Bored with getting whatever she wants whenever she
wants it, Wren’s now earning things the mortal way—through hard work…
specifically erotic dancing.
As a newly turned vampire, Roman dreads eternity until
he chances upon Wren at a Las Vegas strip club during her nightly show.
Desire sparks. Lips meet.
Trouble brews from the vamp who turned Roman, and also
from the vile warlock who’s determined to make Wren his…forcing her and Roman
to battle dark magic and blood lust to turn a disturbing future into their
shared paradise.
As they embark on their Vampire Quest.
TEASERS
Excerpt from Chapter One:
WREN
My mother thinks I’m nuts. My relatives
avoid me like the plague. Buddies I’ve had since forever have mostly turned
their backs on me.
Why?
Because I’ve chosen the one thing no
self-respecting witch has ever done to my knowledge… I’ve turned my back on
magic.
The bus I’m on lumbers toward my place of
employment, a Las Vegas strip club. I want to try things the mortal way for a
change. However, that doesn’t mean I’m shy. Besides, stripping is one of the
few things I can do without any advanced training, which I never had to take
because I am a witch. Damn, fate really screwed me for the real world.
Bummed, I sag in my seat. Despite my
attire—calling the scant stuff I wear a costume is being generous—no one on
this bus notices my near nudity. Their attention remains glued to their phones,
their gazes vacant.
Except for the bus driver.
He regards me in the rearview mirror then
slowly drags his tongue over his thick lips and grins.
Ew.
I suppress a shudder and give him the
finger instead. If that doesn’t get his eyes back on the road, I’ll twist his
head around until it’s facing me, permanently.
He gets the hint and concentrates on his
driving.
I blow out a relieved breath and make it
to my stop without further incident.
The outside air is balmy, the sky splashed
with glittering stars. Hard bass pumps from inside the club. Ready to boogie, I
grab the handle for the staff entrance but don’t open the door.
For some reason I can’t.
Expectation floods me as it never has. My
skin tingles and my breath catches…as if something exciting and new is going to
happen tonight.
An event that might totally change my
entire existence.
ROMAN
Let’s get something straight from the
get-go. For those mortals seeking eternal youth and a never-ending life, thanks
to Botox, exercise, or selling their souls to Satan—which is fucking hardcore and
stupid—I have one thing to report.
Immortality sucks. Being a vampire blows. Big-time.
I slump in my chair, overwhelmed by an
endless future I never asked for and don’t want. Being a mortal with a sell-by
date on my existence was fine with me, no matter what anyone else prefers. Different
strokes, I say. Despite my liberal attitude toward existence, did I get what I
wanted even though I was minding my own damn business?
Hell no.
I gulp whiskey faster than I ever guzzled
water. Unfortunately, the booze has the same effect on me. Rather than a
pleasant buzz I came to expect as a mortal, I now experience nada, zilch, zero.
Yet I keep drinking, hoping for the best
when only blood will ease my craving.
Bored with getting whatever she wants whenever she
wants it, Wren’s now earning things the mortal way—through hard work…
specifically erotic dancing.
As a newly turned vampire, Roman dreads eternity until
he chances upon Wren at a Las Vegas strip club during her nightly show.
Desire sparks. Lips meet.
Trouble brews from the vamp who turned Roman, and also
from the vile warlock who’s determined to make Wren his…forcing her and Roman
to battle dark magic and blood lust to turn a disturbing future into their
shared paradise.
As they embark on their Vampire Quest.
TEASERS
Excerpt from Chapter One:
WREN
My mother thinks I’m nuts. My relatives
avoid me like the plague. Buddies I’ve had since forever have mostly turned
their backs on me.
Why?
Because I’ve chosen the one thing no
self-respecting witch has ever done to my knowledge… I’ve turned my back on
magic.
The bus I’m on lumbers toward my place of
employment, a Las Vegas strip club. I want to try things the mortal way for a
change. However, that doesn’t mean I’m shy. Besides, stripping is one of the
few things I can do without any advanced training, which I never had to take
because I am a witch. Damn, fate really screwed me for the real world.
Bummed, I sag in my seat. Despite my
attire—calling the scant stuff I wear a costume is being generous—no one on
this bus notices my near nudity. Their attention remains glued to their phones,
their gazes vacant.
Except for the bus driver.
