over my taste buds. A fresh bout of fear flares through my system and I bite down on the inside of my lower lip to keep my body from trembling violently. I follow the man in the hood down a dark alley and into a former industrial area. Rundown warehouses and abandoned machinery litter the space, all of it forgotten by the ever-modernizing world. I purse my lips, worried the rapid sound of my terrified heart will escape through my mouth and awaken whoever and whatever is hiding in the rusted corners of the wasteland. Right now, the tall man who smashed my tablet isn’t my biggest concern. Spiders and tetanus, however . . . I shudder.

I’ve called out to the stranger a hundred times, but he doesn’t react. I’d thought he was being ignorant until he’d plucked an iPod from the pocket of his hood and scrolled briefly before stuffing it back in.

He can’t hear me.


Heavy, gray clouds block the glow of the moon and a cold thread of regret slithers down my spine as I follow him further into the dim, industrial abyss. Tall, steel and beaten warehouses tower over us, but the stranger doesn’t glance around him, not even once. It seems he’s comfortable here, much more comfortable than I am. Then again, if I were a man of his size there’d be little I’d be scared of too. A lot of words come to mind when I look at him, but prey is definitely not one of them.

He walks without a care, as if he were going for a casual midnight stroll, but his wide shoulders are held with purpose and determination. His shoes, an expensive pair of thick, white sneakers, barely scuff against the crunchy rubble under his feet. I, however, make no attempt to quieten my steps. Under my worn, black sneakers rocks crumble and small pieces of tin, metal and glass all grind against each other.

“Hey!” I try again. This time, my voice comes out less confident and more uncertain.

To my left something scatters, sending my heart into my throat. Suddenly out of breath, I squeeze my busted tablet closer to my chest and swallow hard as the stranger slows to a stop and peers to the left. I hold my breath while he turns, confused. Then, he spots me and he pulls his brows together, making shadows pool in the hollows of his face.

He’s dangerous.

That much is clear.

In a slow movement, he reaches for the cord to his ear buds, and with a swift tug they fall. When all of his attention is on me, I notice immediately that the light shining down from an emergency post offers no real service. If I had to pick this man out of a police line-up tomorrow, I’d have no idea. The shadows make it impossible for me to get a proper look at his face.

I clear my throat in an attempt to drag up some confidence. “You broke my—”

He shoots forward and I squeal, dropping my tablet. The stranger’s large, heavy hands grab my shoulders and he shoves me to the side. I stumble and squeeze my eyes shut. I expect to slam into the large, metal warehouse beside me, but instead he catches me again, his fingers digging into the flesh on my arm with bruising pressure. He slams me into the warehouse and I grit my teeth, keeping my eyes tightly closed. My spine aches against the rigid metal and all I hear is the sound of my heart hammering relentlessly in my ears. Amongst it, I think I hear my brain chastising me, calling me an idiot.

“Are you out of your mind?” he bites out.

My lips part and I splutter as I open my eyes. I take in the man’s dark features, each curved in anger. His full lips purse over gritted teeth and his nostrils flare. I remain frozen with fear, paralyzed by the man who holds me against the wall. I don’t know this man. I don’t know his triggers or his intent. One wrong word or move and my life could end. His irises, their color undistinguishable in this light, flick over my face. He glances at my chest and I become hyperaware of the speed at which it rises and falls. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

I don’t love my life—not like most people do anyway. I’ve wanted off the earth a million times before, but now it’s a possibility I’ve never appreciated my life more—no matter how abysmal it is. The broken tablet is no longer on my mind. It’s not worth my life and I’ll forget about it—I’ll even leave it in the rubble if it means making it back to my apartment tonight.

After he’s done analyzing my terrified state the man backs away cautiously, with the palms of his hands exposed and I let out a shaky exhale, ignoring the tremors that threaten to shake me to my foundations. After a few short eternities, he arches a brow and I realize he wants me to speak—to explain myself. I swallow hard and it’s painfully dry.

“You broke my tablet,” I manage to croak out.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, pushing his hood off of his head and exposing short, spiky jet-black hair.

Even without his pressure, I remain glued to the metal wall, my heart pounding in my throat. I could run, but how far would I get? This man is quick, much quicker than me, and I’ve never been much of a runner. He rakes his fingers through his hair, pulling slightly. “You need to get out of here.”

I frown. Just like that? “You’re letting me go?”

He angles his head, allowing the shadows to swallow up his face. If I could imagine the expression he was pulling, it’d be a confused one, like mine. “I have no reason to keep you. If you’re smart, you’ll run as fast as you can.”

