Posts Tagged ‘paranormal romance’
May 15, 2011 Filed under: BDSM, book release, erotica, excerpts, menage, paranormal, sci fi, shapeshifter Tags: BDSM, panther shifter, paranormal, paranormal romance, sci fi romance, shapeshifters, spanking
Shifter’s Galaxy: Accommodating Desire is an m/m/f BDSM sci fi story set in the same world world of my Shifter’s Station collection and it’s coming your way in less than a week. Here’s a little sneak peak…..
Shifter’s Galaxy: Accommodating Desire
by Silvia Violet
Ian Hadley opened the door to the reception area for the Alkestis offices. A Vindolesian with the characteristic grass green hair and onyx eyes burst out of Ms Vasilia’s office. “Stupid bitch,” he yelled as he threw a nano tablet at the receptionist, narrowly missing her head. “If that slut thinks she can keep us out of her fucking market, she’s even stupider than I thought.”
Ian stepped into his path. “You would be wise to retract that last statement.”
The Vindo shoved at Ian’s chest. “Fuck off, asshole.”
In one swift motion Ian drew his plasma gun and shoved the man up against the wall, weapon pressed under his chin. “If I or one of my employees hear you refer to Ms. Vasilia like that again, those will be the last words you ever speak.”
“Jeez, lighten up man. You fucking her or something?” Ian shoved the weapon harder against the man’s chin. The Vindo made a choked gasp. “Fine. Fine. I’ll lay off your girlfriend.”
“I respect the women I do business with, and I will defend their honor even if that means some asshole has to die. Don’t let me see you on this station again.”
Ian stepped back and the Vindo scrambled to the door and disappeared down the corridor.
Lucy Vasilia electronically signed a document and folded her nano tablet before looking up at Ian Hadley. She made a final, slow perusal of his well-toned physique, suppressing a sigh that their meeting had come to an end. “That should conclude our business. I’ve sent a copy of the contract to your ship’s computer.”
He smiled, a slow, sensuous curve of his lips. “Excellent.” He made no move to leave her office.
“Did you have further questions?” Lucy managed to keep her tone professional though he made her want to purr.
“I do have one question.” He paused, his bright blue eyes hot and unrelenting. “Would you like company?”
Lucy titled her head and stared at him. “For what?”
His smile deepened. “When I fuck you.”
Lucy sucked in her breath. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”
“I’ve seen your eyes drifting down to my cock. You want this as much as I do.”
She stared pointedly at his crotch. His erection threatened to burst one of the seams of his expensive suit. “You certainly are making a rather impressive display.”
He smirked. “Indeed.”
“I assume you’d like your Head of Security to join us?”
“Ah, so you did do your homework.”
“I never meet with anyone I haven’t researched thoroughly. You hired Langley at Captain Devlin’s suggestion.” It was a statement, not a question.
Ian nodded. “Devlin said to tell you hello by the way.”
“Did he indeed? I take it Chief Langley isn’t fully human.”
Ian shook his head. “He’s not, but I have the impression you won’t be disturbed by his particular needs.”
She grinned. “I’m not as fragile as I look.”
“I never thought you were. So what will it be? How much hard use are you game for today?”
She nearly choked. “I can take whatever you and your lover want to give.”
“You may live to regret that statement. When?”
She held up a finger signaling him to wait and pressed a button on her desk unit, paging her receptionist. “Cynthia.”
“Cancel my next two appointments.”
Ian raised his brows, studying her curiously.
A sharp voiced erupted from the comm. Unit. “With all due respect, Director, the delegation from-“
“My business with Mr. Hadley is taking longer than expected. I will simply have to reschedule.”
“Yes, Director.” Cynthia sounded resigned.
Lucy looked at Ian, fighting the urge to tremble. The sexual heat in his eyes was devastating. She’d never slept with a business associate, and she’d certainly never cancelled an appointment so she could get a quick fuck in her office.
Then again, she couldn’t recall a man who’d ever turned her on as hard and fast as Ian did. She’d glimpsed him with his lover as she’d headed to dinner the night before. Connor Langley was a glorious mix of beauty and pure animal power. He moved with a panther’s grace, but she had no doubt he could kill most men one-handed. She’d been working her ass off. She deserved a treat. “Call Langley now.”
He pressed a button on his wrist unit. “Langley, you’re needed in the Director’s office.”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, we are simply in need of a . . . consultation.”
“I will be right there, sir, ” Langley responded.
Learn more here.
May 2, 2011 Filed under: BDSM, book release, erotica, eye candy, m/m, menage, paranormal, shapeshifter, writing Tags: BDSM, Changeling Press, erotic romance, erotica, eye candy, gay romance, john barrowman, Loose Id, m/m romance, menage, paranormal, paranormal romance, sci fi, shapeshifters, writing
Shifter’s Galaxy: Accommodating Desire, an m/m/f short story, will be available very soon from Changeling Press. I loved having the chance to revisit my Shifter’s Station world with this story, and I’ve got several more story ideas for this spin off series. Here’s an unofficial blurb:
Shifter’s Galaxy: Accommodating Desire by Silvia Violet
Lucy Vasilia is the director of the Alkestis Market, a well-run trading center
catering to both legitimate and black market concerns. She’s not a woman who
normally mixes business with pleasure, but shipping tycoon, Ian Hadley’s
dominating presence and cool control make her knees weak. When he
matter-of-factly proposes a three way with his lover, Security Chief, Connor
Langley, she decides to make an exception and give herself over to pleasure
for an afternoon. But Ian and his dark, dominating lover want far more from
her than a few hour’s dalliance. They intend to make her acknowledge their
soul-deep connection, and they won’t be satisfied until they’ve claimed her in
every possible way.
Seduction of the Captain, a BDSM sci fi set in the same world as Surrender in the Dark, will be coming your way this summer.
Works in Progress
I’m currently working on Protect and Serve: Sex on the Hoof. This is Jason, Natalie’s brother from Savage Wolf‘s, story. I love writing for this series and Jason and his lover, Drew, are a roller coaster ride of humor, angst, and dirty fun.
I’ve got lots of other projects bouncing around in my head. But I think once Sex on the Hoof is done, I’ll be focused on Wet: Reef’s Guardian, part of an upcoming multi-author series for Changeling. I know this one is going to be fun because one of the characters is a cuttlefish shifter. Oh the things I’ll be able to do with that 🙂
After that I’ve got a m/m Christmas story that’s been begging for my attention as well as one featuring intergalactic spies, betrayal, confusion and seriously hot sex.
Apr 25, 2011 Filed under: BDSM, paranormal, recipes, shapeshifter, werewolf Tags: Changeling Press, cop fantasy, erotic romance, erotica, handcuffs, paranormal romance, shapeshifter, steak diane, werewolf
Make Steak Diane. Bake some potatoes. Load them up with butter, sour cream, bacon and cheese. Then come to dinner wearing nothing al all.
