Super funny stories from a person who says everything we want to say out loud. Bet you laugh till you ... well, you know.
- Name: Heathcliff.
- Occupation: Vampyre Warrior—one of the deadliest in the world.
- I plan. I fight. I win. Always.
- However, it’s never taken me this damned long to get what I want before.
- Now just as I’m finally wearing Raquel down, I find I have competition—not for my mate's hand—but for her very existence.
- Nothing anyone can do will change that simple fact…except maybe the Trolls...or the Wraiths...or the reclusive, insane Vampyre sister of my King who wants to drink my mate dry for reasons no one will freakin’ explain to me.
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At least I didn’t think they did ‘til I tried to quit smoking and ended up Undead. Who in the hell did I screw over in a former life that my getting healthy equates with dead?
Now I’m a Vampyre. Yes, we exist whether we want to or not. However, I have to admit, the perks aren’t bad. My girls no longer jiggle, my ass is higher than a kite and the latest Prada keeps finding its way to my wardrobe. On the downside, I’m stuck with an obscenely profane Guardian Angel who looks like Oprah and a Fairy Fighting Coach who’s teaching me to annihilate like the Terminator.
To complicate matters, my libido has increased to Vampyric proportions and my attraction to a hotter than Satan’s underpants killer rogue Vampyre is not only dangerous . . . it’s possibly deadly. For real dead. Permanent death isn’t on my agenda. Avoiding him is my only option. Of course, since he thinks I’m his, it’s easier said than done. Like THAT’S not enough to deal with, all the other Vampyres think I’m some sort of Chosen One.