DEAD VAMPIRES DON'T DATE
by Meredith Conner
Barking Chihuahua Enterprises, LLC
Copyright © 2013 by Meredith Allen Conner
KINDLE EDITION
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters (both human and non), places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products and media referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
To my amazing husband. Thanks you for all of your support, love and encouragement throughout this journey. I love you.
Chapters
1. First Impressions
2. Body Dumping 101
3. Channeling Chihuahuas
4. Lies I Told My Aunt
5. Witch Meets Barbie
6. Got Fangs?
7. Dangerous Demons
8. Home Improvement Shopping Or How To Find A Stake In Aisle Five.
9. Mr. Scary As All Hell
10. And The Lies Continue
11. My Big Aha Moment Or Oh Shit
12. The Thing About Suspects . . .
13. My List Of Suspects
14. Spike’s
15. The Devil I Don’t Know
16. We Meet Again
17. All My Issues Dancing On My Head
18. Clean Beans
19 Getting Beat Up Sucks The Wazoo
20. Retracing My Steps
21. Wow. What A Demon
22. Afterwards
23. Can’t You Just Leave Me Alone?
24. I’ve Got To Get Rid Of The Body
25. Are You Kidding Me?
26. Fighting For My Life
27. He Just Won’t Die . . . Oh Wait, Scratch That
28. Gotta Love Me Some Demon
29. Love Triumphs Over Pickiness
30. I May Need To Re-Consider My OFF MEN Plan
31. Postcard From Vegas
1. First Impressions.
A demon walked into the bar.
It had all the hallmarks of a bad joke. Unfortunately for my libido, it was also true.
Big. That one word pretty much summed him up. Even from across the dark room, I had a fair idea of his size. Since he towered over most everyone, I figured he stood at least six and a half feet. Maybe taller.
Demons are lean and usually a little short as well. This one's chest rippled with muscles, bulging like a champion weight lifter. I could see distinct dips and curves playing peek-a-boo with the dim lights. He wore a black leather vest held together by a loose cord across the front of his impressive torso.
No shirt. With the beefcake smorgasbord on display across the room, I wondered right then and there why all shirts hadn't been banned. Forever.
And jeans. Light, well-worn in all the right and decidedly pronounced places, the soft cotton clung to him like a needy girlfriend.
I'd cling too, if I got my hands on . . .
Damn. I turned around in my chair, grabbed my warm beer and downed a long gulp. The band jerked and strutted on the small stage, the heavy beat of their music slid somewhat rhythmically through the shadows of the small room.
"Chicky, if your pulse gets any louder, I might have to take a nibble."
I glared at Morgan, my UDBF. Un-Dead Best Friend. We'd be UDBFF's, but the forever part has a different meaning for vamps. We've been friends for close to three years now. We met when I was twenty-two and she was fifteen hundred and eight. Give or take a decade.
I'm Kate. Kate Storm. Mortal witch and owner of a matchmaking company. In paranormal years, I'm just a baby and there is a lot I have yet to learn.
"Friends don't drink friends, Morgan." I reminded her while I tried to control my racing heartbeat. Her emerald green eyes glittered against her white skin as she batted her long lashes.
Lack of sex was going to be the death of me. My hormones were planning a revolt. I just knew it. I swear I heard them plotting late at night.
They'd just have to tough it out. I'm off men. OFF. Full capitals. I wasn't heading down that wretched road again.
We were here tonight to have a drink and take my mind off the BIG interview, taking place in less than two hours. Again, all caps. If all went well, that one interview could land my company, Love Required, on the map. I matched both the ordinary humans as well as those who were, uh, humanly-challenged.
All I needed to do was find the perfect mate for the Prince of Vampires and I'd be a household name. As long as those houses had a few extra senses, possibly some other limbs and were not mortal.
Fail and . . . I squirmed in my chair, not certain if I wanted to contemplate what a member of the vampire royalty might do. My UDBF had just threatened to suck a few ounces because my heart beat a little loud. What would a vamp prince do if I failed to procure him a bride? Drain me?
My heart sped up again.
Morgan plucked her straw out of her glass and pointed it in my direction. She drew in heavily. Slurping sounds issued.
I flipped her the finger. That was just plain gross.
A single drop of crimson blood fell from the end of her straw to splatter on the table. She always brought her own. Morgan has some deal worked out with the night guy at the blood bank.
Don't ask.
I never did.
Her phone chirped loud enough to be heard over the band and Morgan dropped the straw to check her screen. Flame-licked locks fell forward, obscuring her face. She began typing. She had two Facebook pages and one Twitter account that I knew of.
A gleam in the mirror on the opposite wall caught my eye as the murky light above the bar reflected off one of the protrusions on the demon's head. Trimmed back so they were not obtrusive, his steely grey horns emerged from his thick, black hair in two silver-dollar sized points right above his temples.
I wondered if he wore a hat to conceal them.