Officer Wolf: Silvia’s onto something here. I would definitely go for that. Manly food. Nakedness. Dirty sex for dessert. I’m all for it.
Get better acquainted with Officer Wolf in Protect and Serve: Savage Wolf by Silvia Violet
Apr 11, 2011 Filed under: free story, paranormal, werewolf Tags: erotic romance, erotica, free story, paranormal, paranormal romance, shapeshifter, werewolf
“Damn it!” Samantha tripped over a branch and cursed for the millionth time that night. What on earth had possessed her to go for a walk so close to dark, and how the hell was she going to find her way out of these woods?
An owl hooted and something rustled in the trees behind her. Sam spun around, her hand coming unconsciously to cover her pounding heart. She couldn’t see anything. The narrow beam from her tiny flashlight illuminated only a few feet of the path in front of her. The moon was full but under the dense tree cover, little of its light shone through.
Somehow she’d made a wrong turn, but now she was so lost she would be damned lucky to get out before dawn. She had no clue what trail she was on, but she kept walking, too restless to stop and too scared to dare try to sleep.
Several hundreds yards ahead, the path opened into a clearing. Moonlight shone through the opening in the trees making it appear almost bright there. As Sam got closer, she realized the clearing was occupied. A large black wolf stood right in its center.
It turned toward her, and Sam ducked behind a tree. Her heart hammered in her chest, and sweat slid down her back. She held her breath, not daring to move. But the wolf had heard her. He stared in her direction, a low growl emanated from him mouth. He lowered his nose to the ground and sniffed.
Sam’s lungs burned; she needed air. She wanted to run but stood frozen to the ground. Her fingers dug into the bark of the tree until she felt it rip her skin.
The wolf raised his head and looked right at her. His eyes were the color of the sky on the most perfect of spring days, yet they penetrated her as if he could see straight through the tree and into her heart.
He began to walk toward her.
She tried to get a grip a solid grip on the bark. Could she climb the tree? Could wolves climb trees? Why didn’t she know the answer to that?
She shouldn’t run. Shouldn’t show her fear. But her heart threatened to explode, and she could no longer hold her breath in her burning lungs. It rushed out and then shot back inside in short, harsh pants.
The wolf was so close now she could reach out and touch him if she so dared. The taunting glimmer in his strangely blue eyes told her that he was no big dog wanting to be petted.
Then he lifted his snout and howled. Shivers ran through Sam’s body. And so did a stab of . . . lust? She could only assume it was a reaction to the adrenaline coursing through her body.
Light flashed. It seemed to surround the wolf before dissipating. The wolf raised up on his hind legs. They began to lengthen. His front feet grew into arms. His snout shortened. It all happened too fast for Sam to register the entirety of the change. Within seconds, a man stood in front of her.
A sinfully gorgeous, naked man whose thick, hard cock reached almost to his navel. He stood well over six feet and his muscles were long, lean, and clearly defined just as the wolf’s had been. Closely-cropped black hair stood out on his head like he’d already been rolling around on the ground taking the pleasure his body was intent on. His eyes hadn’t changed. They were still the same shade of sky blue.
Sam wondered if she were dreaming. Had she fallen and knocked her head? Had she fallen asleep as she walked? If she were, she didn’t want to wake up. Not if this man intended to act on the lust blazing in his eyes. He took a step toward her.
She was hyperventilating, but she couldn’t slow her breathing and she couldn’t move. While running from a wild animal was not the best course of action, running from a strange, naked man whose eyes clearly showed the lascivious thoughts in his mind was the only sane thing to do. But this man was also a wild animal. And Sam wasn’t sane. Her body craved him like he was made of chocolate. Hot cream slid from her body, dampening her panties.
The man stepped so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was rich and smooth. Sam’s knees weakened. She nodded in agreement but she didn’t move. This had to be a dream. If is wasn’t a dream she’d be running for her life, not staring at his full lips and wondering when he was going to kiss her.
“The change plays hell on our hormones. When I’m back in human form, all I want is a rough, hard fuck.”
Sam tensed and stopped breathing altogether. She’d grown so wet her panties and jeans were soaked.
“I’m going to count to five. If you’re still here when I’m done, I’ll assume you’re going to give me what I want.”
Sam opened her mouth, but nothing came out besides a squeak.
“One.” Sam looked up into the man’s eyes. The blue had darkened and she either saw or imagined a leap of blue flame. She couldn’t look away.
“Two.” He stepped even closer. If she could remember how to breath, her chest would brush his as she did so. “Three.” He leaned forward and braced his hands on the tree, trapping her between his arms. “Four. Five.”
His mouth crushed hers as his body pinned her against the tree. Sam arched against him, desperately needing pressure on her clit. She rubbed herself against the hard length of his erection while his tongue and teeth savaged her mouth.
He pulled back. She moaned and opened her eyes. His face looked pained. He took another step back. “Take off your clothes, or I’m going to rip them off.”
Dear God, he was barely under control. A jolt of need rocked Sam’s body at the thought. She’d always wanted a lover who would take her with no restraint.
“Now.” The word came out as a growl.
Sam gripped the hem of her T-shirt, pulling it off in one motion. Then she unzipped her jeans and pushed down off her legs, kicking them off along with her shoes. She reached for the clasp of her bra just as the man’s control broke.
He gripped the waistband of her satin panties and ripped them in half. As he tossed them to the ground, he picked up her T-shirt and spread in on the ground like a small blanket. “Get down on your hands and knees.”
She obeyed instantly.
He dropped to the ground behind her and grasped her hips, pulling them so high she was forced to drop to her elbows. She felt the tip of his cock brush across her lips, sliding through her wetness until he could rub it against her clit. She moaned. “Please.”
He gave a low laugh. “I think you’re as hot as I am. And you haven’t even Changed.” She pressed back against him, desperate to feel him inside her.
He groaned. “Get ready.” She sucked in her breath as he positioned himself at her entrance. He pulled her hips back as he thrust, fully seating himself in her. She gasped. Damn he was big. The fullness was almost pain, but her body adjusted quickly. Already she wanted him to move. She whined and tried to move her hips. But he held her against him. “I’ll do the fucking.”
She whimpered. She’d dreamed of a man controlling her like this. She loved it, but still her hips fought his hands. Her need to be fucked overran her need to be dominated.
He started to move, but his pace was too slow. She struggled again. “Please. I need it.”
He wrapped her braid around on of his wrists, jerking her head back. “You’ll get it when I’m ready to give it to you.”
She tried to hold it in, but another whimper escaped.
He pushed on the small of her back until she dropped her chest to the ground.