He regards me in the rearview mirror then
slowly drags his tongue over his thick lips and grins.
Ew.
I suppress a shudder and give him the
finger instead. If that doesn’t get his eyes back on the road, I’ll twist his
head around until it’s facing me, permanently.
He gets the hint and concentrates on his
driving.
I blow out a relieved breath and make it
to my stop without further incident.
The outside air is balmy, the sky splashed
with glittering stars. Hard bass pumps from inside the club. Ready to boogie, I
grab the handle for the staff entrance but don’t open the door.
For some reason I can’t.
Expectation floods me as it never has. My
skin tingles and my breath catches…as if something exciting and new is going to
happen tonight.
An event that might totally change my
entire existence.
ROMAN
Let’s get something straight from the
get-go. For those mortals seeking eternal youth and a never-ending life, thanks
to Botox, exercise, or selling their souls to Satan—which is fucking hardcore and
stupid—I have one thing to report.
Immortality sucks. Being a vampire blows. Big-time.
I slump in my chair, overwhelmed by an
endless future I never asked for and don’t want. Being a mortal with a sell-by
date on my existence was fine with me, no matter what anyone else prefers. Different
strokes, I say. Despite my liberal attitude toward existence, did I get what I
wanted even though I was minding my own damn business?
Hell no.
I gulp whiskey faster than I ever guzzled
water. Unfortunately, the booze has the same effect on me. Rather than a
pleasant buzz I came to expect as a mortal, I now experience nada, zilch, zero.
Yet I keep drinking, hoping for the best
when only blood will ease my craving.
Angela Knight is here to tell us about The Dhampir, a destined mates vampire romance novella, dark fantasy.
Read on for more...
_______________________
A Destined Mates Vampire Romance Novella
Dark Fantasy Romance
Date Published: January 2, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
An ancient vampire, Hunter can command any woman he wants -- except the
one woman he needs. His mate.
Genevieve Drake is a Dhampir -- half vampire, half mortal, born and bred to be
the perfect complement to her vampire mate, like those of her family for
sixteen generations. Instead, she chose to become a cop. Three months ago she
survived a vicious attack by a psychotic ex that left her with psychic scars
and a desperate need for a new line of work. Time to rethink her future.
Hunter is tall, dark and handsome -- and very, very powerful. He’s also
been waiting for Genevieve. She was just eighteen when he had a vision that
they’d one day become lovers. He’s been biding his time ever
since. But Genevieve’s experiences have left her unable to trust any
man, even Hunter.
If he wants them to have a future, the vampire will have to find a way to
banish her ghosts…
The vampire's bodyguard was sloppy when he searched Genevieve Drake. He
missed at least three places where she could have stashed weapons. Would have
stashed weapons, if she hadn't been going to an interview for a job she
desperately needed. To add insult to injury, he smirked up at her when he
crouched at her feet to pat her down, hands lingering on her thighs and
calves.
Genevieve gave serious thought to kneeing him in the jaw.
Finally, after a last knowing leer, the guard ushered her into Hunter's
sprawling office, then closed the heavy double doors and left them alone.
"Ms. Drake." Tall, radiating a power that made her Dhampir senses
vibrate like harp strings, the vampire stepped around his big rosewood desk to
shake Genevieve's hand, his grip careful and warm. His touch sent a flush of
magic radiating up her arm. Her mouth went dry, and she felt her nipples peak.
"It's a pleasure."
Her body's intense response surprised her. She'd felt dead from the neck
down for months. "Please call me Genevieve, Mr. Hunter." Not Genny. Never
Genny. Smiling up at him, she used all her years undercover to keep her
expression no more than pleasantly professional.
"It's just Hunter," the vampire said in a black velvet purr of a voice.
He gave her a slow, white smile, his eyes the sharp and startling blue of an
arctic wolf. His features were starkly masculine, with a long swoop of a nose
and a broad, square chin. His hair was thick and black, just long enough to
touch his collar.
He gestured her away from his desk toward two armchairs that sat facing
each other. Just beyond the chairs, a plate glass window ran the length of the
room. Sixty stories below, the glittering glory of Atlanta spread across the
night.
As Hunter ushered her to the chairs, Genevieve studied him. If anything,
the vampire was more impressive than she remembered. Easily six-foot-two, he
had a powerful build that made him look like a warrior even camouflaged in
black Armani. His tie was a splash of crimson against his white shirt, while
cufflinks of onyx and gold adorned his French cuffs.