The HC - humanly-challenged - are still in the closet, so to speak.
I managed to tread that oh-so-fine line between the humans and Non. I'm a mortal third generation witch. My coven consists of my Aunt and myself. Several hundred years ago, we were a thriving coven. I have absolutely no idea what happened. Honest.
It's sort of an off-limits and seriously touchy subject.
The demon shouldered his way in between two of the patrons at the counter. The human with the heavy black make-up glanced up. He did a double take. The lean, flamboyantly dressed male fairy on the demon's other side did the same.
The human man said something as he reached up as if to touch the charcoal trademark demon insignia.
Bad move.
Without looking down, the demon gripped his hand. A little twist. All the color drained out of the human's face. His lips moved again, rather frantically this time and I imagined he was pleading quite desperately.
Little demons are notoriously strong. This one . . . hoo, mama.
Another quick turn, then he let go. The human slid sideways off his stool.
Hanging in the middle of the wall and not terribly large, the mirror captured the scene from lower stomach and up. Lower stomach for the demon, mid chest for everyone else.
I figured the poor man with the severely bruised - possibly strained and/or broken - wrist had to be getting trampled right about now.
The male fairy laughed and whispered something in the big demon's ear. He also ran his hand up and down his
arm.
Fairies. I had to admire their damn the torpedoes attitude. If this demon was gay, I'd . . .
Hell, I was doing it again.
I turned my chair once more, this time fully facing the band. They weren't that good and I didn't care for overly loud garage band music, but it gave me something else to focus on. Plus the creative dance interpretation occurring on the postage-sized dance floor proved exceedingly entertaining. I've never met a humanly-challenged individual, aside from Morgan, who understood rhythm.
"Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump." Morgan wrapped her hand over the leather cuff on my right wrist. "Kate, I'm going to need a re-fill if you don't knock it off. What's got you all hot and bothered anyways?"
Morgan twisted in her seat, searching the crowd. With her superior vampire senses, I had no chance of ducking the question.
"Well, well, well. Hel-loo tall, dark and horny," she purred. She flipped her red hair over her shoulder. "And just your type too. He even has scars."
He had scars? I swear my legs melted into my seat. I hadn't looked at much beyond his impressive chest.
I love scars. Tracing their ridges, stroking the rough skin. The history behind a good scar fascinates me. Yes, I know it's a bit odd, but it also wasn't anything I could control.
Now, if he had a tattoo as well . . .
"And look at that tat on his shoulder."
I was so out of here.
"Let's go Morgan." I set my bottle down, not waiting for a response. I was not going to ruin my barely two-week old resolution in a seedy bar. No way. No how.
Although the "how's" of that could be pretty interesting, and . . . I intensified my search for the exit.
On the other side of our table, Morgan rose in a fluid motion that belied she had bones of any sort.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
I glared at her over my shoulder as I headed towards the flickering red sign above a door in the corner. Whatever I planned to say got lost in my throat. The demon stared straight at me. My world suddenly narrowed to include just his dark amber eyes.
If I hadn't known better I'd have sworn he cast a spell.
But I'm a witch. I know magic.
This was something more.
Something that threatened to draw me in - a swirling whirlpool of need and desire and possession. And underneath all of that, lay something darker.
Morgan hip-checked me. "He's not stealing your soul, is he?"
I broke away from his gaze. The compulsion to look back at him terrified me.
"No." Since I whispered the word and my voice shook, I didn't blame her for not believing me.
Morgan spun around. "I'm gonna kick some demon ass."
I just managed to snag her arm before she tore through the crowd. Not an easy thing to do with a vamp. They are crazy fast.
"No. He wasn't trying to possess me." Not in the way that she meant, anyway. I tried to reason with her. "Let's just go. Lolly might not let us back in if we start another fight."
Got fangs? is one of the few bars where the HC can go out in public without fear of discovery. Lolly, the rotund warlock owner, had set it up as a Goth bar complete with black walls, black furniture and bad lighting. Humans got to dress up and act out their supernatural fantasies. The rest of us got to have a beer and some fun.
Morgan and I were currently allowed in on a probationary basis. The fight had not been our fault. Honest.
Morgan grinned at me. "Let's live a little."
"That is just weird coming from a vamp," I said.
I turned back toward the exit, deliberately keeping my gaze away from the bar area. I pushed my way past a couple gyrating their hips together in a way that looked anything but pleasurable. When Morgan allowed me to tug her along in my wake, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Maneuvering around the multitude of dancers in our own dance of get-me-the-heck-out-of-here, we managed to find the door without any problems.
Morgan broke the two-inch chain wrapped over and around the metal bar, then pushed the door open. Safety codes are not an issue for Lolly. Fire won't kill the HC and they don't care what it does to anyone else.
The cool July night air washed over my face. I slammed the door shut behind us. My back still itched as if I had a target pinned to me.
I knew exactly who wanted to pull the trigger.
