Fashionably Dead and Loving It: Hot Damned Book 14

by Peterman , Robyn

  “I am very serious,” Nana replied. “You’re a huge flop. A little booby might help.”

  “Oh my Uncle God,” I huffed with an enormous eye roll. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am,” Nana said. “Just trying to be helpful. I don’t want you to show up in the tabloids for bombing at your very first royal event. Your bosom would be a lovely distraction.”

  She had to be wasted. I’d never heard my Nana talk that way my entire life. Too many times to count, she’d nailed me for my skirt length in high school like a drill sergeant. She’d made me drop my hands to my sides to make sure my mini-skirts were below my fingertips. Now she wanted me to flash my knockers to a roomful of Vampyres?

  “Nope,” I muttered. “These jackholes don’t deserve to see my girls.”

  “It was just a suggestion,” Nana huffed then disappeared in a cloud of sparkling white smoke.

  Crap. Nana was mad. My mate appeared to be hitting on my uncle. Mother Nature was poisoning the masses. And I really didn’t want to end up being trashed in the tabloids…

  “Alright, dead fuckers,” I yelled. “If someone knows the answer to the next joke, I’ll flash my left girl.”

  “Is it the bigger one?” a posh-looking female Vampyre inquired while stuffing cake into her mouth.

  “Umm… yes, it is,” I replied, hoping that her piece was loaded with rancid ingredients. “What do Vampyres sail the Seven Seas in?”

  “Blood vessels,” a pompous male Vamp called out.

  “Mother humper.” I closed my eyes. I should have asked a harder one.

  The chants of boob, boob, boob, boob would be burned into my frontal lobe forever.

  This was one of the worst days of my undead life, and I’d had my share of doozies. However, I was an undead gal of my word. Preparing myself to lower that fan, I glanced once more at the audience.

  What the actual fuck?

  Mother Nature was gone. Ethan was gone. Satan was gone. Martha, Jane and Lizard were gone. The posh and pompous Vampyres had disappeared. In their place were half-dead, bloody beings with green-tinted skin. Their limbs were mangled, and their flesh was rotting. Slimy foam poured from their mouths. Their eyes rolled in their partial skulls. Some of them appeared to be missing appendages, and all of them moaned and gnashed their teeth.

  “Time to get the hell out of here,” I grunted as I tried desperately to rip my bare bottom from the throne. It didn’t matter if I removed all the skin off my royal derriere. I was a freaking Vampyre. I would heal.

  A litany of swear words left my lips as the Zombies, for lack of a better word, crawled up onto the stage. This would be a seriously crappy way to die. I mean, I was already dead. And as the Chosen One, I was impossible to kill from what I’d been told. However, getting eaten didn’t really bode well for making it to tomorrow.

  The fastest creature had no lips—as if they’d been bitten off by a deadly kiss. His arm was mangled and chewed away so that the bones showed. And he looked hungry.

  They all came at me so fast, there was little I could do. My fucking ass was stuck. With nothing but a fan between me and the horde, I was going to die on the throne naked and in fifteen-inch stilettos.

  A screeching woman with her eyes gouged from her head threw herself at me and began to gnaw on my shoes. Her intestines dragged on the ground beside her, and I gagged. The stench was awful. You’d think since I didn’t have to breathe, I couldn’t smell either. Sadly, it didn’t work that way.

  “Umm… I know the jokes were bad,” I said, trying to make the Zombies see a little reason. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to reason with Zombies, but I was going to give it a shot. “But getting eaten for telling shitty jokes is a little excessive. You feel me?”

  Wait a fucking minute. What was I doing? If I could take out the entire United States with a flick of my pinky finger, I could definitely destroy the Zombies with my ass glued to a throne. I had a brief moment of wondering if wearing the crown I hadn’t known I owned would have averted this crisis, but there was precious little time to think.

  With a wave of my hand, black glitter burst from my fingertips. The screaming grew so intense, I dropped the fan and slapped my hands over my ears. Fiery balls exploded and the Zombies popped like ticks. The blazing orange flame punched its way out of the building and the throne I sat atop hurtled into the desert. My shoulder dislocated as I hit the ground like a ton of bricks in a crash landing that would have killed a mortal. The sound was horrifying, but a rather small inconvenience compared to getting eaten by Zombies. So, I simply shoved the shoulder back into the socket with a wince. My mouth was full of sand and, unfortunately, my ass was still attached to the fucking chair.