“Touch yourself while I fuck you.”
She groaned and wiggled until one of her hands could slip beneath her. She let her nails rake her belly before her hand reached her swollen clit. She made a v with her fingers and pressed down just as he surged back into her body. The intensity of the pleasure sent a wave of dizziness through her.
He increased his rhythm as she worked herself, finally giving her the hard fuck he’d promised. He thrust so deep and hard his balls slapped against the lips of her pussy at the end of each stroke, sending jolt of sensation to her clit which felt ready to burst. She hovered on the edge of orgasm.
He reached underneath her, circled her wrist with his hand, and pulled her hand away from her pussy. “I’m not ready for you to come.”
“Please.” She fought him, trying to free her arm. But he held it tight and grasped her other wrist as well, pinning her to the ground as his whole body lay over hers. He fucked her relentlessly. Little cries escaped her lips with every punctuating thrust. Once again, her clit tightened, getting ready to explode. Then he pulled out.
She tried to protest, but she couldn’t catch her breath to speak. He flipped her to her back and pinned her wrists above her head with his hands. Her thighs fell open as his cock to her opening once again. But he stopped there, the tip of his cock barely brushing her. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes. The man’s gaze pinned her as surely as his hands had a moment before. “I want you looking at me when you come.” He thrust into her. Her hips bucked up and she struggled, fighting to feel every inch of him, fighting to get pressure on her clit as his pelvic bone slammed down against hers. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, determined to hold him inside her. This time, he was going to let her come.
Her climax rose like a wave through her body. She was so close. She prayed he wouldn’t stop. He thrust deep and stayed inside, grinding his pelvis against her. Her body tensed. Her breathing stopped. She feared her heart had stopped too. Then pleasure beyond any she’d felt before pulsed out from her clit, wracking her entire body.
He pulled back, but her body gripped him tightly and pulled him back in with contraction after contraction of her pelvic muscles. He growled, low and long. Then he convulsed against her with a shout.
For many long minutes, they lay still. Sam enjoyed the firm weight of him on top of her as she floated in a world of pure sensation.
When he stirred, she expected to feel embarrassment, even horror at what she’d done, but the feelings didn’t come. All she felt was intense satisfaction. She didn’t even care whether she’d really seen him change from a wolf into a man or how that could be.
When he pulled out of her body and sat up, she reached for his arm. His eyes looked down into hers. “Will you be here again on the next full moon.”
He smiled. “Yes, I will. And so will you.”
Mar 31, 2011 Filed under: BDSM, book release, erotica, paranormal, werewolf Tags: BDSM, Changeling Press, cop fantasy, erotic romance, handcuffs, men in uniform, paranormal, paranormal romance, shapeshifter, spanking, werewolf
Woohoo! Protect and Serve: Savage Wolf is available now at Changeling Press!
I’m Wolf, Officer Aidan “Wolf” Savage. I’m a werewolf. But unlike most of my kind these days, I’m one of the good guys even if I do scare the hell out of most people the first time they meet me. When a white-tailed deer shifter comes leaping into my life, she makes my body hotter than an erupting volcano. She’s on the run, and she doesn’t want my help. But I’m not about to let her get herself killed, and I’ll use any means necessary to keep her safe.
Mar 29, 2011 Filed under: book recommendation, interview, paranormal, werewolf Tags: bunny shifter, Changeling Press, cop fantasy, Cynthia Sax, erotic romance, handcuffs, men in uniform, paranormal, paranormal romance, shapeshifter
As I get all squirmy with excitement over this week’s release of my Protect and Serve story, Savage Wolf. I wanted to get to know some of the other men in uniform a bit more intimately *grin*. So I convinced Cynthia Sax to send Officer Drake, hero of Badge Bunny, my way……
Officer Drake: (runs a big hand over his bald head) How do I feel? What kind of pussy shit question is that? Do I look like I have uterus? (looks down at the impressively large bulge in his tight cop pants)
Silvia: (twines hands together to keep from reaching out to touch that clear evidence of manhood) I would never question your manhood. It’s quite . . ..um . . .obvious.
Officer Drake: Hrumph. (studies Silvia, detecting sarcasm in her voice) As for your question, I feel like sunshine and fuckin’ rainbows, that’s how I feel. (rolls his eyes) I hate fuckin’ shifters. One minute they’re human, and the next minute, they’re animals. I wish they’d make up their fuckin’ minds. (holds up one lined palm) Now, before you bust my balls about Savage, I’ll admit that, so far, he’s been an asset to the force, cracking down on the bad guys, and yeah, rumors say he’s saved his partner’s ass more than once, but he’s still a shifter, damn it, and you never know if the wolf side will bust loose and he’ll do something crazy ass sick like tear a shoplifter’s throat out, or sniff a fellow officer’s ass.
Silvia: Wolves can be unpredictable but some of us enjoy a bit of danger. (looks Officer Drake up and down leaning over to look at his tight ass and thinks that if she were a shifter she’d damn well sniff it) You look like a rather dangerous man
Officer Drake: I’m dangerous only if you break the law. Break the law, and I’ll throw your pert ass in the clink, or worse, plug a hole in you… another hole. So I’m wondering… have you been a good girl, or a bad girl, Silvia?
Silvia (noting handcuffs hanging from his belt): Oh Officer, I’m afraid, I’ve been very bad. Do you get the chance to use those handcuffs often? What would someone for that particular privilege . . .um . . . I mean punishment?
Officer Drake (dangles handcuffs from the tips of his fingers): These aren’t just for show. Are you coming with me peacefully, or do I have to restrain your sexy self?
Silvia (licks lips slowly): I do believe I’m in the mood to put up quite a struggle. You’re only getting me out of here if I’m thoroughly restrained.
Officer Drake (grins wickedly): I’ll use whatever means necessary to get my gal. (lunges at Silvia)
If you haven’t had the pleasure of getting to know Officer Drake, I highly recommend you check out Badge Bunny. It’s hot, wicked, and hilarious.
Mar 28, 2011 Filed under: BDSM, book release, excerpts, paranormal, werewolf Tags: BDSM, Changeling Press, cop fantasy, erotic romance, handcuffs, paranormal romance, shapeshifter, spanking, werewolf
Later this week, Protect and Serve: Savage Wolf will be released. Isn’t the cover simply luscious? I’m so excited about being part of this fantastic series. Here’s a little taste of what my story has to offer…..
I’m Wolf, Officer Aidan “Wolf” Savage. I’m a werewolf. But unlike most of my kind these days, I’m one of the good guys even if I do scare the hell out of most people the first time they meet me.
I’m a damned good cop. If I’m tracking a criminal, he doesn’t stand a chance of getting away. I love the chase, the take-down, the chance to be scary-as-hell, but there’s one thing I hate about this job: stakeouts.
