Monday, November 02, 2009

It's a Vampire Thing by Dakota Cassidy

It's a Vampire Thing (Collection)
by Dakota Cassidy
Cover art by Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-243-2
Genre(s): Paranormal, Humor & Satire, Collections
Theme(s): Vampires
Length: Collection

Claire Treemont is a small-town coroner with a small-town social life -- as in, nonexistent. When a yummy body enters her life one night at the county morgue, Claire is astonished to find she's pretty sad he's dead. I mean, honestly, how often does someone like her get to gaze upon a body like that?

Zachariah Kowalski's got an affliction that has him waking up in places that are, to say the least, inconvenient. He also has a life mate who escapes him from century to century just as they're about to seal the vampire deal. Kinda frustrating, huh?

Add in a best friend, Jarrod, who's ever so helpful, and an ex who'd rather see him dead than with another woman, and you get... trouble. Oh, and a wild, passionate ride against time...
Desdemona Smitrovitch is a bad, bad girl. But Jarrod lusts after, er, likes Desi anyway -- at least when she's not trying to kill his best friend's woman. Jarrod thinks he can help Desi on the road to becoming a good girl.

Do good girls like floggers?

This collection contains the previously released novellas It's a Vampire Thing and Doing Desi.

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

"Well, hello sugar!" Claire Treemont crooned softly to the naked male figure stretched out on the table. Come-hither baby blues stared blankly back at her.
Okay, so he had the glassy-eyed thing going on, but damn, was he babe-o-licious. Claire gently brushed a stray lock of silky black hair from his forehead, as though he were a small child. Her gaze traveled the length of his bulky form. Lifting the crisp fabric of the white, institutionally-issued sheet, she blew out a breathy sigh that bordered on dreamy as she eyed his package.
"Well now... ain't that just whistling Dixie? Look at the size of that monster!"
She cringed as her thoughts strayed to places they shouldn't, at least not in her profession. Tsk, tsk. Such a waste of prime male flesh.
Claire dropped the sheet reluctantly and grabbed her clipboard, pulling a pen from behind her ear. Stray tendrils of honey gold hair fell loose from the clip imprisoning them. She brushed at them impatiently, tucking them back in place, and glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was wasting while she lollygagged. She clicked on the voice-activated recorder, and began the tedious task of cataloguing hunk-o-rama's vital stats.
Whew, honey. He wasn't just long there, he was long everywhere. All six-foot-five of him. She snapped the tape measure back into its metal holder with a click. Folding back the sheet with care, she ran her hands over the rigid planes of his abdomen to detect any abnormalities. "Somebody works out, doesn't he?"
He must have used Abs of Steel, she mused, then smiled at herself for spending yet another night-shift talking to a corpse. Like he was really going to answer!
What was his name, anyway?
Running a finger quickly over his chart, she located his entry. Zachariah Kowalski.
"Kowalski, huh? Good thing you were so good looking, with a name like Kowalski." Claire smiled indulgently at him and took his body temp. The cold metal table vibrated beneath her touch.
She turned to the instrument tray for her scalpel. The sensation of being watched skittered up her spine on spider's legs. She shook it off.
That's first-year rookie crap.
Claire had gotten over thinking the cadavers she attended were moving long ago, or that their glassy-eyed stares lingered on her. Indeed.
I need to spend more time with the living.
Thankfully, she began vacation tomorrow -- a long two weeks with nothing but time on her hands. Maybe she'd hit the singles bars. Ugh. And then again maybe not.
Again, she felt the curious conviction that someone was watching her. Ignoring it, she dug through the drawer full of gadgets trying to find a sterilized scalpel. Damn Albert for leaving behind a cluttered mess. She hated the day shift guys. She hated their small-town practices even more. Who the hell left a scalpel in a drawer with all the other stuff?
Hah! Claire latched onto the lone scalpel, feeling rather victorious. She checked to be sure the lethal weapon was still enclosed in its sterile sheathing, then tore it open.
Okay, handsome, here I come.