"It's good to see you again," Hunter said as they sat. The chairs were
positioned so close, their knees almost touched. It was not exactly the
arrangement she'd have expected for a job interview -- but then, this was not
a typical job interview. "You were what -- fifteen? -- when last I saw you."
"Sixteen," Genevieve corrected. And madly infatuated with you. But that
was something she had no intention of sharing. And anyway, it had been
fourteen years ago.
Before Gary. Before she'd been left bleeding in a dirty alley with the
last of her illusions in shreds.
Hunter probably knew about her painfully intense crush. Probably knew
about Gary, too, for that matter. As her father always said, you can't hide
anything from a vampire, so don't even try. "It was good of you to grant me
this interview."
"Not at all. I need an assistant, and you have excellent
qualifications." He watched her settle back into the chair's soft wine red
leather. His gaze sharpened. "Something concerns you."
Genevieve hesitated, caught between her desire not to offend and her
sense of duty. She needed the job, but her family had been Dhampir for sixteen
generations.
Duty won. "Your bodyguard was more interested in feeling me up than in
making sure I wasn't armed. I could have knocked him cold at least twice. In
my opinion, he constitutes a security risk."
Hunter lifted a cool black brow. "He's a former Navy SEAL."
"And a current idiot."
"You are blunt, bordering on rude." Hunter smiled, satisfaction in his
eyes. "And every bit as fearless as I would have expected of Tommy Drake's
daughter."
She relaxed back into her chair. "Well, that's a relief."
"That I took the criticism well?" His arctic eyes heated to burning blue
as he watched her cross her legs. Her knee inadvertently brushed his, and the
contact sent magic flaring up her thigh. Straight into her sex.
She tried to ignore the pulse of erotic heat that flared low in her
belly. "No, I'm relieved you ordered your man to play the fool to test my
honesty. I'd hate to think you'd hire someone that sloppy."
The vampire laughed, a deep, masculine rumble, seductive and warm. "No,
I have not survived three hundred and forty years by surrounding myself with
sloppy bodyguards. And there've been times even careful ones..." Hunter
stopped and rolled his powerful shoulders as if shrugging off a painful
memory.
"Sometimes it doesn't matter how careful or well-trained you are."
Genevieve's voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially if you're betrayed."
He studied her, going still as a predator. Seeing too much. "The scars
from betrayal go to the soul. And they never quite fade, do they?"
"Not so far." Genevieve forced a smile and deliberately sought to turn
the conversation back to business. "What are you looking for in a personal
assistant?"
You, Hunter thought.
About the Author
New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published
more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and
Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades,
Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement
award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for
Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.
Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press
LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work,
Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South
Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband,
Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police
department.
Delia Strange is here to tell us about Amaranthine, a scifi, time travel, historical, paranormal, vampire romance.
There's also a great giveaway.
___________________
Eternal Life.
Endless Love.
Infinite Cost.
Amaranthine
by Delia Strange
Genre: SciFi Time Travel Historical Paranormal Vampire Romance
Eternal life comes
at a cost
For centuries, Amaranthine has walked through time—an
immortal bound by a gift she never asked for. From the opulent halls of the
Roman Empire to the decadent jazz clubs of 1920s London, to the futuristic
floating city of New Francisco, she has lived countless lives, loved deeply,
and lost more than most could ever bear. With each new era comes new faces:
lovers, rivals, and those drawn to the mystery of her eternal existence. But
immortality comes with a price, and as the world changes, so too does the weight
of the centuries she carries.
Torn between living for the future and haunted by the
choices of her past, Amaranthine must confront the question that has followed
her for an eternity: What does it mean to live forever when everything and
everyone else fades away?
“This is the
first book in a while that I have continued to mull over even after I'd
finished reading it as it's definitely a story that gets you thinking.”
~ Lynne Stringer, Goodreads Review
The olive trees stood like shadows in the distance, swaying in the night
breeze. Amaranthine’s steps were cautious, her eyes scanning the darkness, but
as she reached the edge of the grove, there was no sign of him. Her breath
hitched in her throat, a sudden pang of doubt freezing her where she stood. Had
she waited too long? Her heart sank as she looked around. She’d been foolish to
think this was possible, that someone like her could step outside the
boundaries of her life, if only for a moment.