That’s what tonight is all about, sitting in a hot, muggy car, eating doughnuts and watching the woods for signs of life. Man what I wouldn’t give for a beer right now. And a warm house and a warm woman. Ok, that train of thought isn’t doing a damn thing for me. Because my partner and I are stuck right here until we see something, or the sun comes up.
Jacobson, my partner, crushes his paper coffee cup and tosses it in the bag that serves as a trashcan. “I so don’t want to do this shit tonight.”
I don’t think his comment deserves a response so I take a sip of my own coffee, which is damn near empty too.
Jacobson stares hard at the fence outside his window. “Do you actually think we’re going to see anything? Anyone could have dumped those bodies by the park. Why would they come back now?”
We’re parked along the outer perimeter of City Park. In it’s heyday it was a place for city residents to relax, have a picnic, get some exercise, and remember what trees actually looked like. When the economy went south, the city stopped maintaining it. Now it’s an overgrown eyesore used primarily by the homeless, drug addicts, and kids looking for a thrill.
The department is constantly getting complaints about the vermin that thrive in the undergrowth, both animal and human. But recently, the volume of calls about trouble in the park has increased, and two teenagers were found dead at the park’s northern gates last night. They’d been shot, execution style.
I take another sip of coffee before responding to Jacob’s questions. “We’ve had too many complaints and none from the usual suspects. Something’s up.”
“Gang initiation?” Jacobson suggests.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
His eyes narrow. “You smell something, don’t you?”
I nod. Under the smells of sex, beer, and greasy food, there’s an odd chemical odor. I can’t place it, but I’m certain it doesn’t belong in the park. It hadn’t been there a few months ago when I’d pulled the short straw and been sent to run off a bunch of kids who’d come out here to party.
Before I can describe the smell to Jacob, I hear distant footsteps pounding the pavement. “Someone’s running this way. Someone fast.”
Jacob nods. I doubt he can hear a thing, but he’s learned to trust my non-human ears without question. A few seconds later, a woman comes into view. She’s wearing a sundress and a pair of high-heeled sandals so I doubt she’s running for her health. Not that any sane woman would be at night in this part of town.
She has straight, reddish-brown hair that swings past her waist. Her heavy, round breasts are barely contained by her dress. Long shapely legs reach out for the ground making my cock sit up and say hello. Her strides are so long she’s practically leaping.
She’s moving faster than any human should be in shoes like that. The wolf inside me begs me to chase her for the sheer thrill of apprehending such a hot piece of flesh. But my cop instincts tell me this woman is our key to what’s actually going on in the park.
Jacobson reaches for the door handle, but I lay a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Not yet.”
“She’s not out for an evening jog, Wolf. Someone’s chasing her.”
“Exactly. And we need to know who and why.”
Learn more here.
Mar 24, 2011 Filed under: guest blogger, paranormal, TV, vampire, Vampire Week Tags: Anti-heroes, Cat Marsters, erotic romance, Kate Johnson, paranormal romance, vampire, Vampire Week
Today Kate Johnson is with us to share what she loves about Being Human’s John Mitchell……
The other day on Twitter a couple of acquaintances made it known to me that I have somewhat, er, unusual taste in men. Well, in crushes, at any rate. I still don’t think it’s at all peculiar to fancy James Marsters as Spike, but I will admit that John Simm’s The Master isn’t traditional crush material. It’s just, he’s so charming. So much fun, with such a great line in smart quips. So what if he wants to subjugate a whole planet? You’d never have to clean the bathroom again.
So of course, when it came to BBC’s Being Human, it was almost inevitable I’d fancy the pants off Mitchell. That accent. Those eyes. That sense of humour. His befanged, tortured history. His occasional tendency to rip out people’s arteries. “My name is John Mitchell, and I’ve killed more people than you’ve met,” is possibly one of my favourite lines. Well, that and the ‘skinny jeans’ conversation.
I’m no stranger to crushing on vampires, and the more twisted the better. As a teenager it wasn’t Brad Pitt who did it for me in Interview With A Vampire, it was Tom Cruise. “There’s life in the old corpse yet!” Then, of course, came the Buffy years. Was it Angel for me? Hell no. Give me a vampire who kills people with railroad spikes and looks good in eyeliner. I mean, I even named my cat Spike (he’s gorgeous, has white hair, and occasionally kills things. Couldn’t resist).
So then there was Mitchell. What is it about him that’s so appealing? Quite apart from the eyes, accent, et cetera. I suppose he does get his kit off quite a lot, that helps. And you know what, the vampirism isn’t sanitised. There’s no Twilighty longing here. When Mitchell gives into his need for blood, terrible things happen. People die. Horribly. When Mitchell and Lauren feed from each other in that hotel bathroom the whole place is drenched in blood. When Mitchell & Daisy go insane on that train, there are intestines all over the place. It’s not pretty. Being a vampire isn’t pretty.
But of course for Mitchell it’s not all about being a vampire, it’s about, well, being human. He can’t deny the otherness of his nature but he can try to become better. He surrounds himself with normal people and takes a menial job in a hospital. He tries, really hard. And deep down, underneath all that monsteriness, he actually is a good man. He comforts Annie when she’s upset, he befriends a lonely boy who has no male role model, he even gives out fashion advice (“Seriously, George. Skinny jeans?”). He’s the father figure in the house, or at least the big brother.
He has an internal struggle in the way the others don’t. George literally can’t control his inner beast. When it’s full moon, he’s got no choice but to go insane, and worry later about what he’s done. Annie’s conflicts are all about other people. She can’t physically hurt anyone; she can’t even physically touch anyone. Neither of them have to constantly police themselves like Mitchell does. He can control himself…can’t he?
I don’t want to give away any Series 3 spoilers, because it’s aired here in the UK but I don’t think it has in the States. But, oh my God, there are some big things happening. With Mitchell. At the end of S2 he had a bit of a meltdown. Well, he massacred a train carriage full of people. That sort of thing weighs heavy on a man’s conscience. And yet he can still find time to flirt with a ghost or two and make some smart quips about a stinky zombie. Of course, he still hasn’t found time to wash his hair or find out how deodorant works, but hey. He’s a busy vampire.
As Lia, his guide in purgatory—yes, there’s purgatory in S3—says, “What’s got two thumbs and just lucked out? Hello. No, I’ve always been lucky. You should rub me. I’m serious. Rub me.”
Mitchell, you can rub me any day.
And here’s a taste of one of Cat’s own vampiric creations…..
By Cat Marsters
Available 19th March 2010 from Changeling Press
Emma and Aidan can’t keep their hands off each other. There’s just one little problem: she’s sworn to kill all vampires and he likes the taste of blood a little too much.