He doesn’t want to hurt me, and strangely, the thought fills me with confidence. Or maybe it’s desperation. I can’t study without my tablet. If I don’t study, I’ll fail and if I fail, I’ll have nothing left. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you replace my tablet.”

The confidence doesn’t quite reach my voice, but at least I found the balls to bring up what he did. I can’t see his face, but I’m pretty sure I hear the smile on his lips.

I broke your tablet?”

I nod, curling my fingers around the strap of my bag and twisting nervously. “On the train. You pushed past me coming out the doors and I dropped it.”

He folds his strong, thick arms tightly over his chest. “And you chased me into an abandoned industrial site? For what?”

I push off the wall. “To tell—”

“To demand I replace what I supposedly broke?”

With a nod, I sigh, exasperated. I need him to replace it. Without it, I have to go an hour or two out of my way to the library after my shifts and that’s not realistic for me. Of course, there’s no way I can force him to replace what he broke, but I’m hoping the universe gives me a break. Just this once. I need it.

Silence falls as he gives me an overt once over. I wonder what he sees. A small, desperate nurse who can’t even afford a comfortable pair of shoes? Or a liar? To him, I could be a crazy woman looking for a handout.

“You need crack money?” he asks, his voice dead serious.

“What?” I spit, inching forward. “No. I’m a nurse.”

“If you get your drugs for free, then what do you want with me?”

“I don’t need drugs. I—” I pause and let out an exasperated sigh. “All I want is for you to replace what you broke. So just fix it and I’ll be on my way.”

“What the fuck do you expect me to do?” He gestures around him, dramatically. “Do you see any electronic shops around here? Would any be open at this time?” He steps closer. “Look, lady, I’m not messing around. You need to get out of here before—”

He’s cut off by a loud clank that seems to vibrate up the entire height of the warehouse. The noise sounds creepy and dooming, and I’m sure it echoes for miles.

“What is that?” I ask, creeping closer to him.

His entire body is taut and tense, but in this moment I find more comfort in the huge stranger than the waking warehouse.

The stranger clears his throat. “That is your biggest mistake.”

*Copyright 2015 by Skyla Madi
*Broken is the first in a series of Novellas with the word count coming in at 40,000.
* Add it to your Goodreads!
*Preorder on AMAZON for $2.99!


Pronunciation of the name Jai:

Jai = Jye

It rhymes with pie.


Author’s note:

I know what you’re thinking. Why a series of novellas? Why the hell would Skyla Madi write a series of novellas? Well, let me answer that for you right here at the beginning of the book rather than at the end or in a blog post. On January 29th (give or take) I am having a baby. Yay! We’re all very excited here in the Madi household, but unfortunately, it’s not good news for everybody. As you know, or don’t know, newborn babies are hard work and this fresh little bundle of joy will take up most of my time and all of my energy—not to mention my four-year-old daughter, who needs mummy time too.

I don’t want to say it (and the thought of having to kills me), but my writing will suffer and I feel it’s a safe move to write a small series until I’m able to establish a proper routine. There is no ulterior motive to my decision. I’m not trying to earn money by working less than any other author does, that I can assure you. I did my best to keep my readers happy in the nine months leading up to my baby’s birth. I wrote Forever Consumed, The O Intention, The Unfortunates and Slammed but now it’s time to slow it down a little bit. When I’m comfortable, expect many more full-length novels from me. ♥


Why I can’t write that sequel.

So, I was cleaning my house this morning when my phone vibrated with a notification. Like always, I checked it and it was from a reader. She asked about the prequels/sequels to Dark Wings and when I’ll be releasing them considering it has already been a year or so since I wrote it. For a while now I’ve been messaged by readers about Dark Wings and its sequels—which is amazing because I didn’t think that many people were into it. For those who don’t know, I wrote a paranormal romance a while back when I first started out (pre-Consumed).

[This is where the post gets a little personal and more about business than passion.] tense

Normally, I respond with a pretty generic message telling them I’ll write it when I get time, but I think it’s about time I explain the issue in more detail.


I can’t afford to write the sequels to Dark Wings.


I know it doesn’t make sense considering it won’t cost me a cent to produce the books (through my publisher Limitless Publishing), but money isn’t the problem. It won’t cost me money, but it will cost me time. Last year, my husband had spinal surgery and he lost his job. After three years of being a full time stay at home mum, I had to go out and get a job.

And I did.

I worked Monday to Friday and spent my nights writing. Then Consumed transpired and good things started happening to me. My life was booming and we decided it was a good idea for me to quit my job and move houses.

We did. And now writing is the sole income for my family.