  However, it wasn’t until all the characters from Sesame Street started Irish dancing while smoking cigars that I lost my shit.

  * * *

  “Mother humper,” I screamed as I jackknifed forward, fell out of the bed and landed on the floor.

  “What?” Ethan demanded, vaulting off the bed as he went full-on Vampyre—fangs dropped and golden eyes blazing. “What is it?”

  “Wait.” I glanced around in a panic then narrowed my eyes at the man I loved to an unhealthy distraction. “Are you seeing Uncle Fucker on the side?”

  “Am I what?” Ethan asked, still scanning our bedroom suite for danger.

  Crawling back into the bed and wrapping the thick down comforter around me, I cataloged everything in the room to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Pinching my leg, I felt the pain. It was glorious.

  “Do you know if Martha and Jane own any Prada?”

  “Astrid,” Ethan growled, pacing the room like a predator ready to kill. “Tell me what’s happening. Was someone in here?”

  “Umm… no,” I said, closing my eyes and wondering where in the hell my dream had come from. I’d blame it on nighttime snacking, but I didn’t eat. “Nightmare. I had a nightmare.”

  Ethan’s rigid body relaxed. He crossed the room so fast, a human eye wouldn’t have seen him move. Getting into our bed and pulling me close, he kissed the top of my head and held me tight.

  “Want to tell me about it?” he asked, playing with my hair the way I loved.

  “No,” I said. “Definitely not. Too freaking weird.”

  “I’m good with weird,” he pointed out.

  “It’s a good thing you’re mated to me then,” I said, feeling safe in his strong arms. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Will you hold me while I sleep?”

  “Always,” he replied. “Although, tomorrow I have to leave early for a discussion on the West Coast.”

  “Define discussion,” I said, tracing the sexy smattering of blond hair on his muscular chest.

  Ethan was a thing of absurd beauty. And he was mine.

  “Having a few issues out there. Might have to knock some heads together.”

  “Literally?” I asked. Vampyres were a violent breed. Often times it was throwdown first, talk second. That is, if you made it through the throwdown.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. Do you want me to come?”

  “I want you to take a day and do whatever you want to do,” he said, lifting my chin so our eyes met. “Shop. Sleep. Have some fun. I can handle the problem.”

  I sighed and buried my face against his chest. To be honest, I was relieved. I would have Ethan’s back until the end of time, but after my farked-up dream, a day of nothing sounded pretty damned good.

  “And don’t forget,” Ethan reminded me. “My brother, his paramour, and my sister will be arriving tomorrow evening.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. “We have to entertain them?” I wasn’t exactly accomplished at royal Vampyre etiquette. I would most likely shove my foot into my mouth and pull it right out of my butt.

  “We do,” he replied with a sigh, leaning back and getting comfortable. “My brother Wilhem is a bit of an asshole, but you’ll like my sister, Anastasia. She’s as pissed as hell to be playing chaperone.”

  “Why does
Wilhem need a freaking chaperone?” I asked, wondering what Ethan’s definition of asshole was.

  Ethan grinned. “He doesn’t. My father is hoping Anastasia will meet someone on the royal tour. She’s getting crotchety in her advanced years. The King believes she needs to find herself a mate.”

  “And how exactly does Anastasia feel about that?” I asked, loving any gossip that wasn’t about me. Nana’s mention of the tabloids in my dream was an unfortunate reality. The Vampyres had some seriously shitty rag magazines. Lately, I’d been their favorite target. Being an undead Princess who could kick everyone’s ass was not all it was cracked up to be.

  “My sister is not on board. She’ll be in frighteningly fine form.”

  “And you think I’m going to like a pissed-off undead Princess who doesn’t want to be here?” I asked, raising my brow.

  “Yep,” Ethan replied with a chuckle. “When Anastasia’s not on a rampage, she’s actually quite fun.”