Emma’s been raised in the knowledge that all vampires are evil. After all, they’re responsible for the death of her parents. Meeting Aidan shouldn’t change a thing: so he might be the most beautiful man she’s ever seen; he’s still a vampire, and it’s her duty to kill him, not to get him naked. Even if his Irish charm and quiet morality are extremely persuasive.
Aidan’s come back to town to avenge the death of a very old friend. But far from the old zealot he expected, his new enemy is a young redhead with a killer body. She’s determined to wipe out all vampires, and Aidan sees it as his duty to save his own kind.
And if he has to seduce her to do it, so much the better…
Warning: This title contains explicit language and sexual content not suitable for readers under the age of 18.
I saw my first vampire when I was sixteen. He was incredibly beautiful, a pale, tortured creature haunting the school corridors. An unearthly concoction of glittering skin and soulful eyes, drawing the yearning, desperate love of every girl in school.
I drove a stake through his heart, of course.
So when a vampire walked in through the doors of Oh My Goth one Friday night about ten years later, my fingers twitched for the stake in my bag. Unfortunately, my bag was in the back room, and no part of my outfit would have concealed it. Added to which, my boss would probably complain if I staked a customer in the shop. And I’d get stuck with cleaning up the blood.
The vampire was a looker. It’s a trick of fiction to persuade us that all vampires are hot. They’re not, just as not all humans are gorgeous. The better-looking ones are more successful, however. They attract more prey, which makes them stronger. Simple as that.
This one moved like a predator, the swagger and grace of a creature who won’t ever be challenged. A man who knows no woman can turn him down. A hunter who doesn’t believe he can be beaten.
I watched him move around the shop, graceful and predatory, even as my brain checked and discarded every available item it could think of which might be used as a weapon.
He was tall and lean in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and maybe I could stun him with one of the heavy coffee-table Bible of the Dead books he was slinking past. No, vampire skulls were thicker than that.
He had dark hair, black maybe, curly and tousled and just brushing his collar, and now he was prowling past the crucifix earrings, maybe I could use those. No, probably not—symbols of religious belief only really work if you actually do believe—and in my experience they’re still not terribly effective on anything but the newest vampire.
His skin was pale, like that of most Caucasian vampires. He didn’t gleam with the sheen of the newly-fed, which probably worked in his favor. If he looked like he’d just eaten someone, I’d have to leap over the counter and bludgeon him to death with a coffin-shaped handbag.
He needed a shave, which was somewhat unusual amongst vampires, unless they were very old, before the art of clean shaving had been perfected. Maybe I could offer him one of the ceremonial knives to shave with, and then accidentally cut off his head with it. No. The blades were quite small, and I’d have to do a lot of hacking. Think of the carpet.
His eyes were dark, narrowed slightly as he glanced at the admittedly tacky range of Goth gifts for sale. His lips were shapely, and I could see no sign of fangs. Not that it would have bothered most of our clientele if he’d been displaying them.
The vampire moved past the range of dying flowers on the Valentines display to the Turnbury Murders exhibition, and as he looked up I saw his eyes were a chocolatey shade, with dark lashes. His bone structure was impeccable, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His nose might have been broken once or twice, but that only served to make his perfection a little more human.
Except that he wasn’t human, and I was considering stabbing him in the heart with an ornamental fan.
I could follow him outside when he left, perform some of my usual look-at-my-neck moves—the vampire version of the crooked finger—and lure him around to the little yard at the back of the shop. Probably, I could hide his body there until the shop closed, and with any luck he might have disintegrated enough to simply be tossed in the organic recycling bin.
Then the vampire turned to look at me, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d assessed the details, inventoried features, dispassionately noted his good looks—but now he was looking directly at me, and that dark chocolate gaze was reaching right out to me and begging me to succumb. He had come-hither eyes, and I sure as hell wanted to hither and come.
Stake through the heart, I reminded myself as he prowled over to the counter. Poison in a pretty bottle. A gorgeous vampire is still a vampire.
Goddamn, he was pretty though.
“I wonder if you could help me,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips, and either the bastard was putting on an Irish accent to be charming or he was actually lucky enough to open his mouth and speak like that naturally. I wasn’t sure which would have been the more annoying.
“I’m sure I can try,” I replied, as politely as I could—which is to say, not very polite. Thankfully, people don’t expect someone working in a shop which sells coffin handbags to actually be polite, which suits me to the ground.
“I’m looking for information about the Turnbury Murders,” he said, and my eyes narrowed.
“Well, we have lots of it in our exhibition,” I said, waving at the wall.
He smiled then, a proper smile, a wide grin that lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. His teeth were decent, which told me that despite his lack of shaving standards, he wasn’t a terribly old vampire. More than a hundred or so years old and the standard of dental hygiene was so dismal a lot of vamps had a mouthful of brown teeth. Only their fangs looked remotely healthy.
But this vampire, Mr. Handsome Irish Charmer, had perfect pearlers. And dark chocolately eyes, and carelessly long hair. And now he’d moved closer I could see the muscle definition beneath his clothes. He had on a couple of layered t-shirts, frayed and faded, and the hand resting on the counter wore a fingerless glove. His leather jacket was worn in several places, and the silver chain vanishing under his shirt was tarnished.
A lot of vampires tended to dress like they were homeless, and I’d still never quite worked out why.
This guy made it look like the height of style.
“I’m interested,” said the vampire, “in Joan Moorcroft, and William Huntley, and Lizzie Bathgate.”
His eyes suddenly became less like chocolate and more like wood, old, hard wood, the kind that’s turned rocklike with age and hard use, and can’t be shattered by anything.
The three people he was asking about had been vampires. And they’d been killed by me.
“There’s not much information up there about them,” the vampire continued. His gaze never left mine.
“Not very much is known about them,” I replied steadily. “It’s not even certain they were murdered. They simply disappeared.”
Those three vampires had been old, old enough that their bodies disintegrated with nauseating speed. Torrence had simply scooped their crumbling bones into a weighted bag and dumped it in the sea.
“And where do you think they disappeared to?” asked the vampire. His nails were short and clean, his fingers elegant.
I held his gaze. “I think they probably went home,” I said. “We have some books on the Turnbury Murders, if you’re interested.”
“I’m just interested in those three.”
“Well, we have very little information on them,” I said. He was lean, but muscular. Probably knew how to use his body in a fight.
He continued to stare at me. “I knew Lizzie Bathgate,” he said, his voice very low.
“Did you? Then I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Loss? I thought she went home?”
“Well, maybe you should try calling her there.”
“Lizzie was never very good with phones.”
“Wasn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. I’d given up the pretense of being polite.
“They were somewhat before her time.”
I smoothed my hands over a stack of Turnbury Murders leaflets. “How unfortunate.”