I just couldn't figure out why. I'm attractive if you like medium height witches with dirty-blonde curls that run wild, brown eyes and a size ten butt. Most days a size ten. Okay, some.
Despite that, I've had several human boyfriends who assured me I was just their type. But I didn't think that demon had appreciated my curls or my ass. I had the impression he wanted me for an entirely different reason.
Too bad for him.
The scent of rotting garbage and fresh urine accompanied us as we walked down the dark narrow alley to the street.
"Still nervous about the interview?" Morgan asked.
"Yeah."
It was just the biggest opportunity of my life. Both to make a name for myself or to wind up six feet under in some cow-infested field.
"I would be too." Morgan slung her arm cheerily through the crook of mine. "After all, you're only talking about the Prince of Vampires."
I slapped my hand quickly over her mouth before she could get going. Sometimes Morgan just sucked as a best friend.
I laughed. There was no getting around that one.
****
"What you're looking for is a brunette, athletic, and O positive?" I asked, pen poised over my notebook.
"Precisely." Xavier, prince of the United States vampires, flashed a bit of discreet fang as he smiled. In the deliberately dim light of my office, the white contrasted sharply with his deeply tanned skin.
UVBGone most likely. It did exactly what the name implied and protected vampire skin so they could walk in the lethal sunlight, as well as giving them a gorgeous spent-my-summer-in-the-Bahamas tan.
Vampires don't have to "sleep" during the day. Sleeping is a human habit many of them haven't bothered to kick. Besides nighttime is when the rest of the creatures come out and it's more fun.
A lot of vamps use UVBGone. I just hadn't expected the prince to do so as well. But if he was planning to come "out", it made sense.
I swallowed heavily.
Damn. Had he heard that? I was in a heap load of shit already. And allowing a vamp the upper hand in any situation can be a very bad idea.
"You understand that I am not an escort service and that I provide full-disclosure for both parties?"
"Yes, of course, Ms. Storm." He picked an imaginary piece of lint off his impeccably ironed pants.
Well hell. There went my last faint hope. The Prince of Vampires planned to truly out himself and he was using my agency to do it.
I was so screwed.
I could not refuse him. He was the freaking prince.
Maybe I could call his mother.
Then again I could just chop off my own head and spare her the effort. No one likes a messenger.
I pretended to make another note as I eyed him out of the corner of my eye. He didn't look confused. In fact, the prince appeared remarkably cheerful.
Bright red hair caught in a ponytail set off his grass green eyes. A large ruby winked at me from his left ear. His skin was so smooth I actually thought Botox before I remembered that needles couldn't pierce a vampire's skin.
The Prince looked to be in his early twenties, but that whole thing about looks being deceiving took on an entirely different meaning with the HC.
He'd put down 1522 on his application for the year he was born. He couldn't remember the exact date.
Prince Xavier smiled. A dimple creased the side of his mouth. "I can't tell you how excited I am."
Wonderful. He was thrilled and I was counting down my last remaining hours.
No one came out of the closet in the humanly-challenged community. Though in the prince's case I guess – technically - that would be co
ming out of the coffin.
That's what the myths were for. The chaos that would ensue . . . a stampeding herd of wild water buffalo couldn't go as crazy as the humans would.
And I'd been worried that I wouldn't be able to find him the best match for his bride. Silly, silly me.
I had to try.
"Prince Xavier," I began.
"Xavier, please," he insisted.
"Xavier." I forced my lips to attempt a smile. "You do realize that if I match you with a human . . ." I trailed off, not certain how to continue. How do you explain basic elementary rules to a centuries old vamp who should damn well know better?
"Yes. Yes. Of course." He placed one well-manicured hand against his cheek.
I perked up. Maybe he was just slow?
"I forgot to explain my campaign to you." Campaign? "My wedding will be the first step in the revolution to combine the human culture with our own."
I saw it then in his eyes. He wasn't slow or still living in an era before phones with video capability documented everything. He was crazy. Just plain crazy.
2. Body Dumping 101.
I held the door open as Xavier, Prince of the United States Vampires and all around nut-job, left my office. He slid in behind the steering wheel of the silver Jag he'd left parked right in front. I waved with great gusto as he drove off.
I waited until his car turned the corner before I closed and locked my door then entered my office to begin screaming and pounding my fists on my desk.
Why me?
The eternal question - although to some a bit more eternal than others.
Of all the dating agencies in the world why, oh why, did the crazy Prince of Vamps have to walk into mine?
I loved my job. This is my baby, my chance to at least take a vicarious role in love since I'll never get to experience the whole thing myself. I'm cursed. I've made my peace with that. Honest.
I deal with my own inner demons through my agency.
Unfortunately, not the hunky, tat and scar sporting variety either.
I've built it and cared for it and babied it since I opened my doors two years ago. This is my true calling. And now one crazy prince was going to bring it all crashing down.
Dead Vampires Don't Date Page 1
