Robyn Peterman - book author
Robyn writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. Her addictions include shoes (the expensive kind), Coke with extra ice in a styrofoam cup, and bejeweled reading glasses.
A former professional actress, she now lives in the south with her family and too many animals to count. Writing gives her a chance to have a job where working in her P.J.’s is acceptable. You can follow Robyn at http://www.robynpeterman.com and at Facebook http://www.facebook.com/pages/Robyn-P....
Robyn Peterman is the author of books: Fashionably Dead (Hot Damned, #1), Ready to Were (Shift Happens, #1), Fashionably Dead Down Under (Hot Damned, #2), Switching Hour (Magic and Mayhem, #1), Fashionably Dead in Diapers (Hot Damned #4), It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death, #1), Hell on Heels (Hot Damned #3), A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5), Some Were In Time (Shift Happens #2), Who's Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? (Good To The Last Death, #2)
At least I didn’t think they did ‘til I tried to quit smoking and ended up Undead. Who in the hell did I screw over in a former life that my getting healthy equates with dead?
Now I’m a Vampyre. Yes, we exist whether we want to or not. However, I have to admit, the perks aren’t bad. My girls no longer jiggle, my ass is higher than a kite and the latest Prada keeps finding its way to my wardrobe. On the downside, I’m stuck with an obscenely profane Guardian Angel who looks like Oprah and a Fairy Fighting Coach who’s teaching me to annihilate like the Terminator.
To complicate matters, my libido has increased to Vampyric proportions and my attraction to a hotter than Satan’s underpants killer rogue Vampyre is not only dangerous . . . it’s possibly deadly. For real dead. Permanent death isn’t on my agenda. Avoiding him is my only option. Of course, since he thinks I’m his, it’s easier said than done. Like THAT’S not enough to deal with, all the other Vampyres think I’m some sort of Chosen One.
Holy Hell, if I’m in charge of saving an entire race of blood suckers, the Undead are in for one hell of a ride.
I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed – a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne – my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I’d left and I’d rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank.
Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return.
But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I don’t have to eat my words and my paw.
***This novella originally appeared in the Three Southern Beaches collection released July of 2014. This is an extended version of that story.
The Hell where the Prince of Darkness is hotter than Hades, Hell Hounds smell like brownies and the Seven Deadly Sins are addicted to Facebook... Not to mention the soundtrack in the Underworld is Journey. For real.
I should have known no good could come from offing my parents in the space of twenty minutes no matter how psychotic and evil they were…
Now I find out my family tree includes almost every deity and mythological being alive while Ethan, the one and only love of my undead life has a limited time down under before he turns to dust. In the land of Sin, you’d think I’d get some nookie time with my man, but no. Baby Demons, cousins and grandparents put the kibosh on that. Blue balls are the new normal. What the hell does a half-Vampyre Half-Demon have to do to catch a break?
Apparently find a freakin’ sword, calm Mother Nature’s unmedicated mood swings and make sure Mister Rogers keeps his sticky fingers to himself during weekly poker with the Devil.
And I have three days to do it.
By all that’s unholy, I thought Ethan’s Vampyre family was crazy…Trust me, they have nothing on the Demons.
However, if you throw in a recently resurrected cat, a lime-green Kia and a sexy egotistical werewolf, it’s enough to make a gal fly off the edge.
Not to mention a mission…with no freaking directions.
So here I sit in Asscrack, West Virginia trying to figure out how to complete my mysterious mission before All Hallows Eve when I’ll get turned into a mortal.
The animals in the area are convinced I’m the Shifter Whisperer (whatever the hell that is) and the hotter-than- asphalt-in-August werewolf thinks I’m his mate.
Now apparently I’m slated to save a bunch of hairy freaks of nature?
If they think I’m the right witch for the job, they’ve swallowed some bad brew.
~Make a map of every closet and bathroom in your home if you enjoy having sex. Sleep deprivation can cause confusion and a map will help if you only have seven minutes and thirty-one seconds. You’re welcome.
~Parenting books are useless if you're not human. If your child is half Vampyre/ half Demon I would suggest not using parenting books at all--they can backfire like a mother humper. Trust me on this.
~When your child tells you he has an imaginary friend, do not discount this as fantasy. Often times your child isn't imagining anything. If he persists with alarming and violent stories about this fictional buddy it's probably a Troll. Do a thorough search of your home and kill it. Decapitation works best. Some imaginary friends are harmless. However, it's wise not to take chances.
~Have sex again.
~When in large crowds, make sure you hold tight to your child's hand. Losing a child in an amusement park is terrifying. If you're truly paranoid a parent could consider putting a chip in their child. If you do this don't discuss it at dinner parties. People will think you are weird.