Telling my husband to get a job and to help out is the obvious answer everyone jumps to, but let me tell you a little something about your spine. Once it’s damaged, it’s damaged for life. My husband’s spine will never be the same again. He’s not allowed to sit for long periods, stand for long periods, carry heavy items or twist or bend. My husband has done amazing things for our family. He’s worked night shifts, broken shifts and early shifts until his body couldn’t take it anymore. I owe it to him and to my children to support them and bust my ass just like he did.

That’s why I can’t write the sequel.


I have to write in genres that sell in order to keep my house. I have to write about sex and love and all of that other contemporary stuff to feed my family. I have to keep going and growing until it’s impossible for me to do it anymore. Writing The Fortunates (The Unfortunates #2) is risk enough. The Unfortunates sold okay, but didn’t compare to Consumed in sales—not even close—but I am invested in it and will see it through. It has been a year since Consumed was released and it has paid off in ways I couldn’t have imagined. BUT, it’s true. All good things come to an end. I can’t write Consumed novels forever so now I have the task of writing different books in different selling genres in hopes of kick-starting another great series like Consumed. Eventually, I do hope to finish books I’ve started and I hope when that time comes, you will still be there for me because in all honesty, I can’t do what I love without you guys.


MEET AMELIA! (An extremely unedited sneak peek of Slammed.)

Her smell, cinnamon and fermented grapes, blows over me. Amelia sits her wine glass down on the bar and leans against my shoulder. I glance down at her and she bats her long, dark lashes at me. The shadows from the poorly lit bar settle in the hollows of her face and while they linger, she looks more like a demon than angel. .

“You wanna go home?” I ask, despite already knowing her answer.

She shakes her head. “I’m bored, but the night’s still young.”

Amelia pushes off of me and eagerly scans the bar for something to do. Clearing my throat, I shift on my stool. I don’t like it when she gets this look in her eye… like a hungry lion before it pounces. I watch closely as her stare rests on the couple playing darts in the far corner. They were here long before we arrived and they’re still doing the same thing, only drunker. She touches my arm and through her grip, I feel her excitement. It sets me on edge.

“I want to play darts.”

“No, you don’t. You hate darts.”

She rolls her eyes. “Jackson, they’ve been playing forever. It’ll be a public service, really.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to make them move just so you can get your power hit, Amelia.”

Her eyes, as black as glass, thin into seething slits. “He is a little taller than you—and older. It’s okay to be scared of him.”

I scoff. “You think I’m scared of him?”

She doesn’t know me at all. She leans in close and I hold my breath as her glossed lips graze the shell of my ear.

“No.” She says and relief  fills me like a balloon. “I think you’re a pussy.”

With words as sharp as a pin, she pops my balloon and I deflate, losing all sense of relief. I know better than to bite. I know better than to let her under my skin, but I can’t stop it. She’s like a scarab beetle. She burrows under my skin and follows my circulatory system until she’s in my brain and I can’t think of anything else. She said the exact same thing to me when she wanted me to get a tattoo and I didn’t want to. Growing up, I never wanted a tattoo, that was Seth’s goal. Now, I’m barely nineteen and I have an entire left arm sleeve and plans for more. The artist wasn’t kidding when he said they were addictive.

With an exhale, she turns on her stool and slumps over her wine glass. It bugs me! I clench my jaw and try my fucking hardest to ignore her…

…the next thing I know, I’m on my feet and standing right by the couple playing darts.

“Can I help you, kid?” The man asks with a flick of his wrist, sending the thin, metal dart into the left of the board.

“My girl and I want to play darts and you’ve been hogging this board for a while.”

The man turns and looks directly at me. My gaze falls to his thin, graying moustache. “It’s a free country, squirt, and there are no rules here.”

His constant referral to my youth pricks at my temper and I grit my teeth together as his lips pull into a condescending smirk. His blonde haired girlfriend, wearing heels much too high for a place like this, steps closer to her partner with her own smug little grin. He raises his hand to throw the dart and ignores me like I’m nothing.

I glance over my shoulder at Amelia and the look she’s giving me—the look of total disappointment churns my stomach. Rage ignites inside me and this motherfucker’s blood is going to put the smile back on her face. I snatch his hand before he’s able to throw the dart and I pry it from his fingers. Red tints my vision and his absolute disrespect propels me harder, making me hate him more than I really should. I slam the tip of the dart into his thigh and in the distance, I hear his girlfriend shriek.

“Ahh, you fuck!” He growls as he hunches over to protect his thigh.

