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Her life wasn’t all bad until she woke up a vampire.
Sabrina raised a daughter, started her own coffee shop, and bought her dream house in her hometown of New Orleans. If she had to complain about anything, it would be the seventh level of Hell hot flashes that come with being 53 years old. That is, until she wakes up a vampire.
Her body has never been more perky and her hair is a dream. Problems? Several. A vampire shouldn’t have hot flashes, mood swings that rival a rollercoaster ride, and the urge to drop into a dead sleep at 9:00 pm.
There is a God and he goes by the name of Christoph, the king of the New Orleans coven and a vampire who is hotter than her night sweats. Ready to jump his ancient bones, she manages self control. Barely. When she learns he can cure more than her animalistic urges, she will promise anything.
Enter the misfits. A succubus kicked out of Hell, an old as dirt reaper, a purple dragon whose hiccups light eyebrows on fire, and a cute as can be pooch that’s really a Hellhound. All occupants of the B&B, Fangri-La and Sabrina’s job is to turn Christoph’s new acquisition into a thriving business. Holy hot flashes, she may have sunk her fangs into more than she can handle.
CHAPTER 1
“Mom!”
That voice. It was like nails on a chalkboard, demanding Sabrina wake up, but damn, her bed was comfy. Maybe if she grabbed some duct tape, she could shut up whoever was busy tweaking her last nerve.
“What did you do to her?” The female voice posed the question to someone else. Great, that meant another asshole was in her room, intent on interrupting her sleep. Did these people not know it was best to leave sleeping dragons sleep?
“Saved her life,” the male voice dripped with irritation, which was what Sabrina was quickly becoming.
“Well, shouldn’t she be awake by now?” The female was clearly panicked.
“How should I know? I’ve never turned anyone before.”
Oooookay. Now they had her attention. Turn someone? Into what? Against her better judgment, Sabrina cracked open an eye and…
“Holy fucking shit mother of a––” She slammed that eye shut and slapped both hands over her face. Speaking through her fingers, she continued, “Turn off that fucking light! Are you trying to blind a person?”
“Quick, close the curtains,” the female hissed at what Sabrina guessed was the irritated male. Soon a heavy set of footsteps stormed across the hardwood, followed by the sound of metal scraping against metal.
“Okay, Mom. Spike closed the curtains.”
Spike? What the hell kind of name was Spike? Tempting fate, she cracked open her eyes through her spread fingers. It took a minute for everything to come into focus and the fog that hung over her to lift. Vision now sharp as a tack, she shot daggers at the two people who stared down at her. Ruby, her daughter and… Well, that must be Spike. Aptly named for the leather jacket he wore, all jacked up with silver studs and a short spike on each shoulder. How ridiculous he looked. Though she certainly understood why her daughter would hang with him. He was ruggedly handsome with his short blond hair, scruff on his jaw, and the brownest eyes she had ever seen.
“How do you feel?” her daughter asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Fine, considering you woke me from the wettest dream ever.” And what a doozy it had been. Mr. Tall, Dark and Sinful, with the most wicked tongue ever had been busy giving her the number and not his phone number either. She would seriously consider selling her soul to Satan for a man like that in her bed instead of her worn-out vibrator. The Intimidator had seen better days, that was for sure, and every time she plugged the beast in, she feared electrical shock. Maybe it was time to retire him and invest in something safer.
Pushing herself up, she looked around, now pissed that the skillful tongue between her thighs wasn’t real.
“What time is it?”
“Nine in the morning,” her daughter replied.
This not only caused concern but her black brow to jack up. “Why are you in my bedroom at nine in the morning? And, even more important, why is he and who is he?” She pointed her index finger at who she assumed was Spike.
“That’s Spike, my boyfriend.” Her daughter still hadn’t moved from the edge of her bed.
“I see. Well, while it’s nice to meet you Spike, I have things to do.” She shoved the blanket, which was tangled around her, and swung her legs until her
feet were planted on the warm wooden planks. Normally, she didn’t sleep this late, but she recalled tying one on in a big way last night with Robin and Laura. Laura had wanted to drown herself in booze since she was turning fifty this week. The hurricanes had flowed way too easily, and they had closed down the bar. It surprised her at how great she felt now that the sun was no longer blinding her. As she walked across the floor, she realized Ruby and Spike were still in her room and staring her down like she had three heads. Whipping to face them, she sighed.
“Why are you guys still here? Did I forget something?” She racked her brain and came up empty. Her manager covered the coffee shop, and Sabrina had the next couple of days off. So, she stared at them with the patience of a woman who needed her gallon of iced coffee. It was her addiction and God help anyone who stood between her and that witch’s brew.
“Mom, do you really not remember anything from your night out?”
“I recall drinking way too much and lots of dancing.” Her jaw unhinged itself and nearly smacked her breasts, which, she quickly realized, were far perkier than they should be unbound in her flimsy tee and Spike was busy staring. Crossing her arms, she tossed a lethal glare in his direction, causing him to quickly divert his gaze to the floor and stare at his biker boots. Not that she minded the attention, but he was her daughter’s boyfriend. Sabrina didn’t play that game.
“Did I dance on the bar again?” Dear God, please not again. She wasn’t a big drinker and the last time she had tied one on, she had danced on the bar. The embarrassment had been enough to make her drink nothing harder than mineral water for months afterward. Shit. She needed new friends because those bitches were the devil’s right hand.
“No. I think you better sit, though.” The concern that passed in her daughter’s eyes made her knees go weak. She had done something worse? Fuck. Had she stripped? That wasn’t her thing, so it was unlikely. What was more probable was picking up some hot guy. It had been so long since she had gotten a good fuck on she wondered if her nether region had shriveled up and blown away.
“Public sex?” She cringed as the words came out of her mouth, then got pissed.
She had been so drunk she had forgotten getting laid, and that was one thing she wanted to remember. Funny, she didn’t feel sexed up. Maybe it had sucked, in which case not remembering was something she could totally live with.
“No.”
“Well, what the hell then?” she huffed.
“Mom. Seriously, you need to sit for this.”
Swallowing, she moved to the small sitting area by the heavily curtained window and plopped onto the lounge. “Spill it.” She was a grown-ass woman of fifty-three. Whatever dreadful thing she had done, she would accept it and move on with grace. Publicly anyway. Privately, she would swear to every deity there was to never do it again if the papers didn’t get hold of it. Last thing she needed was her face plastered on the front page unless it was to wax poetic about her sinful coffee and bakery shop, ...