~At least cuddle.
~Playing with dolls is fun. Being one? No so much. If your child ever finds a Genie in a bottle, flush it immediately. Many children wish for things that are very difficult to reverse...like being doll sized. If this happens, move to Oz. There are many people of small stature there. And yes, it really does exist.
~Find a closet and go to town.
Kentucky. Eden, Kentucky to be more specific—where nothing is exactly as it seems.
My name is Dixie. I’m a Demon—a lousy Demon. I’m a twenty-one year old virgin and I have a battery operated boyfriend. My magic is iffy at best and downright dangerous at worst. Leaving Hell to represent my race is not high on my list of things to do.
Hell was exact. Hell was simple. All I want to do is get to home base with the hotter than Hades Demon of my dreams and work on my dark side so Satan, my dad, will get off my ass.
Instead I end up in Kentucky looking for the Balance of Chaos, avoiding pole dancing classes with Mother Nature and finding out my invisible friend is a silver skinned destructive weather pattern.
And if that isn’t craptastic enough, the damn Sword of Death is missing again and who ever has it wants the King of the Underworld dead. Seriously.
With new powers emerging daily, keeping my Demon side, horniness and general disgust under wraps doesn’t make it any easier to fit in with the humans. Thankfully my priorities are in line; get laid…save world…try not to blow up kitchen appliances…and get laid again. I was ready to rumble.
All I want to do is go back to Hell, but with the balance of good and evil in my hands, I’m stuck in the garden of Eden. Oh well, what the Hell. Someone has to save the world before there’s no world left to save. Might as well be me.
It’s Christmas at the Cressida House and all Hell is breaking loose.
Tree? Decorated and lit. Elf on a Shelf? Seated with style. Baby Jesus on the mantle? Fourteen neatly in a row. Life sized Nutcracker? Creepy, but standing proud. Invitations sent to entire immortal family to celebrate the holiday? Possibly the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever done.
Mixing Heaven and Hell on my cousin’s famous birthday seemed like such a brilliant idea. I wanted my baby’s first Christmas to be special—memorable. I’d like chalk my heinous idea up to having been fallen down drunk, but that won’t fly as it’s insanely difficult for a Vampyre to tie one on. So instead I’ll deal with obscene gifts from relatives, kidnapped rock stars and catering by Mother Nature.
To complicate matters, our new family pet thinks the whole house is his toilet. Ethan and I can’t even find a room with working lock on the door to spread a little holiday cheer.
Never, never again. Christmas from now on will be at a freakin’ spa for the undead—no poles for dancing and no slumber parties with the Devil.
I just have to make it through the next twenty-four hours without beheading a beloved one.
Merry freakin’ Christmas—and Happy New Year.
All I wanna do is marry Hank, have 2.5 beautiful little Werewolf babies and live happily ever after while having sex on a very regular basis. Oh…and I still want to shoot stuff occasionally.
Apparently no one got the memo.
Instead of complaining about the price of flowers, cakes and the fact that my gay Vampyre BFF, Dwayne insists on wearing a dress at my nuptials, I’m locked and loaded trying to ascertain who wants my ass six feet under. With Hank at my side and some surprising allies at our disposal, we will take on the bad dudes…one bloody clusterhump of a sucktastic battle at a time.
No one ever said the Werewolf life was going to be easy, but this week we couldn’t catch a break if it bit us in the ass…
Midlife's a journey. Enjoy the ride. Crisis included.
Never knew that life after death was far more dangerous than real life.
Never in my forty years did I think my new normal would be gluing body parts back onto ghosts and hosting a houseful of dead squatters. Thank God for superglue and a strong stomach.
Never thought I'd date the Grim Reaper and that I would be the one to blow it. I mean, how idiotic does one have to be to get dumped by a dude who lives in Hell?
Going about business as usual is not usual in any way. No one is who they seem to be... and to be honest, neither am I. What I'd known to be true has turned out to be myth. The Angels are frightening and the Demons are hot. Wait. I mean not. Who am I kidding? The Grim Reaper is very hot--like a freaking pre-menopausal hot flash hot.
Now I'm in a race against time and all sorts of unsavory supernatural horrors to save my deceased gay husband's afterlife. And that was a sentence I never thought would leave my lips.
Whatever. I'll yank up my big girl panties, stock up on wine and lean on my girlfriends as needed. As they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get inebriated... or something like that.
With everything to lose, I have no choice but to grow some lady balls. That I can do. I just hope balls will be enough.
I had planned to live midlife in peace, not in pieces.
Good luck to me...