But then Marcellus stepped forward, his form
emerging from the darkness and appearing in front of her like a dream. His
smile was slow, knowing, and when his eyes met hers, she felt that rush all
over again, more powerful this time for the waiting.
“I thought you might change your mind,” he
said, his voice cutting through the night.
Amaranthine exhaled, the tension leaving her
body in a soft, trembling breath. “I almost did,” she whispered, her voice
barely audible, but then she smiled, feeling the same reckless pull that had
brought her here. “But I’m here.”
Marcellus took her hand, his touch warm, and
without a word he led her deeper into the olive grove. The trees closed in
around them and the world outside the grove disappeared, leaving only the two
of them beneath the cover of night. The air smelled faintly of the earth and
the lingering sweetness of ripening fruit, but all Amaranthine could focus on
was the heat of his hand against hers, the certainty in his steps as he drew
her farther away from the villa, away from everything she knew.
When he stopped, she nearly stumbled, caught
off guard by the sudden stillness. Marcellus turned to face her, his gaze
sweeping over her with an intensity that made her catch her breath. His eyes
roamed her face, her body, lingering as though his look could somehow touch her
skin. It wasn’t just a glance; it was deeper, heavier.
Slowly, deliberately, Marcellus ran his
fingers up her arm, light as a breeze. The touch sent a shiver down her spine,
thrilling and delicate all at once. His hand traveled over her shoulder, warm
and sure, before brushing against her neck, where her pulse raced beneath his
fingertips. He cupped her face, his thumb grazing her cheek as his other hand
slid into her hair, gently cradling the back of her neck. The closeness of
him—his soft breath against her skin, his scent unfamiliar and
intoxicating—made her dizzy.
When he pressed his body against hers, she
didn’t hesitate. Amaranthine’s arms wrapped around him as though it was the
most natural thing in the world, her fingers curling into the fabric of his
tunic. She could feel the heat of him through the thin cloth, the steady rise
and fall of his chest, and the thrilling, terrifying anticipation that hovered
in the air between them. He leaned in, his lips so close to hers that she could
feel the warmth of his breath, and her body instinctively tilted forward, closing
the last distance between them.
The kiss began softly, their lips brushing
with a delicate hesitance, as though both of them were testing the boundaries
of something new. It was sweet, tender, like a whispered secret exchanged in
the dark. Amaranthine’s heart fluttered, the warmth of his mouth against hers
sending gentle waves of pleasure through her body. Her hands tightened their
grip on his tunic, pulling him closer, and for a moment, everything else faded
away—her worries, her fears, even the nagging sense of not belonging. Here, in
this kiss, she felt connected, as though they shared something deeper than
words.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the kiss
deepened. Marcellus’ arms wrapped around her waist, his hands pressing her
closer, and the softness between them gave way to something more intense, more
urgent. Passion overtook them both, their lips moving with a fervor that
surprised her. Amaranthine had never kissed anyone before, but she felt as
though she’d always known how, the way their mouths fit together, the way their
breaths mingled in the cool night air. Her heart pounded faster, and a strange
heat pooled in her chest, spreading through her veins in a way that made her
feel alive.
Then something within her awoke. At first,
she didn’t recognize it, mistaking the growing intensity for the natural
progression of a kiss. There was a pull, a sensation inside her, almost like
the drawing of breath, but deeper, fuller. She thought it was part of the magic
of kissing, the way it could make someone feel as though they were floating,
untethered from everything. No wonder people kiss, she
thought, her mind hazy with the thrill of it. It’s wonderful. She
let the sensation sweep over her, unaware of what she was truly doing. But
then, after a moment, she noticed something different. Their lips had stopped
moving. The rhythm they had found, the tender push and pull, had stilled.
Amaranthine opened her eyes, confused, and
pulled back. Her breath caught in her throat. Marcellus staggered away from
her, his face ashen, his once bright eyes dull and clouded. He looked gaunt,
hollow, as though something had been drained from him. His skin sagged against
the bones of his cheeks, and before her eyes, he aged—twenty years, maybe
more—his youthful vibrance withering into something frail and brittle. He
gasped, his hands reaching out toward her as though for help, but no words
came. Then, with a final shuddering breath, Marcellus crumpled to the ground,
motionless.
