Taste a new vamp fiction series
Release Date: Oct 31, 2014
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Sassy Jade Sanchez has just been dumped after four years of devout monogamy, and she’s starving for a little affection. Her self-esteem is shattered, her confidence damaged, and she’s had so many ugly cries she’s afraid her face will never be the same. Enter hot as hell Sam, who asks her to an upscale costume party. It sounds like just the ticket to squeeze the last bit of melancholy from her system. Hell, if she’s lucky, smoking hot Sam might make a move on her.
Three drinks in, and Sam abandons her to a greasy Dracula who seems bent on getting her into some sort of S&M action that involves teeth and necks and declarations that her vulnerability tastes like Chianti. She’d knee the guy in the groin except her feet have taken root to the tiles. It takes the handsome and enigmatic host to extract her from the costumed nosferatu, but it’s an ironic rescue at best.
She’s been recruited, and vampire bait ain’t nothing if it isn’t fresh.
A little taste from the opening:
I’ve always told myself a good old-fashioned cry is as good to the psyche as grease is to machinery, but after four days of slicking my spirit with that particular lubricant, I wasn’t feeling the relief. In fact, I was beginning to worry my face would forget how to make any other expression except ugly cry. Four days. A full day for each year I’d devoted to the bastard who had fooled me into thinking monogamy could be as good for the soul as confession. Of course, I’d believed he thought the practice just as spiritual as I did. Of course, I was the sole devout practitioner. Of course, I was an idiot not to see the signs.
I needed a good exorcism, that was what. Rid myself of the demons of grief and regret. Get the hell out there and just rile things up. Get my party on. Get my drink on. Get my what the hell am I going to do without that bastard blubbering on.
I settled for a mocha swirl latté because who was I kidding? My complexion looked like someone had scoured it with acid. My eyes could barely peer through the swollen sausages that used to be my lids. No way I could find any sort of Jade juju with my face looking like a raw turkey’s ass. I’d need at least a week to recover, and all I had was the weekend. Halloween weekend at that. I’d taken three sick days from the vet’s clinic where I worked the desk and I knew by the tone of the vet’s voice that if I didn’t show on Monday, my ass would never get the luxury of imagining such a wondrous thing as a turkey ever again. Like it or not, it was back to the land of the norms who hadn’t had their hearts ripped out by a cheating bastard. Or at least, back to the land where those who had, have at least managed to move on.
So coffee and sugar would have to do.
Which is how I met the hot-as-hell Sam.
Which is how I managed for the first time in four days to find a tattered edge of my self esteem’s cloak close enough that I could steal a tentative grip on it.
Which is how I ended up on a rampage of apocalyptic proportions trying to find a costume at four o’clock Saturday afternoon for a party that started at nine.
“This is it? Really?” I said to the rental clerk, a gorgeous mulatto chick at least three years older who obviously never had a man pull on the string of her self-esteem. “This is all you have?”
She quirked a charcoal brow at me over hazel eyes. “Honey,” she said, making me want to pinch her sensually thick and wax-balmed lips. “Any sane woman booked their sex kitten costume weeks ago.”
“Do I look sane to you?”
Her appraising eye ran my length from hair to heel before she placed her palms on the counter much like a bartender does when he’s about to tell a patron he’s had too much to drink. I braced myself.
“What you look like is shit,” she said.
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