“She’d have been more than seventy when they were invented.”
“Is that so.” The nearest wooden object was a pencil far too small to really do any damage with, but I rolled it under my palm in a move I doubt he missed.
“Which would make her nearly two hundred years old.”
“Well, she didn’t look a day over twenty,” I snapped.
There it was. A tiny softening in those hardwood eyes, a tilt of his head, and an utter lack of surprise. The vampire knew who I was.
The three or four other customers in the shop barely turned their heads. Daisy, the only other member of staff present, was helping a girl try on corsets in the changing room. The gloomy Emo music Daisy preferred kept our conversation private.
I was alone with a vampire who knew who I was, and the only weapon I had was a damn pencil.
“You’re Emma Howard,” he said.
“My reputation precedes me,” I said curtly.
“Young vampire hunter with curly red hair and a killer body,” he said, surveying what was visible of said body behind the counter. His eyes caressed me as a lover’s would. “There can’t be many about.”
“Did you want something?” I snarled.
His eyes met mine again, and he smiled, the motion lazy.
“I want plenty,” he said. He reached towards me, and I tensed, prepared to fight him bare-handed if I had to, but all he did was slide a Guide to the Turnbury Murders leaflet from under my palm.
“Thanks for the information,” he said, and one eyelid quirked in what might have been a wink. Rage nearly consumed me.
“Be seeing you,” the vampire said, and sauntered out as casual as anything.
Beneath my hand, the pencil snapped in two.
Mar 23, 2011 Filed under: book recommendation, excerpts, guest blogger, interview, paranormal, vampire, Vampire Week Tags: erotic romance, Loose Id, paranormal, paranormal romance, Selena Illyria, vampire, Vampire Week
Today the seductive Selena Illyria joins us with her thoughts on vampires…..
Like Moths to a Flame by Selena Illyria
They’re dark, dangerous and oh so seductive. They can be animalistic, primal and savage in a minute and in the next they’re weaving a silken web of desire in us, winding us so tight that we can’t resist. Perhaps it’s the age. Being immortal has its perks. To a vampire an eon is a blink of the eye. What wonders they could see, the good and bad of humanity. It’s fascinating and yet terrifying to know that this person could have seen everything from say the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to the Moon Landing.
Despite that fear, there is also the knowledge they could pick up. *wicked grin* Think of all the delicious delights they could have learned along the way, all those tips and tricks to make you squirm, scream and cry out in ecstasy. But it’s not all about the sex and danger is it? Well, maybe it could be depending on how you view it.
I find both sides of the coin fascinating. In a sense you have monster and lover all rolled into one. Think about it, you could have this ancient being, this person who’s seen it all and probably done most of it interested in you, of all the people they could pick. And yet depending on the kind of person you get, you could have the Saint or the Sinner or the devil in your bed. Pretty heady, yes? The question is what kind of vampire would you like?
There’s also something forbidden about the fact that they feed off of blood, our life source. You are literally they’re purpose for life, what’s keeping them alive, their next breath depends solely on you. Whoa, powerful , yes? There’s also the fact that we’ve grown up being told that drinking blood, at least in some cultures, is bad, wrong, you could be damned and here is a creature that does it. We’re defying societal and religious norms to be with this person. Romeo and Juliet eat your heart out! Brushing all that aside, what is it that you find sexy? Fascinating? Desirable? Irresistible? Who inducted you into the dark side and made want, yearn, for that painful kiss? Answer these questions and be entered to win a copy of Blood Claim: Trapped.
I know I love the danger and seduction of the vampire and I’m fascinated by how much they’ve seen and all the things I can learn. But let’s be honest, it’s mostly for the danger. lol
An excerpt from Blood Claim: Trapped:
Kit has never forgotten the cruel way Rysen rejected her as a possible consort over a hundred years ago. She’s striven to get stronger, pushing her attraction to him down and using her anger as fuel.
Rysen has always regretted the way he rejected Kit. As much as he loved her, Rysen despised the way her clan tried to use her as a political gambit for power and protection. But he never stopped wanting Kit, trying to make her his in every way possible.
When enemies attack, they use old magic to seal themselves off and stay safe. But now they find themselves trapped with a century of hunger rising between them….
Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, domination.
Rysen ignored the throbbing of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck her right now, he couldn’t. She was unconscious and she was hurt. When he got her in his bed, she was going to be awake and strong and enjoying every last bit of it.
His gaze roamed over her bruised and battered face. “Gods, she is beautiful,” he murmured. He leaned down, scooped her up in his arms, and held her close. He took in her mocha skin, some patches darker with bruises. One eye was swollen shut. He regretted every mark, every bruise, every injury he had inflicted on her, but words did not work with her. Ever since he had passed her over a hundred years ago, when her clan had offered her to him as one of his consorts, she’d loathed him, and she’d taken up her clan’s fight to avenge his insult against them.
He had wanted her — by the gods, he had wanted her — but he had always felt she was just too fine to bring into his world. She deserved better than to be a political sacrifice. His body shuddered at the very thought of her in his bed, arms over her head, tied to the bedposts, her legs spread far apart, her hairless mound glistening with her dew. Her pussy already dripping, ready for him to fuck her hard, fast, and deep. He wanted the image in his head so badly, and yet he knew if he even tried to make a move, she’d either kill him or die trying. He was tired of fighting her. He wanted to tie her to his bed, blindfold her, and show her the delights that could be had if she would only let him dominate her.
Carrying her up the stairs, he held her body close, cradling her like a precious relic. He made his way to the second floor. Out of all the women he’d ever encountered, she inflamed him like no one else. Her oval face, with her large, liquid brown eyes flecked with red, haunted him. Her full lips beckoned him. The graceful column of her neck invited him to sink his teeth into her jugular and drink deep of her life essence. He wanted to cup her small, high breasts and watch his hands travel along the curves of her sides, over her hips, down her thighs, caress her calves, and massage her feet. He wanted to rub his scent into her skin so that all would know she belonged to him and only him. There would be no others if she agreed to be his consort.
He could smell the odious poison in her blood. The wound on her palm was still open, blood slowly dripping from the cut. He would have to drain most of her blood and give her some of his. She would hate him for that.
Giving her his blood would allow him to track her wherever she went, to invade her thoughts and dreams, sense her moods, even from thousands of miles away. He would know if she were with someone else, he could even see through her eyes and take control of her body. He was the third chieftain of the Vampyre nation. He was the third most powerful vampyre in existence, his clan the third largest, and he was also third in line to ascend to the throne of the Vampyre monarchy. All he needed was a queen.
He made his way through a hallway and couldn’t understand why she’d bought this horrid place. It had no class, no sophistication. It was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods, the nearest town five miles away.