The world around her seemed to tilt, the
ground beneath her feet suddenly unsteady as she stared at Marcellus’ lifeless
body. Her chest tightened, a wild panic rising inside her, but she couldn’t
move. Her legs felt rooted to the spot, her mind unable to comprehend what had
just happened. Only moments ago, they had been so close—he had been so alive.
Now, the boy who had held her in his arms, who had smiled at her like she was a
secret worth keeping, lay motionless at her feet, his face hollow and pale, drained
of life.
An only child with an active imagination, I
created many stories in my head. My bookcase was overflowing, and I loved
visiting the library. I'd always been a reader, but I hadn't considered
writing until a childhood friend said we should write our ideas down. Once I
started writing my stories, I couldn't stop.
I
gravitated to stories of peculiar places and happenings. I loved twists and
dark reveals, so my writing didn't stray far from that. I was a fan of
fantasy—of ancient Greek myths or contemporary paranormal stories. They
captured my imagination and opened me to worlds of possibilities. There
were no constraints on fantasy, no wrong or right answers; anything I dreamed
up was acceptable. And then came H. G. Wells and science fiction, which also
opened the door to paranormal and speculative fiction, my three favourite
genres.
Mychael Black is here to tell us about Burn, a gay dark fantasy, MPreg, vampire romance.
Read on for details...
_______________________
Gay Dark Fantasy, MPreg, Vampire Romance
Date Published: July 11, 2025
Humans and vamps were never meant to be mates, but an accidental meeting
changes everything.
Cam Sharpe is just trying to make ends meet. Living in the city can easily
break the bank, but that’s where the jobs are. It’s also where
crime runs rampant. One night, he finds himself in the wrong place at the
wrong time, putting him in the crosshairs of the city’s ruling vampire
coven.
Nikolai Hart loves his job -- maybe a little too much. When hunting a rogue
proves to be a pain in the ass, he’s the one House Saridan brings in to
find the unfortunate soul. The latest job, however, has hit a snag: a mortal
has witnessed everything.
EXCERPT
Cameron
I hated living in the city. There were too many people, most of whom
couldn’t drive worth a damn. I barely managed to dodge a car that
threatened to sideswipe me. I thought the asshole driver shouted something,
but I just tossed the man a one-fingered salute. Rain pelted the city, which
made deliveries a bit more complicated, especially on a bicycle. Still, the
bike afforded me the chance to make it into tight spots a car could not.
Traffic was a bitch, but that was city life. I’d been here for three
years now and had managed to escape the need for a car. The exercise was good,
at any rate.
I reached the towering apartment building and secured my bike to a lamppost.
The expressionless doorman stood at the front. Dressed in a black tux,
complete with white gloves, he fit right in with the building’s
occupants.
Once inside, I flashed my badge hanging on its lanyard to the guard behind the
desk and continued toward the elevators. A few well-dressed residents gave me
a bit of the good ol’ side-eye, but I ignored them. Hell, I’d
probably delivered dinner to them half a million times.
The elevator doors opened, and I held it for the others. When they
didn’t move to enter, I shrugged and stepped inside, letting the doors
close before they could change their haughty minds. I watched the display tick
through the floor numbers until it reached the seventh floor. As soon as I
exited, I heard music.
Down the hall, an apartment door opened, and a half-naked man waved. I met him
and handed over the food.
“Wanna join?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Thanks, man, but I can’t. Still a
few more hours before I can officially ‘clock out’ for the
night.”
“You clock out?”
“Not really. I set my own hours, but this pays the bills, so, yeah, set
times and all.”
“Ah.”
Shouts from inside cut the chat short. “Well, thanks!” the guy
said, holding up the bag.
“No problem.”
Alone in the hall, I went back to the elevators. Thank the gods the tips were
included in the app when ordering.
Back down on the street, I sighed. I wished I could stop for the night. I was
tired, utterly sick of the damn rain, and hadn’t eaten in several hours.
The sun had already set enough to make the streetlights come on along the
sidewalks. I rolled the bike a few feet away from the lingering crowd and
headed off to my next pick-up.
People swarmed the streets, most of them club hoppers. I’d done that
years ago but had outgrown it. Random hook-ups in dark corners no longer
satisfied me, but in a city this big, I wasn’t sure I’d ever find
anyone who would. Most of the people I’d met so far were superficial and
vain, perfectly content to spend a night getting laid by one person before
moving on to the next.