Not caring if he winds up dead, I grab his head, bunching his wiry hair in one of my hands, and punch him clean in the side of the face, repeatedly, until his body sags against mine. His gesture is clear defeat, but I don’t care. As he folds over himself in front of me, I grip his head with both my hands and drive my knee into his face. Then, my world catches up with me and the silence of the bar becomes too loud, even over the pound of my unsteady heartbeat. I look around and everyone stares… watching me with wide eyes. A second later, the red begins to fade and the regret settles in. It hits me with tremendous force, completely knocking the wind from my lungs. I look down at the man and inch towards him.

To help? I think so.

He lies on the floor, choking on his own blood. My chest tightens—my entire body tightens. I’m going to faint… I lean forward slightly, clenching my stomach. What the fuck did I do that for? His girlfriend rolls him onto his side and cries out for help. The man, the stranger, groans and clenches his thigh. Behind me, Amelia giggles and it sends bile up my throat. How can she enjoy seeing such a scene? She wraps her arm around mine and pulls me away from the man I’ve seriously injured. My hands tremble and the drops of blood that stain them seem to burn like acid on my skin.

“I thought you wanted to play darts…” I mumble, dazed as she escorts me from the low-end bar.

“Ugh,” she scoffs. “I hate darts, you know that.”

My blood runs cold—so cold I’m certain it freezes in my veins. The icy tendrils send chills down my spine and I snap away from her, as if her very touch is turning me to ice.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand, not caring who overhears.

“This again? Jesus, Jackson, will you grow pair already?”

“No!” I shout, making her jump.

It’s not fear that has her watching me closely, it’s excitement. She has to be the only person in the world who gets off on other’s anguish. As her dark irises flick over me, I watch her. Her porcelain skin, red hair and beautiful dark eyes mesmerize me for a second. How’d she get this way? What did she suffer through to make her so… cold? So heartless?

Why’d she choose me? I was young… I still am young. Am I that impressionable? She’s the first girl I’ve ever been involved with, sexually, and it’s enough to completely control me? How? How do I get away from her? I could walk away and never look back… but I have nothing else. I left my Mom and Dad almost a year ago to the day to be with Amelia, and Seth is busy with his own family problems. I have no one else… I pushed them all away to be with her.

She is all I have.

“What are you thinking, Jacky?” She asks, stepping closer.

A devilish twitch pulls at the corner of her lips, but she manages to contain her smile.

“You’re all I have.” I whisper, not sure if I’m telling her or convincing myself it’s real.

“I know I am.”

Amelia allows herself to fully smile and it’s wrapped and wicked. Still, it sends my heart slamming into my ribcage and causes my blood to warm and pool in places I know she wants to touch. The worst part of all of this is the fact I’m unable to hold her accountable for her manipulation… no. The worst part is, she doesn’t force me. I choose to do these things for her, to make her happy—to impress her. As her lips press against mine and her tongue slides into my mouth, I feel my heart blacken and freeze just that little bit more. I can’t escape her.

Not ever.

Forever Consumed Excerpt

I got my wifi connected! FINALLY!! Not being able  to post this excerpt was killing me! *exhales* Enjoy!

(Please note: This excerpt has been posted in its 1st draft form and has not been edited or put through a 2nd draft phase. It is subject to change between now and publication.)

… Pleasure exudes from my core and wraps around my organs. It curls up my spine, wrapping tightly around each vertebrae until it seizes my chest. I can feel his hard length against my backside as Seth’s thick, rough fingers slide with skill over every inch of exposed flesh. I don’t look and it’s not because I’m shy. I don’t look because I’m scared to peek at his devastatingly handsome face in fear of this whole thing disappearing. I’m afraid he will disappear. Poof. All gone in a puff of smoke and I’m back where I started… in a small apartment with no purpose, no real ambitions and no one who loves me as much as Seth does.

Another pulse of white hot pleasure jolts through my body and my breath hitches in my throat. His mouth explores my neck. Inch by inch his lips move as if they’re singling out every pore and hair follicle. He really does know how to make a girl feel special, as if every cell in her body should be appreciated for merely existing. His fingers interchange between pressures and speeds. Soft and hard, hard and slow. Soft and slow, hard and quick. My head spins in my skull as my body pushes itself to the brink of complete chaos. My body goes into a state of anarchy whenever he touches me… it becomes selfish, untameable and insatiable. He knows it, too. He knows exactly how to touch me—how to make me bend to his every whim. I’m not going to lie, it doesn’t take much. All he has to do is look at me with those intense, dark chocolate eyes or smile his killer smile and I turn to putty in his hands.

Preorder a Seth Marc T-shirt!