“How in the hell is help supposed to get here in case of an emergency?” he asked the sleeping figure in his arms. “And it’s not even pretty land. For the love of the gods, the garden is overrun with weeds. The lake is a cesspool, and I have yet to see one animal around here. My darling, you should have taken my offer to make you a queen. Then you could’ve had all the beautiful land you could want.”
Even in sleep she defied him. As if on its own, her hand rose and tried to hit him.
He chuckled. “I shall call it a pet project for you, then. A hobby. But this should not be your life. You’re too talented to waste your gifts on this place.”
She tried to hit him again. He wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss the back of it, brush his lips against the pulse point and feel her heart beat. He looked up and saw he was only a few feet away from the bedroom he sought, the largest one at the end of the hallway. He could feel the rival vampyres outside, walking around, plotting their next move. Once he saw to her comfort and recovery, he would go outside and destroy them.
“How dare they interrupt our fight,” he growled. “As soon as I know who they are, they will be dealt with.”
If he had won, she would have been forced to concede to him, and therefore her fate would be in his hands. As much as he hadn’t wanted it to come down to that, he would have preferred it to the suicide mission she seemed to be on when she decided it was in her best interest to fight him.
“So stubborn is my darling,” he murmured softly. He loved her for that. He loved everything about her.
He kicked open the door and looked around. He was relieved to see that the room was in good condition. The furniture was of good quality, no dust or broken items. A large bed, piled high with pillows and bed coverings, stood against a far wall, the headboard a wrought-iron monstrosity whose top nearly hit the ceiling.
“This will do for now. You, my darling, deserve so much more.” His cock throbbed at the thought of laying her down in the silks, satins, furs, and velvets of his own massive bed. He shook his head. He wouldn’t feed his sexual desire now, not yet anyway. He refused to leave her while some unknown threat waited outside, prowling around looking for a weakness in Blyder’s protection spells.
“They won’t find them,” Rysen murmured as he arranged her on the bed and pulled off her boots. He paused, wondering if he should undress her to see how extensive the damage was. Making up his mind, he gently took off her tank top. Next, he removed her jeans and then her underwear.
Once she was naked, he catalogued all that he saw. Though his body reacted to the sight of her, his mind worked overtime to keep his lust at bay. He could see the bruises and wounds slowly starting to heal or disappear, but not fast enough. He took hold of her wrist and held it, palm up. Her self-inflicted wound had not disappeared.
She was too weak. Her immune system wouldn’t be able to defend itself until she had fully recovered. The poison was working much too well.
Swearing, he placed her arm gently on the bed and shrugged out of his black leather duster. Kneeling, he took hold of her arm and brought it to his mouth. His tongue lapped at the spot he would bite into, preparing it to stave off infection.
His canines extended. His body began to heat, and his cock grew harder. He kissed her pulse point before biting down, and his back arched as her blood hit his tongue. The sweet, salty, metallic flavor caused his taste buds to explode with pleasure. His eyes drifted closed while her life filled his mouth like sweet, hot lava. The faint bitterness of the poison did not dampen his pleasure; it was nothing to one of his strength. He drank of her, careful not to drink too much.
A soft moan drew his attention. He saw her back arch, her breasts thrust into the air. The scent of her desire filled his nostrils, and he moaned in response. Blood slipped from his mouth, coating his chin, dripping down to stain his shirt.
“Easy, darling. Be at peace. I’m going to take the poison from you,” he whispered with his mind.
“I’m dying,” she responded.
“No. I won’t allow it. You will not meet the Great Maker now or ever, if I have my way. Relax, my darling. Let me take care of you.”
“Do it,” he growled out.
He felt her resist before he reached out with his power. Like a whip cutting through the air, his power flicked out into the space between them; like rope, he wrapped his will around her, pressing her down to the mattress. Her body flinched before relaxing back onto the bed. Once he was sure he had taken enough of her blood, he reluctantly released her wrist and lapped at the wound. Once the puncture marks were closed, he bit down into his own wrist.
He gazed upon her naked body, which looked cold and waxy, almost deathlike. He shuddered. He’d become a vampyre so he wouldn’t have to lose anyone else he loved. Seeing her like this reinforced how much he loved her. His wound welled, blood dripping down onto the worn bedspread. He reached out and pried her lips apart.
“Don’t fight me, darling. Drink of me.”
He placed his wrist at her mouth and watched her react. Reaching up, she took hold of his arm, holding it in a vise grip, her lips pressed to his flesh. Her tongue darted out and lapped at his wounds, causing pinpricks of fire to dance up his arm, inflaming his arousal. Her mouth latched onto his wrist, and each pull of her lips felt like a caress on his cock.
Rysen’s shaft throbbed in time with each tug. He reached down and, with one hand, ripped open the button of his jeans, pulled down the tab, and slipped his hand into his pants. Taking hold of his dick, he began to stroke his hardened rod, eyes now closed, head tilted back. He rose on his knees and, with a bit of awkwardness, tugged his pants down until his cock was fully freed. He wrapped his fist around his shaft and started to pump, up and down, in a grip that would cause tears to form in most men’s eyes. The pain and pleasure cascaded through his body. Warm waves ebbed and flowed through his veins as his hips moved back and forth. He fucked his hand as if he were inside her.
“Rysen,” she moaned, her voice echoing softly in his mind. He grunted in response.
“My love,” he answered. He did not care that he had just admitted his feelings for her or what she would think of them. He paused briefly, remembering the moment that had brought them to this place. The point where he had become her enemy a hundred years ago.
My Vampire Books:
Mar 22, 2011 Filed under: book recommendation, excerpts, guest blogger, interview, paranormal, vampire, Vampire Week Tags: erotic romance, Michele Bardsley, paranormal, paranormal romance, vampire, Vampire Week
Today the lovely Michele Bardsley shares her creative take on vampires….
Vampire Moms are Cool (and Scary) by Michele Bardsley
Writers are often given the advice to “write what you know,” which honestly isn’t all that fun. We know boring crap, like how to do dishes and mow lawns and yell at children. Wait. That’s what parents know. Writers know … how to make up stuff and Google a lot.
In 2004, I really wanted to write a vampire novel. Even though I was told the market was oversaturated with fanged ones (Hah! We are still neck deep in vampires, people … and yes, I will continue to make lame vampire jokes. You’re welcome.), I couldn’t get the idea outta my head about a group of single parents who were suddenly undead. My parental mind whirled with all the possibilities.
What would you do if you could never see the sun again? What if you were on a permanent blood diet? What if you had no choice but to become nocturnal? How in the world would you raise kids when you’re dealing with paranormal issues–not to mention a few cool new superpowers like über strength and mind control? How would you deal with the concept that you’re immortal … and your children are not? And what if a 4,000-year-old Irish hottie told you that you were his destined soulmate? (Okay, that last question was just a perk of writing romance. Heh.)