An order came in, and the GPS piped up to let me know there was a shortcut to
the restaurant. Happy to avoid the crowd, I turned down the alley the GPS
designated. I ignored the few slumped figures along both sides. I’d
learned the hard way a couple of years ago after a mugging not to carry cash.
Now I only carried my ID, keys, phone, and a trusty can of mace.
The end of the alley branched left and right. The GPS told me to go left. Just
as I started that way, commotion to the right startled me.
A tall, black-clad figure landed feet-first onto the wet pavement and grabbed
a man from the ground. The man choked and struggled as the stranger spoke,
voice low enough that I couldn’t hear what was said. Whatever it was,
though, seemed to terrify the man he held captive.
The stranger growled -- literally growled -- and tore the man’s throat
wide open with his fucking teeth.
I nearly wrecked the bike trying to get away. I pedaled as fast as my legs
could, and the burn was almost too much. I reached the Chinese restaurant and
stuck as close to the building as possible. After a few seconds of struggling
to catch my breath, I locked my bike to a lamppost before heading inside.
I had zero doubt that I’d just seen a vampire executing someone. Vamps
weren’t unknown, but they tended to keep to themselves. They also
weren’t anything like what stories and movies portrayed them to be. Real
vampires weren’t undead; they were an entirely different species.
Stronger, faster, and far more deadly than any human could ever dream of
being.
Safe in the restaurant, I shot a quick glance back out the door. Whatever
I’d just witnessed wasn’t my business. Not like cops would do shit
anyway. Vamps governed themselves, and the police were scared shitless of
them.
Pushing it out of my mind for now, I shuddered and headed to the counter. Ten
minutes later, I was on my way to the drop-off point. Despite needing the
money, I ended my shift after handing over the food. Just before I left the
area, though, I caught sight of the stranger from the alley. Those eyes locked
onto mine.
Hopping onto the bike, I made a beeline for my tiny efficiency apartment. It
wasn’t much, but it had a wonderfully huge deadbolt on the door.
I leaned back against the door as soon as I locked it. Eyes closed, I tried to
get rid of the images from the alley. It wasn’t the first crime
I’d seen in this damned city, but it was definitely the first time a
vampire had been involved. At least that I knew of, at any rate.
“Get a grip, Cam,” I muttered. “Not the first, won’t
be the last.”
I pushed off the door and tossed my keys onto the narrow bar separating the
kitchenette from the living area. I couldn’t even call it an actual
room, really. The only true room was the bathroom, and even that was about the
size of a small walk-in closet. Overall, the place wasn’t much, but it
was home and, to be honest, all I could afford.
Before I could contemplate dinner or a shower, my grumbling stomach made up
its own mind. A quick glance in the fridge, and then the freezer, reminded me
that I needed to hit the store down the block sooner rather than later. I
didn’t cook, despite knowing how to, since it was just me here. Most of
my meals tended to be sandwiches or frozen dinners, or, if money allowed,
something quick while I was working. Tonight, though, peanut butter and jelly
would have to do.
A few minutes later, I settled onto the futon that doubled as my bed and
watched the news on my only splurge: a smart TV. I nibbled on my meager dinner
as one report after another went on. I popped the last bite into my mouth,
only to nearly choke on it.
The same dark-clad figure I’d seen in the alley was positioned behind
one of the head vamps in the city during a news conference that, according to
the info at the bottom of the screen, occurred earlier today. The muscle-bound
watchdog stood ready to spring to action at the slightest hint of trouble.
Pitch black hair hung over broad shoulders, and the man’s
five-o’clock shadow covered a stern, tight jawline. Eyes that looked
almost as black as his hair seemed to scan the entire room. Though he kept his
hands behind him, I could imagine those strong arms tensing. And he was tall.
Jesus, he was fucking tall. Even more than the vampire in front of him. A
morbid desire to stare up into those insanely dark eyes swept through me.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts.
Vamps are fucking trouble.”
I changed the channel and found a nature documentary instead. Maybe watching
meerkats would cleanse my brain of insane ideas like wanting to unwrap all
those muscles.
Gods, I was nuts.
About the Author
Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay
romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy
as Katherine Cook.
He's an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy
nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and
Spongebob Squarepants.
Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear
from readers, be it via email or Facebook.