Okay, so basically, I started a new ‘campaign’ with Teespring. I thought I’d try it out and see how well ‘SETH MARC’ shirts sell. I have set a goal of 25 t-shirts and so far 7 people have preorded. That’s not too bad an it’ll be 8 once I’ve purchased one for myself.😉

I get next to no profit from this campaign (I think it’s something like $20) and I don’t mind. I didn’t create this ‘campaign’ for profit. I did it because I’ve received a lot of requests for a shirt or something with Seth’s name on it.

If I design more, I won’t be making any like this. Only 25 of these particular t-shirts will exist. EVER. I’m excited, however, the catch with Teespring is: ‘if you don’t reach your goal, your shirts don’t get made‘. SO, we need to recruit 18 more fans to preorder a shirt, otherwise no one else gets them and their money is returned. To encourage people, I’ve decided to give away a SIGNED paperback copy of Consumed and Too Consumed and only select from the small list of people that have ordered, so, not only do you get a fantastic Seth Marc shirt, but you can also win signed copies of Consumed and Too Consumed if you preorder.😀

Here’s the link: #sethmarctee



Authors on authors

I’m not usually one to bitch, wait, that’s a lie, I bitch all the time… let me start again, I’m not one to bitch about my ‘author’ life. I LOVE it. When I think about being ‘Skyla Madi‘ I feel like crying, not out of sadness or stress, but out of passion and love. Words don’t do my emotions justice when it comes to my thoughts and feelings about writing. I’m 99% happy with my job… BUT, it’s the constant flow of messages I receive daily–weekly–if I’m lucky, that make up that last 1% that absolutely exhausts me.


I’ll start this huge rant by saying that when I started, I had nobody to help me. I did EVERYTHING myself. Not once did it ever cross my mind to message an author and demand help or a free ride to get where they are. Look at any accomplished author and you’ll see that they’ve been writing for YEARS (most cases, anyway). Don’t get me wrong, I love messages and I love helping people. It’s in my nature. I even reply to people who send me messages in another language, hell, I go out of my way to translate that bitch and have Google translate what I want to say in return, but I CAN’T do it everyday. It’s exhausting–especially when I have to try and decipher a horribly spelled and punctuated message <- which says a lot coming from me, even I’m lazy when it comes to that stuff.


If I receive a nice enough message asking for tips, no problem, I can help–although I have no idea why you’d ask me for tips, I have none. I didn’t follow any instructions… I just did it. I clicked buttons and sent emails. That was it. I know, right? How anti-climactic. I don’t have some huge, exciting success story. My first book wasn’t a crazy bestseller that shot me to the top of the charts. My first book was horrible, my second better, my third = alright, but no cigar and my fourth? I should have tried harder. It took 2 years for me to produce a book like Consumed and still I get all self-judgy (if that’s even a word) and want to re-write it.  I wrote 4 books and only had 300 likes on my Facebook page. FOUR BOOKS! After Consumed, my page jumped by 2,000 likes and THAT’S how I know my writing is improving.

Long story short, I don’t feel like I’m in any position to help anybody. I’m only just getting the hang of it after many books I’d refer to as my ‘failures’.

Also, no, I can’t share your book. Why would I share your book if I’ve never read it? I’ll only share a book if I’ve read and loved it. And no, I won’t like your page because you liked mine. All of the pages I like are things I genuinely have interest in. Don’t recruit me to boost your likes. If I’ve liked a page of an author I haven’t read yet it’s because we socialised on threads and in groups and I like them as a person and wouldn’t mind getting one of their books. It works as a reminder. Not to mention, I write romance so I’m not going to like your sci-fi page.

I hate feeling like a bitch. I hate having to moan and complain–especially when I could be writing one of my (long list of) novels, but I can’t tolerate it any more. I’ve even resorted to listening to Korn and Rage Against the Machine to ease some of my frustration. I haven’t listened to them since I went through my ‘angry’ stage as a teenager. (LOL!) Lastly, no, I won’t marry you. I’m already married and although I’m sure you’re a nice person it’s actually illegal to have two husbands, I know, I’ve already tried to get extra help around the house, but apparently there’s a thing called bigamy and it’s frowned upon here. ;)

Come on guys, you want to be an author? Put in the hard yards like everybody else. Stop looking for handouts. It’s actually insulting. I struggled, I struggled so hard to improve. I read all of my negative reviews, looking for clues that could help me. (FYI reading negative reviews actually kills your soul, but don’t worry, it works like sipping vervain. I can tolerate it now)tumblr_inline_mme6h6mvjk1qz4rgpI took every slice of information my editor and publisher gave me and thought long and hard about it. In between novels I wrote shitty short stories, trying to improve and I am improving. The day I stop pissing off my editor with my crappy wording is the day I’ll stop trying to improve. The day one of my novels has 100,000 ratings and a 5 out of 5 star average is the day I’ll stop trying to improve.
Did you spend MONTHS writing a book thinking it’s the greatest thing in the world only to publish it and one person downloads it (thanks Mum!)? Let it go and write another. Write a better one. When that fails, write another. Keep going. Demand people to take notice of you. Make them see your name everywhere because people are raving about your book, not because you’re harassing them to share your link or  like your page.  Don’t degrade yourself. You wrote a damn book, that is AWESOME! But don’t assume everyone else thinks it is.

