Home > A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(5)

A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(5)
Author: Robyn Peterman

“It’s okay. I’m good,” I mumbled. “I’ve got plenty of underpants in my room.”

“Don’t worry, Mommy. Me forget to put on underpants sometimes too.”

“Thank you, baby. That makes me feel much better,” I said as Ethan tried unsuccessfully to hide his laughter. “Go play now. I’ll come get you when Gigi and Satan get here.”

He blew us a wet sloppy kiss and toddled off.

“I didn’t think this day could get any worse than bruised testicles and blue balls,” Ethan muttered. He was still grinning about my naked ass being busted by our son.

“Trust me it can… and it’s probably going to.”

I stood and reluctantly made my way upstairs to our bedroom. Going commando wasn’t working out like I thought it would anyway. Time to put on some big girl panties and pull them up.

Hell’s finest was due to arrive on my doorstep any minute now.

Chapter 3

“Ethan? What is this?” I called out as I stared at the mesh basket looking thingie that hung from the ceiling of my closet. It was attached to a thick elastic band and bounced as I tugged on it.

My closet was my sacred space. It was off limits to all but me, except Ethan was allowed in for Thursday night closet sex. It was stupidly huge—bigger than the living room of my old house. I freakin’ loved it. Occasionally, when Ethan was away on business killing stuff, I slept on the floor of my ostentatious Prada filled closet.

Initially, I felt guilty about indulging in such a lavish lifestyle, but I figured out a way to live with it. Vampyres were rich—rich beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. Apparently, the undead knew how to invest and the bastards were older than dirt.

If I had to take a guess, I’d have to say Vampyres owned fifty percent of the world’s properties—not to mention they hadn’t missed out on the technology boom or any other boom that had taken place in the last few hundred years. Most Vamps changed their name every eighty years or so and left their considerable and ever-growing fortunes to themselves.

Sooooo… in order to live with myself and all my new stuff, I cut a deal. The bargain made me quite unpopular in the bloodsucker community. However, being a True Immortal, and mated to the Prince of the North American territories, I had some pull.

And I didn’t give a rat’s ass if the snooty dead fuckers liked me or not.

I simply needed them to respect me or at the very least fear me.

Mostly, I had that base covered. I was half Demon-half Vampyre. I was related to Satan for God’s sake—and God too. My family tree was totally fucked up, but it afforded me an absurd amount of leeway.

Furthermore, I had enough power to take out a medium sized country without blinking an eye.

When I suggested to the undead of the world that all Vampyres with a net worth over ten billion donate half of their income to charity, I received death threats. The irony was an eye roller. Since no one seemed to be on-board except my friends and family, I went to an undead guy business summit and redecorated about ten Vamp owned properties—massive properties—all now permanently hot pink. Several I leveled to dust to make sure my argument was being heard. The only thing most Vampyres understood was violence, so I obliged them by demonstrating my own massive ability to wreck havoc. It only took four properties, a fleet of ships, and three now purple 747 airplanes to make my point.

I was insanely pleased with the results of my efforts, although it meant I’d had to watch my back constantly.

Even though I was almost impossible to kill, I liked my appendages and didn’t want to have to grow any back.

“Ethan, did you hang something ugly in my closet?” I called out again.

“What? Hell no,” he said as he warily entered my domain. “I never go within twenty feet of your closet. I value my life.”

“Then what is that?” I demanded as I yanked on the elastic band that the contraption was attached to. It bounced like a ball and made a weird squeaky sound.

“I have no clue,” he said as he examined it. “It looks like some sort of uncomfortable bobbing swing.”

“Motherhumpinshitballsonfire! Incoming,” an unwelcome and very familiar voice shrieked at ear shattering levels. The body belonging to the voice appeared in a rather violent cloud of glittering pink and silver smoke causing all to cough up part of a lung. “Merry Christmas, kids! It’s an Egyptian Fuck Basket, also known as the Tijuana Ball Busting Twist-o-Rama Fornication Machine!”

A bolt of royal blue lightning followed the alarming entrance and struck entirely too close for comfort. Adrenaline kicked in and I sprinted in terror right into my formerly neat pile of Prada and Chanel purses. I hit the wall with a loud thud.

“Son of a bitch, what did I tell you about making outdoor weather happen inside my house?” I shouted from beneath my overly protective and very heavy mate.

Ethan had thrown himself on top of me for my safety. Pulling a rather large Prada tote off of his head, he hissed with displeasure. He also looked like he wanted to kill something—mainly my grandmother.

“Can’t breathe here,” I grunted as I pushed on him.

“We’re Vampyre’s. We never breathe,” Ethan muttered as he rolled off of me.

“I believe you said it would force you to shove my favorite dancing pole up my ass,” Mother Nature said calmly as she slapped my mate on the ass. Then she stepped over the menagerie of fallen purses to test out her obscene gift. “Which, by the way, is a rude thing to say to your grandmother.”

   
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