  “Hmm,” I said, squinting at him. “Not the best of recommendations, but I’ll be nice. What about Wilhem’s paramour? Is she his mate?”

  “Unclear,” Ethan said, slipping my nightie over my head and pulling me on top of him. “But from what I hear, she’s lovely.”

  “So, then this isn’t someone you might have banged in the five hundred-ish years before you met me?” I inquired.

  “Absolutely no banging,” he said with a lopsided grin and a possessive sparkle in his eye. “Never even met the woman. Why? Are you the jealous type?”

  “Extremely,” I said. “But my mate is even worse. He’ll tear the head off of anyone who even looks at me.”

  “Interesting,” Ethan said, sliding his hands down to my bottom that had only minutes ago been glued to a fictional throne in the middle of the desert. “He sounds dreadful.”

  “Actually, he’s hot,” I told him. “Hung like a horse and knows what to do with it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I replied, loving the feel of his skin pressed to mine. I would never get enough of the Vampyre.

  Pressing my lips to his, tingles shot through my body. With the amount of sex we had, it would seem like it would get mundane. Nope. It kept getting better. Love made sex otherworldly.

  “Wait,” I gasped out as Ethan’s fangs grazed my neck and made my girly bits clench with need.

  “If you’re worried about your mate finding out, I promise to be discreet,” Ethan teased as his hands roamed my body with the sole purpose of seduction.

  “No, seriously,” I said, sitting up and pulling on my hair in distress. “I need to ask you a question.”

  Ethan, in all his naked and very aroused glory, switched from seducer to my best friend in a hot second. “Ask.”

  I felt a little ridiculous, but there was a warning in my dream that had stuck with me—kind of like how my ass had stuck to the throne. “Umm…” I started, twisting my fingers in my hair. “Do I happen to have a crown?”

  Ethan squinted at me, then laughed. “A crown?”

  “Yes,” I said with an eye roll. “I mean, I’m a Princess. Right?”

  “Indeed, you are,” he said, amused. “And yes, there are several crowns at your disposal. However, it’s news to me that you’re embracing your title.”

  “It’s news to me too,” I told him with a shake of my head. “I just…”

  “Your every wish is my command.” Ethan snapped his fingers. Three exquisite jeweled tiaras appeared on the bed. The sheer number of diamonds was staggering.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, afraid to touch them. “Are those real?”

  Ethan grinned. “Quite.”

  “And I can wear them?” I gingerly picked up the closest crown and placed it on my head. I would have loved to have seen how it looked on me, but I didn’t have a reflection—one of the downsides of being dead.

  Ethan’s eyes blazed with desire. “You can wear all of them,” he assured me, straddling me on the bed. “I do believe I’d like to bang my Princess wearing her crown.”

  I giggled. “The Princess requires that her Prince ask more politely.”

  “She does?” Ethan shot back, cupping my breast in his hand.

  “She most certainly does.” I arched my back to give him better access.

  “How about this?” he whispered, leaning in and nipping my earlobe. “The Prince requests permission to fuck his Princess until she forgets her name and can’t walk for a week. Ten orgasms guaranteed.”

  My brain left my body for a moment and my grin grew so wide it hurt my face. “Works for me.”

  The Vampyre made good on his word. Although, he’d been off on the number of orgasms. It had been fifteen.

  I was definitely going to wear my damned crown to bed from here on out.

  Chapter Two

  “I’d like to thank everyone for joining me today at this momentous fucking event. I will share with you that I had a shitty dream last night where I was naked in front of thousands of bloodsuckers and almost got eaten by Zombies. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t pleasant. However, the sex afterwards rocked,” I announced, eyeing the organized pile of purses and the rows of expensive shoes. Adjusting the obnoxiously jeweled crown on my head, I continued. After the banging last night, I decided to wear the damn thing as my good luck charm. “Today is my day just for me. And yes, I am fully aware what I’m about to do might seem strange and somewhat pathetic, but there is no glory without mixing regret and stupidity. That’s my motto, and I’m going with it.”

