Hey everyone,
As I said in my profile. I'll be posting all of my novels online because of these uncertain times. Afterall, a good book can take away a few hours of stress. So, I guess this is my contribution to helping you make it through the day.
If you would like to support me the best thing you can do is STAY INSIDE. Seriously. Nothing would make me happier than keeping my readers alive and healthy so you can shower me with praise for many years to come. ;)
For up to date information on my situation and the progress on my novels, please see my profile. I'll try and update that more regularly.
And I love reading your comments and getting your emails, so keep 'em coming!
Now, on to the second book in the Peaches' series!
-Rosi
***
Prologue: The Bane Of My Existence
"You are
not
a werewolf," my husband growled as we sped through D.C. in a Lamborghini that went perfectly with my flaming red hair. I rolled my eyes at him as I scarfed down my fifth burger, barely stopping to breathe.
See, my vampire husband, Bane, thinks he's always right. He thinks that because he's older than dirt, he has a monopoly on correct answers. So far I haven't been able to disprove that theory, so instead of trying to compare the black fuzzy stuff growing on my arms to werewolf fur, I used a different tactic.
I turned to him and braced my hands against the dashboard, because he was going
well over
the speed limit. While we both might be dead, I wasn't a vampire. In fact, we still didn't know what I was.
"What am I, Bane? Huh?" I demanded around a bite.
I watched his knuckles tighten and his fangs lengthen. I'd never seen his fangs lengthen outside of the bedroom. I wondered if he would pull over, find an alley, and fuck me seven ways to Heaven in the tiny car. I wouldn't complain if he did, but I sort of worried about losing Casper, Bane's vamp friend, because he was following us in his car.
Ya know what, he should. Screw the fact that I was still puffy and sore from our morning adventures, or that I had blood on me, or that I had a sore cheek from a lunatic vampire bitch slapping me a bunch of times; maybe a good, quick screw was just what I needed.
"You know it wouldn't be quick, Peaches. You know I'd—"
A different vampire, yelling in my mind, cut off what my sexy and naughty husband was about to say. "
I can hear your thoughts all the way over here in my Prius. We have a task at hand, Peaches. You need to calm your libido.
"
"
You calm your libido!
" I hissed back through the mind-call, because I was the queen of witty comebacks. Uh-huh.
Casper, the German vampire currently in my head, laughed and cut the call. I turned back to Bane. "I couldn't read your mind," he said carefully.
I shrugged. His jacket slid off my shoulder, but I tugged it back on. "I was talking to Casper."
"You were talking to Casper." Bane's Egyptian accent was back, thick and filled with restrained fury. "You
can
talk to Casper, and when that happens I can't read your mind."
I sighed and blew out enough wind to shake a tree. I was getting lost in the chaos that was my mind and, well, not my mind. Five days ago this wouldn't have been a problem, but then again, five days ago a lot of things wouldn't have been problems. For instance, until I'd woken up in my university hospital's morgue after a very embarrassing death involving my ex-boyfriend reenacting a scene from
Deep Throat
with our Chinese take out man, followed by me tripping on his front steps, falling, and cracking my head, I'd
never
thought I was a vampire. Naturally, waking up after dying, it seemed like the best answer.
A fat—excuse me,
muscular
—cat named Bane not only demolished that idea, but also vowed to help me figure out what I was. Some stuff happened. We went to a vampire party, my big mouth opened and stupid came out, so we had to be married. Then I got kidnapped by a psycho vampire bitch who I vomited acid on, and apparently killed with my poisonous blood.
That was my life—I mean my death—in a nutshell. Except I still had no freaking clue what I was, because, as my vampire husband—who sometimes turns into a black cat—said I wasn't a vampire and he didn't know what I was.
Bane pulled up to our hotel with Casper hot on our heels. He threw the car keys at the valet, then waited for Casper to get out of his car and do the same. I just stood there, munching on some fries, until we went in.
The guys surveyed the five-star hotel's lobby like ninjas and cops were going to pop out of the woodwork. I, however, walked on by without a care in the world, because if someone did attack me, I'd spit acid on them and force my blood down their throats. Did I mention I have a violent streak?
My mom used to hate it and tell me that ladies didn't punch people in the face. She'd also been the epitome of a sophisticated woman, with silky auburn hair cut in a bob, shapely legs, and the kind of soft voice angels envied. My mom and I couldn't have been more different. In fact, the only thing we shared was our ADD. My dad called us squirrels, because we could never focus on anything for long.
Case in point: I was still thinking about a family I could never return to because I was dead, married to a vamp, and had black furry stuff growing on my body, when we walked into our hotel suite and came face-to-face with Luther and his girlfriend.
Bane was in front of me in a second, protecting me like I was some damsel in distress. As a size sixteen—on the best day of the year—I'd never be considered a damsel. Damsels fainted and waved tissues in the wind to the knights who went off to die for their chastity or whatever. That wasn't me, and, if my kick ass new powers had anything to say about it, would
never
be me.
"Move it, Bane." I nudged him with my elbow.
My husband looked over his shoulder and down at me. I hated when he did that. The dude was tall, like really tall, and had this whole caveman thing going on. He had Joe Manganiello's height and protectiveness—I mean, Alcide's from
True Blood
—coupled with Jason Momoa's
Conan the Barbarian
ruthless attitude. Yeah, I watched