Smoothing her gloved hands over her lab coat before she began, she tugged at the waistband of the skirt beneath, yanking it up. God, she hated staff meetings and wearing skirts to impress the boss. Like she was gonna wear a ball gown while she hacked up dead bodies. Sheesh.
She pressed her fingers along Kowalski's cold, clammy skin, preparing the smooth surface for the incision. Locating just the right spot, she twirled the metal blade in her hand like a gunslinger and chuckled to herself. It was a shame to mar the perfection of such a beautiful specimen, but the funeral home would fix him up, good as new. She positioned the blade over his abdomen, near the fine sprinkling of black hair that narrowed to a point over his long cock.
A Herculean grip surrounded her wrist, so quick and startling that she jerked back and fell with a thud to the hard tile floor, scalpel clattering after her, wrist still held prisoner. Her heart clamored wildly in her chest.
She would not look up to see who or what held her in a death grip. No, no, no freakin' way!
Shit, she was gonna look up.
Cautiously, she raised terrified eyes just a hair to find Zachariah Kowalski peering down at her. His once-glassy baby blues crinkled at the corners, sparkling and full of life.
Holy dead guy, Batman!
His white teeth flashed as a wide grin spread across his angular face; he had the most glorious dimples. Dimples that were very much alive. Wavy black hair framed a handsome face, falling to brush the top of his shoulders. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as heat coursed a path down her arm. His smile was genuine, flashing perfect, white, evenly-spaced teeth as he asked, "Need some help?"
He swung his legs over the side of the examining table, letting the sheet fall to the floor. His thick, erect cock bobbed in her face. Claire's head followed the up-and-down motion in disbelief as the muscles in his thick thighs bulged.
Tugging on her arm, he pulled her up, their bodies now just inches apart. Standing, the top of Claire's head reached to just below his nipple, she noted absently. She screwed her eyes shut tightly.
No, this isn't happening.
She worked long hours and it was beginning to have an effect on her.
Yup, that's it.
"No, Claire, it's not the long hours you put in," Zachariah assured her with a deep chuckle.
His voice was like a liquid orgasm washing over her trembling body.
"Although such a beautiful woman really should get out more, you're not seeing things. Here, feel." He took her hand and placed it on his cock. Warm and smooth, it was incontrovertible evidence of his animate status.
He groaned. "See, I'm very much alive."
Oh, indeed you are. Claire's hands shook violently. And you know my name.
"Don't be afraid of me, Claire. I won't hurt you." His hot-chocolate tenor rippled through her veins like a heat wave.
Don't be afraid of the dead guy who just got up off your examining table, has a cock the size of a bull and isn't really dead, you say? A dead guy whose cock you have now firmly latched onto like you're declaring it your own...
She yanked her hand away.
Nah... me afraid? Never.
Claire struggled to remember where the door was so she could get the hell out of Dodge.
Zachariah's large hand shifted between her shoulder blades, and began to caress her back in slow, sensual circles. He pressed her closer and sniffed the air.
"Ah, Claire, you smell delicious, good enough to eat," he declared.
Um, okay, if this is supposed to be the scariest event of my life, then why are my knees melting like butter and my panties twisted in a knot to rival any sailor?
"Because you want me, Claire, and I want you. Now," he confirmed, just in case she was wondering.
Impossibly strong arms scooped her up, holding her tightly to his thick chest. "Where is your office?" he asked casually, as though he had asked where the soda machine was.
Without even thinking, she dazedly pointed in the general direction, and he whisked her off with determined strides, his bare feet slapping on the cold tile with each step.
Claire felt strangely disconnected, as if this was happening to someone else, and she was just a spectator.
Then he laid her gently on the maroon vinyl couch, and sat down beside her, caressing her face. His sparkling blue gaze pierced hers. She shivered in response, unable to tear her eyes away, allowing herself to be swept up in the moment, no matter how improbable, how impossible, it was.
"I'm going to say this as quickly as I can, Claire. I don't have time for explanations. I must fuck you."

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