  Nodding to all of the inanimate objects in my ridiculously large walk-in closet, I continued with the preparation of the shitshow. Carefully arranging the gorgeous cut-glass crystal bowl filled with tortilla chips next to the rare sterling silver, emerald-encrusted bowl of extra-hot salsa, I sighed dramatically. I’d placed the delectable feast on a thousand-year-old antique side table. It was intricately carved and fitting for the beauty atop it. The table wouldn’t be missed. I’d pilfered it from the library on the main floor of the Cressida House and brought it up to our suite. There was so much spindly, priceless furniture in the cavernous, book-filled room, I’d be shocked if someone noticed it was missing.

  While I knew what was most likely about to happen, I was willing to try… again. Last year, I’d spent a full week with horrible cramps and an ashy taste in my mouth for a month after barely touching the tip of my tongue to a spoon of black raspberry chip ice cream. I was still taking crap from my family and Baby Demons about that one.

  However, I’d rationalized my move today by convincing myself that the milk in the ice cream had been the culprit. Chips and extra-hot salsa were lactose-free. As a blood drinker, that made perfect sense. Not really, but it was my justification. Plus, salsa was red… like blood.

  If I was being honest, which I wasn’t… I’d have to admit that watching the pompous Vamps eat cake in my dream might have helped plant the idea.

  I was fully aware I was an idiot—evidenced by the fact I was performing the act of futility in my closet so no one would catch me. Ethan wasn’t going to be back till this evening and our guests weren’t due to arrive until after midnight. Samuel was in Zanthia visiting my bestie Gemma, the Fairy Queen, and her mate The Kev. If I felt like Hell warmed over, I’d just stay in my closet until my face wasn’t green. Sadly, as a Vampyre, I couldn’t throw up.

  I had no bodily functions at all. And while that saved tremendously on toilet paper and tampons, I still wasn’t completely used to it. There were a few things I missed about my human life and eating food was at the top of the list.

  Everything else about being heartbeat-free rocked. I had a smokin’ hot, undead, fanged Prince Charming. My son, Samuel, was my miracle baby who was no longer a baby, and for once, life was peaceful—peaceful being a relative word—the issues on the West Coast notwithstanding. The Vampyre world was rarely without deadly drama, but for the moment, it was less hostile than usual.

  Deciding that the chips would look better on the right side of the table, I qui
ckly rearranged the food. The presentation was important. I had one chance to get it right. If this went as badly as expected, at the very least, it would be aesthetically pleasing.

  Clapping my hands to get the attention of my wardrobe, I cleared my throat and gave the shelves a lovely smile. “We are gathered here today to witness the Vampyre Princess of the North American Dominion do something she shouldn’t,” I explained to my rack of Prada gowns. “I’ve been jonesing for hot salsa for a few years now, and I figure that I’ve been dead long enough to give it a shot. Plus, almost getting eaten by Zombies in my dream has made me bold or stupid—your pick. It would suck all kinds of ass if I could eat and didn’t know it. You feel me?”

  The dresses and accessories didn’t talk back. They were smart. It was also why I picked my closet to host my folly. Getting heckled wouldn’t work for me today.

  With meticulous care, I picked up the largest and most curved chip in the bowl. If I was going to do this, I wanted to ingest as much salsa as possible. Even if I could only taste it for a hot second, the week of agony would be worth it. When a person lived forever, a week was a stinking blip in time.

  “Don’t you do it, Chesty McMilkbomb,” a voice that made me grind my teeth warned me from the doorway of what I thought was my locked closet.

  “Boobalicious Bongos, I always knew you were slow, but that would be a dang boneheaded move,” the second strident voice chimed in with a chuckle.

  Gently putting the chip down so not a single drop of salsa spilled out, I whipped around and aimed my sparking fingers at the abominations who were screwing with my chi. It chapped my ass that they were correct. The two Vampyres were old, annoying hot messes. It still stymied me that Martha and Jane were wildly unattractive. Most Vamps were ridiculously pretty. However, the gals had been turned late in life and looked like not very well-preserved eighty-somethings.

  Martha and Jane were dressed up—using the term loosely. They’d traded their everyday sweatpants for purple polyester booty shorts paired with house slippers, black socks and yellow sequined boob tubes. They were walking fucking fashion disasters with saggy bosoms and bottoms.