The heart is treacherous. Love is cursed. Dive into this collection of paranormal romance to find loves strong enough to break the veil between realms.
NOTE: by downloading this collection you are agreeing to sign up for the mailing lists of the participating authors:
Mandy Melanson, Elle Ryan, Lisa Wood, Helena Novak, PG Forte, Angelique Jordonna, Mira Kane, Dusty Grein, AJ Mullican, Rhetoric Askew, LLC
Get your FREE copy HERE!
If you've been following me for a while, you might already have read my story, Blame It On The VooDoo, as it was originally released as part of the Nine Naughty Novelists' short story collection, Nine Nights in New Orleans. That collection is no longer available, and I'm not certain what I'll do with the story, although I do have some very vague, amorphous ideas for turning it into a series. I'm thinking jaded vampire dom, and his submissive (sometimes) voodoo priestess lover solve magical crimes in The Big Easy.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds that idea absolutely irresistible--right?
ANYWAY...whether you've read it already, or not, you'll definitely want to pick up a copy of this collection before it goes away. It will only be available for a month.
Here's the blurb and a short excerpt:
What’s a little black magic among friends?
Vampire Rene Boudreaux is more than a little annoyed. It seems sexy voodoo queen Zirondelle Doucette has got him under her spell. Can Zee convince Rene that the only real magic is love? Or will he continue to blame it on the voodoo?
***This short story does NOT feature any of the Children Of Night characters. This is an entirely separate vampire world based in New Orleans that I may expand on, at some point.***
“It’s getting to where you can’t swing a dead chicken around here anymore without it smacking into one damn psychic or another.”
Zirondelle Doucette couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she listened to her Aunt Serafina’s complaints. Her aunt stood at the window of their family’s shop, staring out at the street, and Zee didn’t have to guess too hard to figure out the cause for her discontent. Another “damn” psychic had recently put out her shingle in the previously vacant storefront directly across from their own.
“And if it’s not a psychic it’s a card reader,” the other woman continued, grumbling crossly. “Or a palm reader. Or tea-leaf reader—”
“Or a purveyor of Voodoo essentials?” Zee suggested, holding up the little gris-gris bag she’d just finished assembling.
Serafina turned her head to glare at her niece. “Don’t sass me, Zee. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I do.” Ducking her head, Zee started in on the next charm. She knew it wasn’t psychics per se with whom her aunt had a problem. Serafina was a tolerant soul, not the kind who’d ever take a stand against anyone else’s religion or spellcraft or spiritual beliefs. It was the idea of all those make-believe mystics making a mockery of their family’s calling that was trying the older woman’s temper, and not without cause. The Doucette family had owned and operated their establishment in the self-same Royal Street location for several generations, dealing in authentic rituals, in candles and jujus, talismans and spells. It was hard not to take it personally when your way of life was turned into a kind of circus act by greedy imposters. But as Zee and her aunt both knew, the charlatans did in fact have a place and a purpose in the grand scheme of things.
Oh, how the tourists loved them. They ate up their acts and purchased their trinkets as eagerly as they did the beignets at the Café du Monde. Or jazz on Frenchmen Street. Or hurricanes in Pat O’s Courtyard. It was all part of the Crescent City mystique, like Po’ Boys and crawfish, pralines and beads. In an odd way, they kept things safe. They kept the merely curious from straying into dangerous territory.
“Oh, Lawd.” Aunt Serafina’s sudden gasp caught Zee’s attention. She glanced up in surprise.
“Auntie, what’s wrong?”
“It’s him.” Serafina scurried back behind the counter where her niece was working, babbling nonsensically. “He’s back. He’s coming this way. What should we do? What does he want this time?”
“Do about what?” Zee asked, feeling mystified and mildly exasperated. “Who’s back?” She loved Serafina; truly she did. Her aunt had taken Zee in after her parents passed, without question or hesitation—the only member of their somewhat eccentric family who seemed to have any idea about what to do with a bewildered little girl who’d suddenly been orphaned. Zee would never forget the older woman’s kindness but, all the same, there were times, like now, when dealing with her aunt seriously tried Zee’s patience.
The Doucette family had a certain reputation; they were known for being fierce and fearless. They prided themselves on it, in fact. But Serafina had always been unusually timid for a Doucette. Right now, her pale eyes, also unusual in a Doucette, were wide with fear, the pupils dilated; her voice was but a whisper. “Monsieur Boudreaux.”
Boudreaux. The name itself meant very little. It was as common as dishwater around those parts. But between the look on her aunt’s face and the singing certainty in her own heart, Zee knew exactly which Monsieur Boudreaux Serafina meant. She meant Rene Alcide Boudreaux. Zirondelle’s Monsieur Boudreaux. Dominant. Vampire. Master.
But not her master. No, not yet.
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