Vampire Flappers

Book 2: Samantha Carter

by Tim O'Rourke

Genres: Romance Anthologies & Collections; Historical Romance; Paranormal Romance; Time Travel Romance

Synopsis

What happens in Paris . . . Since returning home, Sammy's been struggling desperately to remember her friends and her adventures back in the Wild West. Were they real? Could the vampires, the werewolves, even Harry be just figments of her imagination? Desperate for answers, Sammy has returned to the Underground, where it all began, and finds herself snatched back in time once again. Plunged into the middle of a desperate battle, Sammy's soon fighting for her life, for her memories . . . and for her man! Short, sharp and sexy, this is the perfect remedy for O'Rourke addicts needing a quick hit, and for new readers looking for something new and exciting Warning: Graphic content, for readers 18+ Praise for Tim O'Rourke: 'I need to read the sequel right now. I cannot wait for the release date!' A Readers Review Blog 'Do not think you can just read this book . . . no, you cannot, you will live in it . . . you will fall into it and be a part of the story.' Delirium.blogspot.com Book Reviews

Release date: July 3, 2014

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 64

Sample

I couldn’t put up with the shrieks of pleasure coming from Sally’s room any longer. For two years now we had shared together and for the last year the moans and groans emanating from her room had become too much to bear. Was I jealous? Hell, yeah. Who wouldn’t be? Month after month, week after week, day after day, I watched her parade a stream of fit young men into her bedroom. Most were cops. Sally had a thing for cops. Like me, she was studying criminology at the University of London so she often listened to those cops’ loose lips before, during and after sex. She would suck details about unsolved crimes and on-going investigations from them. Sally always seemed to be sucking one way or another. Christ, she was like a freaking vampire. But at least the vampires only fed off their victims at night – she was at it all day long given half the chance.

But there I go again. Vampires! I knew it wouldn’t be too long before my mind rattled back to them. For as long as I can remember I’ve believed in their existence. Some believe in Santa and the tooth fairy and elves that come out at night and fix your shoes – I believe in vampires. I have every right to believe too. I’ve seen them. I killed one in a mine back in Colorado of 1888. He was a serial killer – Spencer Drake – a police sergeant from Scotland Yard. Drake was Jack the Ripper. I had to keep reminding myself about him constantly, lest I forget everything.

It had been a year since I came back from November 1888 to November 2012 and with each passing moment, the memories of what happened to me were fading. It was like someone was smearing Vaseline over a windowpane I was desperately trying to stare through. But it wasn’t the vampire, Spencer Drake, I feared I would forget, it was the friends I made back there: the preacher and his lover, Louise Pearson, the young and beautiful Zoe Edgar, and … and Harry. Harry Turner. It was him I so desperately struggled to remember. Even though he was an arrogant jerk, we had shared something. Not just the best sex I had ever had; he was different. How can I explain? He was a werewolf. See, I said it. And did it make me sound crazy? Yes. It made me sound like I lost my freaking mind. How did I possibly travel back in time to Colorado in 1888 and make friends with a group of vampire seekers who themselves happened to be a pack of ferocious werewolves? Oh, and dare I forget, I killed the most famous serial killer of them all. You couldn’t make that kinda shit up. Although I must have, or it really happened.

So, as I took shelter from the rain outside Aldgate Tube Stati. . .