Home > Fashionably Dead and Wed (Hot Damned #7)

Fashionably Dead and Wed (Hot Damned #7)
Author: Robyn Peterman

Chapter 1

“Explain to me again how this happened,” I hissed. I throat punched a viciously aggressive Demon gunning for my head—bloody mouth open and razor sharp claws extended. Killing things with teeth as long as my forearm was definitely not my idea of a good time, but when we’re talking Us or Them, it was simply a necessary evil.

“It was a shiny rock. How in the hell was I supposed to know it was a motherhumpin’ portal to Hell?” Martha wailed, slamming an impressive right hook into the jaw of one of the slimy bastards.

“I told her not to touch it,” Jane grunted. “But did she listen to me? No. She didn’t listen.”

We were three Vampyres against twenty Demons and it was only 10 am. This did not bode well for the rest of my day. Nor were the odds what I would have chosen, but it was what it was. The evil shits had shown up uninvited and quickly worn out their welcome.

Today had started so perfectly with a marathon of closet sex with Ethan, followed by a rousing game of Candy Land with our son Samuel and his pet baboon, Blobbityflonk. Now this… a normally beautiful, peaceful field of wild flowers and trees polluted with ugly, stinky, evil Demons from Hell who were definitely not supposed to be in Mossy Creek, Kentucky. If I had to hazard a guess, the bastards were from the worst part of Hell—otherwise known as the Basement. The fragrant spring breeze was filled with the acrid odors of burnt flesh and bad breath. Occasionally, the super duper gift of Vampyre smelling ability bit me in the ass—or gag reflex, to be more accurate.

“Just blast ‘em,” Jane shouted, taking two of the Demons into a chokehold and squeezing so hard they popped.

They burst like blood filled balloons and I choked back a dry heave. Not that I could throw up or anything helpful like that, Vampyres didn’t have that particular talent.

“I can’t. Too many Demons,” I ground out, as I smacked down on one who’d taken a chunk out of my leg. Damn it, the gaping hole would take at least an hour to grow back and possibly leave a scar. “We’re three miles from an elementary school filled with human children. The explosion would rock the entire town, you imbecile. This one is hand to hand.”

Time and time again I internally bitch slapped myself for having Martha and Jane turned in the first place. The two eighty-nine year old dumbasses had caused more trouble in the short time they’d been undead than our entire race had in centuries. My compassion continually reared up and smacked me right upside the head where they were concerned.

“After we’re done here, remind me to decapitate both of you,” I said. Then I back-flipped and scissor-kicked the noggin right off the Demon who’d made the grave mistake of thinking he could take me out.

“Will do,” Martha grunted, tossing knives and throwing stars around like they were beads at a Mardi Gras parade.

Her aim was appalling and I ducked before she accidentally nailed me.

“Holy shit on a sharp stick in the left eyeball,” Jane screeched as she removed a misfired dagger Martha had planted in her ass. “They’re running away.”

I shot back up from my crouched position and let out a furious curse. Sure enough, the remaining Demons fled across the field too fast for a human eye to detect—flaming dots of red fire mixed with the pink and purple flowers that were now wilted due to the sulfur from Hell blanketing the field like an ominous fog.

We’d killed twelve. That meant eight had escaped and were going to wreak havoc on Earth. Not good. Not good at all.

With a flick of my hand, I sealed the portal shut and let my head fall back on my shoulders. What to do now? Did I go after the bloodthirsty denizens of Hell? Or should I tie Martha and Jane into an undead human pretzel and throw them into the portal I’d just closed?

Decisions sucked.

“Um… Boobs McGee?” Martha asked quietly as she poked me in the arm. “Do you want us to go after the fuckers or go get some backup first?”

“I want you to have never opened the portal in the first place,” I snapped, ignoring the nickname. I’d long ago given up on reminding the two idiots that my name was Astrid.

I paced the open field in agitation and watched the Demons we’d killed turn to gooey dust before my eyes. These Demons were far worse than the last bunch that had gotten through the portals, and their visits were becoming more frequent. My Uncle Satan had some explaining to do.

Glancing over at Martha and Jane, I had to laugh. They were a hot mess and not just because they were covered in blood and had been fighting bad dudes from the Underworld. Nope. They’d taking up jogging and had the heinous outfits to prove it—teal booty shorts and yellow sequined jog bras coupled with black socks and expensive running shoes. The sparse tufts of grey hair on their heads were held back with headbands that would have made Richard Simmons proud. I was surprised they hadn’t scared the Demons back to Hell with their sportswear.

“Why the left eye?” I asked Jane. I pressed the bridge of my nose and reminded myself it would be wrong to blast their sorry flat asses into tomorrow.

“What the hell are you babbling about, Hooters McHootieland?” she asked, completely confused.

“Why the crap on a sharp stick in the left eye instead of the right one?” I asked again.

“Hell if I know,” Jane grumbled and shrugged her bony shoulders. “It’s just the way it is, Melons O’Chesty. Sun comes up in the morning. Sun goes down at night. George W. is better lookin’ than Jeb. Sharp sticks covered in poo go in the left eye.”

   
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