Answering these questions is how the small town of Broken Heart, Oklahoma and its supernatural residents were born. The first character to experience the wonders of being undead was Jessica Matthews, widowed mother of two. She’s just a normal mom dragging the trash can out to the curb one night, and then she gets attacked, killed, and wham! She’s sucking on the muscled thigh of a vampire with a killer accent and eyes like silver (that’s Patrick O’Halloran … oh, yeah, he’s that hot).
I wasn’t sure that readers would embrace the idea of parental bloodsuckers. After all, my vampires (aside from Lorcan, of course) aren’t driven by angst and guilt. Mostly, they’re cool with being undead and immortality and having awesome abilities. Also, my heroines are all snarky, and the stories, even when I’m addressing serious issues, are all on the humorous side.
Readers not only liked the concept of paranormal parents, but also enjoyed the world I created in Oklahoma, which is now populated with a variety of parakind. Broken Heart has lycanthropes, were-cats, fairies, dragons, and … well, who knows what else. Those are stories waiting to be told. To think, it all started with one smart-ass mother who doesn’t mind being a vampire at all. And when she says clean your room, kiddo, she means it. Hey! Don’t make her get out the fangs.
Excerpt from I’M THE VAMPIRE, THAT’S WHY
By Michele Bardsley
The night I died, I was wrestling a garbage can to the curb.
I had a perfectly healthy fourteen-year-old son who should have taken out the garbage after dinner, but he, and let me quote him directly here, “forgot.”
Every Sunday and Wednesday night we had the same conversation, usually five minutes after he crawled into bed. Here’s the script:
Enter the Mother into the Pit of the Despair. I refuse to walk more than a foot into the Pit because I’m afraid a radiated tentacle might emerge from a gooey pile of papers and clothes and drag me, screaming and clutching at the faded carpet, into the smells-like-lima-beans clutter. I open the door, try not to inhale any noxious boy-room fumes, and delicately scoot one Ked-protected foot inside. Cue dialogue.
“G’night, honey. And Bry? Did you take out the garbage?”
“It’s twice a week. It’s your only chore. I pay you ten bucks every Friday morning to do it.”
“It’s a heinous chore.”
“I know. That’s why I pay you to do it.”
“Sorry, Mom. I forgot.”
At this point in the twice-weekly argument, variations occurred. Sometimes, Bryan faked snores until I went away, sometimes he actually fell asleep mid-lecture, and sometimes he whined about how his nine-year-old sister Jenny didn’t do chores and I still paid her five dollars every Friday morning.
So, yet again, just after ten p.m. on a Wednesday night, I found myself pulling first one, then the second thirty-gallon garbage can down the driveway, and trying to align the grimy plastic containers near, but not off, the curb. Do not get me started on sloppy, lid-flinging, half-trash-dumping garbage men who are extraordinarily picky about the definition of “curbside pick-up.”
When huge, hairy hands grabbed my shoulders and heaved me across the street and into Mrs. Ryerson’s prized rose bushes, I didn’t have time to scream, much less panic. The whatever-it-was leapt upon me and ripped open my neck, snuffling and snarling as it sucked at the bleeding wound.
Good God. What sort of man-creature could hold a grown woman down like a Great Dane and gnaw on her like a favorite chew toy? It slurped and slurped and slurped … until the excruciating pain (and honey, I’ve suffered through labor twice) faded into a feeling of weightlessness. I felt very floaty, like my body had turned into mist, or like that time in college when I took a hit of acid and had the “Tinkerbell” episode. I knew that if I just let go, I’d rise into the night sky and free myself from gravity … from responsibility … from Bryan and Jenny.
Just thinking about my kids slammed me down to Earth. My husband had passed away a little more than year ago in a car accident. Don’t feel too sorry for me, though. I was in the middle of divorcing the son-of-a-bitch.
I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t lift my arms. I couldn’t open my eyes. But I felt my body again, every aching, pain-throbbing inch of it. The heavy, smelly thing pressing my limp body into thorny branches and noisily smacking against my throat grunted and rolled off. Dry grass crunched and leaves rattled as it moved, growling and groaning like well-fed coyote. I didn’t flicker an eyelid for fear it would try for a killing blow, though if the state of my neck wound was as bad as I thought, I was dead anyway. Then I heard the sounds of bare feet slapping against pavement and realized the thing was running away. Fast.
I don’t remember how I disentangled my sorry self from the bushes. I have vague memories of the roses’ too sweet scent as I crawled across the street and collapsed near my knocked-over garbage cans.
For those who know me, meeting my end amid muttered curses and spilled refuse was not a great shock. But, shock or not, it was still a crappy way to go.
* * *
Some people believe that dying ends all possibilities of humiliation.
When I awoke, I wasn’t standing at the pearly gates of heaven. Well, not unless the religious definition of “pearly gates” was way, way off-base.
I was latched onto the velvety inside of a muscular male thigh, my teeth embedded in the flesh near his groin, my mouth soaked with warm, very tasty liquid.
No, the man was not wearing pants. Hell, he wasn’t wearing underwear. Who am I kidding? The man didn’t have on a stitch of clothing.
I wish I could say that the embarrassment of my cheek brushing against his testicles outweighed my need to suck his blood—and yeah, I know, ew—but it was like … it was like … a half-off sale at Pottery Barn. No, better. It was like eating, without gastrointestinal or caloric consequences, a two-pound box of Godiva’s champagne truffles. No, no … like … oh God, like finally fitting into that pair of skinny jeans that taunts every woman from the back of her closet.
Uh-huh. Now you know the ecstasy I’m talking about.
After another minute or two of sucking on the stranger’s thigh, I felt firm, long fingers under my chin.
“That’s enough, love,” said an Irish-tinted voice. “You’re healed now.”
With great reluctance, I allowed the fingers cupping my jaw to disengage me from the yummy thigh. I sat up, licking my lips to get every dribble of blood (ew, again) smeared on my mouth.
“Where am I? What happened? Where are my kids?”
“Ssshhh. Everything will be explained.” He tilted his head, looking me over in a way that caused heat to skitter in my stomach. “Your children are fine. Damian is watchin’ them.”
Damian? Who the fuck was Damian? Whoa, girl. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Well, crud. The whole breath thing wasn’t working. I didn’t even want to think about my lack of heartbeat. I had to stay calm. I focused on the room and realized I could see everything clearly. What the hell? I had been relying on glasses to see past my nose for almost ten years. With this kind of vision, I probably could see all the way to Canada.
“So … with all the, uh, blood-sucking, I’m guessing I’m a vampire now.” Just saying “I’m” and “vampire” together was so ridiculous, I wanted to giggle.