Ahhhh, that feels better. I hope those reading this don’t take it as a ‘DON’T MESSAGE ME!’ threat. I don’t mean that at all. I love hearing from people and even like to mindlessly chat about random things, but please don’t message me, asking me to harass my followers. Facebook’s algorithm is annoying. The more frequently you post, the less people see so that shit is precious and I like to save it for important things like teasers or half naked men.😉

Anyway, that’s me for the night. I guess I should get my writing on.

Peace and love to all.



Forever Consumed Prologue

Hi all!
Here is the Prologue of Forever Consumed. It is unedited and still in its first draft form. It may change between now and its release. 

This prologue isn’t anything new. We are aware Seth and Olivia get married, but here is a tiny little insight into that special day.🙂


Prologue  – Olivia
He holds my body tightly against his. His fingers are splayed on the small of my back and I swear I can feel his skin burn through my dress as I try my best not to melt in his hands. We dance, slowly. We’ve been dancing this way for what seems like hours. I sigh in his arms and lean more of my weight against him. I had dreams of how my wedding would go as a child, but this surpasses it. Seth surpasses all of my wildest dreams and fantasies. Underneath my ear, I hear his heart beat in even, spellbinding rhythms through his crisp suit and the sweat on the palm of his hand mixes with mine.
He is my Seth.
My husband.
When I met Seth, I never imagined our life twisting together in such a way. I wanted him. I wanted to taste him, to touch him. It was pure sexual attraction… until something changed. We connected, and once our souls touched, they refused to let go. Now we’re here, standing underneath the prettiest crystal Elise chandelier I have ever seen as husband and wife, dancing to slow songs I’ve never heard before. Our mothers played the biggest part in organizing our wedding. Seth and I were willing to have a small wedding, hell, even eloping in Vegas was an option at one point, but our parents refused, both claiming we needed something memorable. I didn’t need extravagance to make it memorable, Seth was enough, yet, here we stand after having caved to our mothers’ wishes. They got what they wanted—extravagance, elegance and every family member we have all lumped into the one room in their finest clothes to watch their babies get married. I don’t mind because I have what I want too. Him. I have him and he is all I want… he is all I’ll ever want.
I feel his body shift as he lowers his head closer to mine.
“Are you ready to get out of here?”
I’ve been ready to get out of here for hours. I pull back from him and I’m met by his mesmerizing dark chocolate eyes. I’ve always liked his eyes—even more so now that they’re officially attached to my husband.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of mentally thinking that word. Not that I’ll ever admit aloud. Seth has a habit of tormenting me until my face is red and burning. He loves it. He loves getting under my skin and as much as I love seeing his eyes flare, pleased with my reactions, or his over-confident smirk that makes me want to suck his lips right off his face, it’s annoying. He is annoying—quite possibly the most annoying man I’ve ever met… and I fucking love him. I love him with everything I have.
“I’ve been dying to ditch our families since we kissed at the church.” I mumble so Seth’s grandparents don’t hear.
They smile at Seth and I as they waltz by, completely unaware of the increasing sexual tension between us.
“Since we kissed?” He asks, smiling that Goddamn smile at me. “Really?”
“That is awfully slack on your part.”
I frown at him and he leans forward, bringing his lips right to my ear. “I’ve been dying to runaway with you from the moment I saw you step through the door.”
I laugh. “That was only six or seven minutes before our kiss.”
He shrugs, still swaying me from side to side. “Okay, so I’m six or seven minutes more attracted to you than you are to me.”
I roll my eyes. “How can you be more attracted to me than I am to you? Have you seen you?”
Seth angles his head, his eyes smiling along with his lips. “Have you seen you?”
His hand slips lower onto the curve of my backside and my breathing instinctively deepens. He pulls me harder against him and I feel every firm inch of his body. I drop my head against his chest with a heavy moan and he groans under his breath, his fingers twitching on my ass before reluctantly returning to a safer position on my hip.
“You better stop that or this whole room is going to see just how hot you get me.”
“You tell me to stop it like it’s possible around you.” I chuckle, snuggling into him.
My feet ache, my face muscles hurt from smiling too much and I couldn’t be happier.
“We’re getting out of here and it’s time to test your acting skills.” He mutters, before wrapping and arm around my shoulders. Huh? I try to angle my head to look up at him, but he squeezes me harder against his torso.
“Tired, is she?” I hear Mom ask. I feel her hand brush over my hair.
“She’s very tired.” Seth replies with a sigh. “We might head off.”
He lessens his grip and I guess it’s my turn to act. Luckily for him, I passed drama in school with flying colors. I fake a yawn as I turn to Mom and I hear Seth scoff under his breath. What? I’m not doing that bad a job. Mom brushes a lock of hair from her eyes and generally looks concerned with how tired I am. I give Seth a subtle smug glance and he rolls his eyes.
“I need a bed.” I tell her. “My feet hurt and my eyes are aching.”
She pats my shoulder and slightly pinches the flesh in a way only a mother can. “You go, sweetheart. You’ve had such a big day.” She turns her eyes on Seth. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not a drop.”
Her sharp eyebrows furrow. “I saw you at the bar a couple of times tonight.”
“Chilled water only, I promise.”
She studies him for a little while and Seth isn’t fazed in the slightest by it. Meanwhile, I’m still standing here with a forced sag and heavy eyes.
“Fine, I believe you.” Her lips twitch. “You have fun. I’ll see you both in two weeks.”
She pulls us into a hug and lingers for a few seconds. “You made us all very proud today,” she sniffles. “Picture perfect.”
When she lets us go, Seth grabs me and quickly pulls me from the hall. I admit it, I do feel a little bad for bailing on our families but I can’t be with Seth a second longer without jumping him. Seth pulls me along next to him as he breaks out in a quick jog. I barely keep up with him and his eagerness to get out of here.

