Read Online The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance by Trisha Telep - Free Book Online
Authors: Trisha Telep
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tormented fitted Wallace perfectly. He hadn’t been a vampire, though not for lack of trying. A Vodoun priest with an inferiority complex, Wallace had been obsessed with the undead. Our relationship ended the day I walked in to find him shooting up with black market vampire blood.
I wish I could say Wallace had been a blip in an otherwise healthy love life, but he was only the latest in a string of losers. Dating fellow supernaturals solved a lot of problems, and opened up a whole bunch more.
“Forget the vamp bar then,” Tiffany said. “Maybe there’s someone here.” She looked around. “Or maybe someplace else.”
I sighed. I was being a bitch, really. This bar sucked. I didn’t have another place in mind. And my friend really wanted to try this so-called vampire one. Was that too much to ask?
“All right,” I said. “We’ll check out this bar and find you a vampire. And if he’s not tormented, I’m sure I can fix that.”
A vampire bar. Now that we were on our way, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit intrigued. And Tiffany wanted to go so badly that I could tell myself I was doing it for her sake . . . and almost believe it.
I’d met Tiffany three years ago in a support group for half-demons. As a rule, women don’t hook up with demons willingly and bear their children. Our mothers have no idea that we’re anything but human, and we don’t either, until our powers start to kick in. That power depends on Daddy. In my case, it’s enhanced hearing. Tiffany is a low-level ice demon. She can’t freeze a guy in his tracks, though she has a glare that does the trick pretty well. Mostly she just turns water into ice. Useful at parties when the freezer is broken. Otherwise not so much. She’s happy with it, though.
Not every half-demon is so content. Hence the support group. I’d first learned of my demon blood when I was “found” by a group that monitored medical channels and discovered I’d been trying to find an explanation for my super-hearing. They recommended the support group and I thought, Cool - I can meet others, then learn about my powers and how to improve them. Not exactly. As I discovered, it really was a support group - a place for half-demons to angst about the nasty blow life had dealt them.
Blow? Hello, super powers? They should have been celebrating winning the genetic lottery. Instead they whined about not fitting in, about having demon blood, about their slutty mothers screwing the forces of evil. I say, “Go for it, Mom.” She’d been single and I’m sure the demon was damned hot — metaphorically speaking, I hope.
I didn’t last long in the group, just long enough to meet Tiffany, who was every bit as puzzled by the “woe is me” sentiment. I also met Jason, my first supernatural boyfriend, who - as it turned out - wasn’t even a half-demon, but a druid who infiltrated the group to pick up chicks. And so I was introduced to the wonderful world of paranormal romance.
“It must get lonely being a vampire,” Tiffany mused as we walked down St James Street. “Just think of it. Centuries of watching everyone you love grow old without you, die before you.”
“That’s romantic?”
“Sure, don’t you think so?”
I wasn’t touching that one.
We passed a trio of wraithlike Goths, sticking to the shadowy edge of the sidewalks as if the streetlights would reduce them to dust motes. They took in our clubwear with sniffs of disdain. I returned the favour.
At least we seemed to be in the right neighbourhood. Which begged the question: how much of a secret was this place? Those kids were not supernaturals — we just don’t call attention to ourselves like that. If everyone knew about the bar, that meant the chances of it really being what it claimed were next to nil. And just when I was starting to think this night might turn interesting. I swallowed a bitter shot of disappointment.
“Maybe the books are wrong,” Tiffany piped up. “But I bet
I wish I could say Wallace had been a blip in an otherwise healthy love life, but he was only the latest in a string of losers. Dating fellow supernaturals solved a lot of problems, and opened up a whole bunch more.
“Forget the vamp bar then,” Tiffany said. “Maybe there’s someone here.” She looked around. “Or maybe someplace else.”
I sighed. I was being a bitch, really. This bar sucked. I didn’t have another place in mind. And my friend really wanted to try this so-called vampire one. Was that too much to ask?
“All right,” I said. “We’ll check out this bar and find you a vampire. And if he’s not tormented, I’m sure I can fix that.”
A vampire bar. Now that we were on our way, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit intrigued. And Tiffany wanted to go so badly that I could tell myself I was doing it for her sake . . . and almost believe it.
I’d met Tiffany three years ago in a support group for half-demons. As a rule, women don’t hook up with demons willingly and bear their children. Our mothers have no idea that we’re anything but human, and we don’t either, until our powers start to kick in. That power depends on Daddy. In my case, it’s enhanced hearing. Tiffany is a low-level ice demon. She can’t freeze a guy in his tracks, though she has a glare that does the trick pretty well. Mostly she just turns water into ice. Useful at parties when the freezer is broken. Otherwise not so much. She’s happy with it, though.
Not every half-demon is so content. Hence the support group. I’d first learned of my demon blood when I was “found” by a group that monitored medical channels and discovered I’d been trying to find an explanation for my super-hearing. They recommended the support group and I thought, Cool - I can meet others, then learn about my powers and how to improve them. Not exactly. As I discovered, it really was a support group - a place for half-demons to angst about the nasty blow life had dealt them.
Blow? Hello, super powers? They should have been celebrating winning the genetic lottery. Instead they whined about not fitting in, about having demon blood, about their slutty mothers screwing the forces of evil. I say, “Go for it, Mom.” She’d been single and I’m sure the demon was damned hot — metaphorically speaking, I hope.
I didn’t last long in the group, just long enough to meet Tiffany, who was every bit as puzzled by the “woe is me” sentiment. I also met Jason, my first supernatural boyfriend, who - as it turned out - wasn’t even a half-demon, but a druid who infiltrated the group to pick up chicks. And so I was introduced to the wonderful world of paranormal romance.
“It must get lonely being a vampire,” Tiffany mused as we walked down St James Street. “Just think of it. Centuries of watching everyone you love grow old without you, die before you.”
“That’s romantic?”
“Sure, don’t you think so?”
I wasn’t touching that one.
We passed a trio of wraithlike Goths, sticking to the shadowy edge of the sidewalks as if the streetlights would reduce them to dust motes. They took in our clubwear with sniffs of disdain. I returned the favour.
At least we seemed to be in the right neighbourhood. Which begged the question: how much of a secret was this place? Those kids were not supernaturals — we just don’t call attention to ourselves like that. If everyone knew about the bar, that meant the chances of it really being what it claimed were next to nil. And just when I was starting to think this night might turn interesting. I swallowed a bitter shot of disappointment.
“Maybe the books are wrong,” Tiffany piped up. “But I bet
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