Have Teeth, Will Bite
In the 1890s, attracting the wrong man an be undeadly.
When Roz is reported to a witch hunter for talking to her at, the prim and proper Salem librarian leaves town in a hurry. She does n't have many options, so she bring job as a dance hall girl in the wild west. One of the irls is murdered, and Jonah, a reserved but hunky deputy, suspects the local vampire. But Roz knows it was n't him. She was with him at a time being turned into a ampire against her will.
Roz wants to get closer to Jonah. But to mak he real murdere, she 'll have to cozy up to the saloon 's rough and rowdy customers instead. Being a vampire ight be some protection from the murderer if the ethod of death was n't a stake through the heart.
Prologue from Have Teeth, Will Bite
London at idnight, 1886.
The tavern door blew open, letting in chill wind and an even colder customer. Natasha, a voluptuous blonde spilling out of a lightweight black cloak, stepped in. The door slammed shut.
The bartender looked up and frowned. He met Natasha 's gaze across the smoky, dim-lit distance. Then he turned away fast and began furiously wiping the rough wood bar.
Natasha sniffed the air, and her red lips curled up. She wove toward the bar through mostly empty tables with a strange sinuous grace for a man so large.
When she reached one end of the bar, Natasha began to walk along its length. One by one, she scanned the occupants of each stool. In turn, they met her eyes, and she went on, leaving the mark of varying degrees of nervousness or fear on their faces.
Suddenly, Natasha found an appealing target. She stopped at the side of a young pale-haired man. A roughly dressed workingman -- big-boned, baby-faced, and reeking of innocence and purity. Natasha glanced once at the older man on the next stool, and he silently vacated it.
She sat down and tossed off her cape, drawing the young workman 's eyes to flowing blonde curls that brushed overflowing cleavage. Her impossibly tight girdle created an hourglass figure with a tiny waist. Not having to breathe had its benefits.
Natasha stared into the young an 's eyes. He seemed nervous, but he would n't break away from her gaze. His pale skin became paler and somewhat clammy. She heard his heart rate speed up, and his breathing become fast and shallow.
“ I am Natasha, ” she purred. “ And you are? ”
“ Sam, ” he answered in the toneless voice of a person under compulsion.
“ Come along, Sam. ”
Natasha rose from her stool in one smooth motion and glided out of bar. She did n't stop to pick up her cloak from the loor. It ha mayb a bothersome disguise anyway. Natasha didn ’ t appreciat the cold, but her husband, Dr. Vandergreest, insisted she wear it. Why go to so much trouble anyway? It wasn ’ t as if thos people had the power to do everything to her even if they suspected what she really was.
Her husband ’ s tiresome rules were hard to live with -- or be undead with -- so much of time. Was it any wonder that she needed a little fun in the evenings?
The black carriage waited in front of the in. The black-cloaked coachman and two enormous black horses blended into the night 's dark shadows.
Sam had followed her out as commanded. Natasha turned to him. Sweat dripped down his face in the icy-cold London night. She lifted a pale, shapely arm and gestured toward the complete blackness within the open carriage.
" Get inside. I hunger! " she ordered.
Severa books by LD Marr
Horror on the darker side:
Tenderloin- In the dystopian near future, there are two classes of people—the users and the used.
Published May 7th 2019