When we reach the car, he opens the door for me and helps me inside, careful not to catch my dress in the door. I watch him walk around the front of the car, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He stops under a streetlight to feel deeper into the fabric and I admire him from my seat. Under the bright light, he looks so angelic and pure—so pure I half expect him to grow wings and fly away. When he looks up at me from under his brow and the shadows obscure the majority of his face, I see his darkness. I see the demon he really is and although I admire the sweet, angelic side of Seth, I will be forever consumed by his dark side, the side that does what it wants and takes what it believes it’s owed.

Tonight, we were married and what comes after this moment isn’t anyone else’s business but ours. I have many things planned for him. Things I know will drive him wild and I’ve never been one to kiss and tell… Seth, however, will undoubtedly tell the whole world.

The Unfortunates Sneak Peek

He’d finally slipped into the solitude of his own room and away from his insisting father. ‘It’s your birthday in a couple of days.’ His Father’s voice rang throughout his mind. ‘It’s Sario tradition to receive an Unfortunate on your twenty-fifth birthday.’ Kade dropped into his large leather chair behind his wide oak desk with a heavy exhale. He didn’t want a slave. He had no problem getting sex whenever he wanted and he received it willing from both Fortunates and Unfortunates alike. Kade was a good looking man. He knew it and he was told enough. He believed it was because of his attractiveness that he never had to forcefully take sex from anyone. He’d barely lift a finger and they’d willing bend themselves over his desk, ready to be fucked. Kade had always thought of himself as commanding and it was actions like that that confirmed his belief. He had an undeniable presence and he used it to his advantage whenever he could.

Kade sat forward in his chair and glanced down at the mining documents he’d been prying through for the last two weeks. Something wasn’t right. His mines were collapsing, closing off important tunnels and barricading his slaves inside. Something was happening and he studied the small, hand drawn map trying to find a pattern.


A creak crept through the room as his door opened, but Kade didn’t bother dragging his gaze toward his father and kept it fixated on the map.

“Here she is.”

He stared at his map for a few long seconds more. In his head, he tried to imagine what she looked like—dispassionate eyes, sickly thin and no doubt shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, he lifted his gaze. He felt his pants tighten as his sight traveled up her purple gown, over her wide hips and narrow waist before settling on a very nice pair of voluptuous breasts. He’d never seen an Unfortunate so well… gifted in that department. He dragged his eyes up the last stretch—over her milky chest and onto her face. Her eyes a light shade of violet and her hair, long and auburn. She stood so fiercely and she’d look unafraid if he ignored the uneasy twitch of her fingers. Kade immediately furrowed his brow. She was beautiful—a goddess—too pure for his dark, sinful gaze to rest on and he wanted to destroy it. The glimmer of relief in her eyes as she realized she was his and not his over-fed father’s intrigued Kade. Why? Why did she prefer him over a harmless old man who probably couldn’t get it up? Kade could get it up, easily, and could inflict a hell of a lot more damage to her sweet opening than his father would.

