As a vampire, I only date for blood and ice cream, but a love spell is making my three man-snacks call me their fated mate.
Books in this Series:
Tropes to Watch Out For:
🍆 Fated Mates
🍆 Rejected Mates
🍆 Unusual Shifters
🍆 Break His Heart to Save Him
🍆 Older FMC
🍆 Anti Hero
I only date for two reasons: Blood and ice cream. But an errant love spell has my three man-snacks calling me their fated mate. Now, I'm stuck with:
A wolf shifter who’s an Instagram model.
A Pegasus shifter who loses his clothes when he sneezes.
As a vampire, I don’t need any mortals hanging around. I just want the delicious treats they provide...and their help stopping an old nemesis from enacting the most diabolical plan ever conceived: Poisoning all the ice cream.
Bob’s been Bob-napped!
One second I’m living my happily ever after with my three mates. The next my worst nightmare comes true: One of my men disappears.
My shifter mates and I race to find Bob with the help of a cat shifter. My men are jealous of the new guy, but he’s too charming to resist. Bob is in danger, but so are my pants.
Can we save Bob before the Bob-nappers kill him and break my undead heart? Can my mates and this new man accept each other?
My mates and I are attending a fancy ball hosted by Ford’s parents. We promised we’d behave, but that’s getting harder (hehehe) by the minute.
Wim is drunk. Bob doesn’t know what’s happening, and Ford…poor Ford. His family is looking down on him more than ever.
Everyone here is a snob who desperately needs to have their tight buttholes loosened up. Not literally. I’m not doing you-know-what to Ford’s family. But I am turning this stiff, snobby party into something more fun.
Things To Check Out:
An Excerpt of Sapphire
The bells hanging on the cafe door jingled, and in walked a handsome man with eyes as blue as a sunny day and a face perfect for sitting on.
Wim caught me watching him. “Is that your date—I mean meal—for the night?”
“He’s so…normal. Look, he’s even wearing a jean jacket like a Canadian in a beer commercial.”
I flicked my hands at Wim. “You’re just jealous. Unless you’re going to feed me, get out of here.”
I looked over the new man—my Tinder date/meal. With clear blue eyes, he was pretty in a boy-next-door way that he hadn’t lost despite being in his mid-twenties. He was too handsome to spend an eternity with. I’d fuck him, and we’d break up and then keep running into each other and hate-fucking, and doing the “will they or won’t they” thing for a thousand fucking years. No damn way.
“I bet his name is something basic like Mark or Rob,” Wim said.
He always made fun of my man-snacks, even though he wasn’t willing to be one. So, I hit back. “Is Horsey still waiting for me outside? Go tell him to stay there unless he wants to be dinner.”
Wim rolled his eyes as he pushed up from the table. “I’m not scaring off your other boyfriend.”
“Why not? You’re jealous of Mumford.”
Wim bared his fangs at me, and I bared mine back.
“Sapphire?” Bob, the jean jacket man, said.
I snapped my mouth shut and glared at Wim. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said.
“Don’t bite your tongue off.”
“Don’t piss on a fire hydrant.”
Wim gave me the finger as he walked away. I smirked. Good. I loved it when Wolfie was pissed off.
Bob looked from Wim to me with his brows furrowed.
I put on my best fake smile. “Hi, Bob, take a seat.”
“Who was that?” He slipped into Wim’s chair, his hands still buried in his jacket pockets.
“An old enemy. How are things at the ice cream factory?” It was the only reason I had swiped right on him—free ice cream. I may be an unending fixed point in time, but that didn’t mean my bank account was.
I did live in a castle though, and by live, I meant I worked in the gift shop in the basement and slept there during my day shifts. I was the manager, so I could do that.
“So…this factory…do you have a key card to get in after-hours? They have walk-in freezers, right, full of the good stuff?”
“Did you swipe right for ice cream?” Bob said. “Shit! I should have known; everyone only dates me for ice cream.”
“No, no!” I said. “I just like adventures and…umm…getting it on in cold places. Temperature play, you know.”
It wasn’t so much that I was still awkward as fuck after fifty-three years, it was that I no longer gave a shit if I was. I would outlive everyone I spoke to, anyway. If they didn’t like me, well…they’d die and I’d masturbate on their graves.