Her wet, pink tongue quickly slipped out to moisten her lip. The small movement snapped something inside Kade and he wanted nothing more than to control her, to wipe the look of hope off her face. Father has good taste and this poor Unfortunate drew the short straw, being as pretty as she is. She was now his and the thought excited Kade. It traveled down his stomach, wrapped around his semi-hard cock and settled in his balls. He wanted to fuck her now—to show her exactly how things were going to go. Lucky for her, he’d already had sex today—an hour ago—to be exact. Kade forced indifference and dropped his attention back to his map. “I don’t want her.”

Kade lied. He liked to play games and he liked to be difficult. There was no excuse short of ‘that’s just how he was raised’.

He knew he couldn’t dive into his Unfortunate right off the bat—mostly because rape did nothing for him—and if he had to get her to want it, he had to break her down. It wouldn’t be hard. All Unfortunates were the same, they craved love and attention. She would too. She had no parents. No siblings. She had no friends—not even a name. She was a blank canvas and he could paint whatever he wanted on her, turning her into the whore he suddenly wanted her to be. But, before he could do that, he had to make her willing to bend for his love. He had to make her desperate for his discipline, his attention and his demands… and she would be eventually.

“She’s a gift. You have to have her.” With one sly, overt look at Kade’s Unfortunate, he turned to leave. “Oh, by the way,” He added, glancing over his shoulder at Kade. “Her name is Nine.”

Copyright Skyla Madi 2014

Oblivion Teaser.

For my Guardian Angel fans, here is an unedited Oblivion teaser. Not much longer now, I promise.

We walked side by side to the door and before we reached it, Eli tugged me behind the ATM machine. My breath hitched in my throat and I almost dropped my chocolate as he pressed me hard against the machine. My eyes fluttered shut on instinct as his mouth descended upon me, molding perfectly with mine. Electricity crackled through me, igniting my blood and as quickly as he kissed me, he pulled away, leaving me breathless.

“Consider that a thank you,” he stepped back. “and because I like your dress.”

Oh-so casually, he drew the cup to his lips and walked off with his free hand stuffed into his pocket. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. How the hell was I meant to survive a second with the council if Eli’s walking around all daring and reckless? An Elite guard could have walked in and seen us. I felt my brows pull together.
I don’t think Eli cared if we were caught.

I hit 30,000 words. Here’s the very last teaser I’ll share until it’s released.

**This is the last teaser I will be showing of Too Consumed until it is released. This teaser is unedited and still in the 1st draft stages. It can change between now and release. **

Jackson ignored the salad and dove straight into his steak, making a big spectacle of it.

“Man, these steaks are killer!”

Selena frowns at him with a small smile on the corner of her lips. I haven’t really spoken to her yet. We haven’t had time alone, but looking at her this afternoon I’d say she is one hundred percent happy with Jackson and he seems happy with her. I try to picture him pissed off and controlling, but I can’t. He’s too laid back and young to be so… difficult. The only strange thing about them is that they still claim they’re ‘just’ friends when I thought they were planning on dating after Seth’s amateur tournament.

“I promise you, it’s legitimately the best thing you’ve ever eaten.” He adds.

I grip my glass of red wine and bring it to my lips, taking a sip. Seth’s chesty chuckle draws everyone’s attention. He’s leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed as he drags an index finger across his bottom lip. His dark eyes flick to me and his mouth curls into a cocky, unapologetic smile. “I don’t know about that.” He says.

Wine catches in my throat and I choke, spluttering like an idiot.

“Oh come on, you two!” Selena groans. “We’re eating dinner.”

Jackson is laughing, head back and mouth full of food. I feel my cheeks burn. I’m glad someone is finding it so hilarious. Seth raises his glass of water to me before taking a mouthful. I scowl at him, but he doesn’t care. He says and does whatever he wants. There’s no censoring him… maybe that’s why I’m so into him. He’s unpredictable—exciting. My scowl quickly melts into a grin and I bite my lip, quickly scooping salad onto my plate and mixing it with my grilled chicken. I can’t be mad about that… it was a compliment, a naughty compliment I’d rather he not repeat, but one nonetheless.

“Relax, Selena.” Seth laughs, sitting forward in his seat. “My words have nothing on what you and Jackson were doing on the lounge room floor when we got home.”

“Maybe not, but after the shower you and Olivia took I’d say we’re even.” Jackson chimes in with a flick of his eyebrows.

Jesus Christ. Kill me now.