- Nixie's in Love – C. Sanchez-Garcia
- Jessebel – Sacchi Green
- Willing – Xan West
- Kiss and Make Up – Ashley Lister
- Devouring Heart – Andrea Dale
- Blood Tint – Raziel Moore
- The Taste of B Negative – Cheyenne Blue
- You'll Love the City – Naomi Bellina
- It's Lovely. It's Horrible – Kathleen Bradean
- The Curse – M. Christian
- Red Wet Kiss – Beryl Falls
- The New Normal – Jay Lygon
- Cat – Giselle Renarde
- One More Transformation – Nobilis Reed
- Vampires, Limited – Lisabet Sarai
Quite a few of the stories are GLBT-themed. Several focus on BDSM relationships (which always seem so appropriate when you're talking about vampires). You'll also find sci fi, humor, and plain old (well, not plain!) romance - though every story is explicit.
Here's a snippet from C. Sanchez-Garcia's fabulous tale, just to warm you up.
The noisy Dollar General Jesus clock showed it was after five. The sun would be up in an hour. “It’s that time.” he heard her whisper. Dan saw her eyes and suddenly made the connection.
Before he could move, she sprang at him. She had him.
Goddamn, she was so fast.
In an instant he was whirled through the air and landed softly but soundly on his back. She stretched on top of him like a pantheress, making a soothing noise that seemed to creep in, making him sleepy. Her steely fingers pinned his arms. The needle sharp fang teeth were out now, gleaming brightly in the light off the abused lamp, pricking and stinging at his throat, as he struggled to look away from the crimson flecked, bottomless wells of her exquisite eyes.
"Now, feed me. Mein Liebling."
He wriggled his knees under her, then his feet. Her fangs champed and snapped viciously at his throat. Just as she almost had him, he got his feet against her belly and kicked as hard as he could, flinging her backward through the air. She sailed across the room and crashed into the far wall. The plaster shattered at the impact.
That goddamn cheap-shit drywall! There goes my Sunday.
She slid down, dazed for an instant, then jumped back to her feet like a cat, her fingers clenched into claws of demoniac fury. Frantically, he fumbled in his pants pocket. Just as she coiled for the fatal spring, he found it. He thrust it out, almost dropping it. A large mother of pearl crucifix, with a silver Jesus Christ dolefully impaled on its arms. She had said it was gaudy. He liked it anyway.
"Whore of Satan!" he cried "Back, undead vixen! Back to the Hell that cast you out! Back!"
He advanced towards her. She snarled and fell back throwing her arm over her eyes. Then she was moving fast, circling him. "You seek to baffle me with your crosses and your garlic," she sneered murderously. "You with your pale face, to me you are just some fucking sheep in a butcher’s!"
Jesus on a bicycle, he thought. What a cheeseball. She’s got that Stoker stuff down pat, too.
She seized the cheap plastic – replaceable – table lamp and winged it at his hand. He ducked as the lamp knocked the crucifix from his grasp and watched the cross slide out of reach under the sofa. God forgive me, but I absolutely adore her. If only she could cook.
She was on him again in an instant. They fell to the floor, clawing and twisting, like Tasmanian devils mating. He grappled for her arms, as her fangs snapped and missed, ripping his shirtsleeve.
His hand slid under the sofa, feeling around frantically. He had the crucifix again. Pulling it out, he shoved it in her face. She jumped off him and he tackled her, sweeping her feet out from under her. They rolled into the table and it went down.
She pushed him off and tore open her T-shirt, exposing her perfect breasts. The urgent pink nipples, erect and rampant, stunned him with lust like a gorgon. Faster than he could see, she swatted his hand. Again, the crucifix flew away from him – no idea where it went this time. He could hardly bear to take his eyes off her tits. He had seen them in various situations, pretty much every night for a glorious year, and they still nailed his feet to the floor every time.
She held him down effortlessly, her breasts dangling in front of his eyes, her knees pinning his shoulders. He wanted to just surrender to her, but first there was one more thing he had to try, just to impress her. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a simple wooden pencil. Her lips puckered into an O of surprise when she saw it, but it was too late. He pressed the freshly sharpened tip against her heart. "Gotcha!"
He held it there like a knife. She climbed off and backed away from him delicately, her eyes wide with surprise. That was a new move he had thought of while doing a crossword puzzle. Feeling immensely smug, he backed her against the wall. "Strip off your clothes – daughter of Satan!"
Leering, she pulled down her jeans and panties together and dropped them on the floor in a bunch. She was naked now, except for the torn rag of her open T-shirt. She leaned dreamily against the wall, with its broken plaster hole, spreading her legs wide enough for him to see everything, watching him. He kept his eyes fixed on the pencil he held over her heart. If his eyes drifted down to the thick delta of wiry blonde hair between her moist thighs, even for a second, he knew she'd wipe the floor and the dinner dishes both with him.
Want to know what happens next? Buy the book! Please! (The link goes to the Coming Together website, where you'll find the most up-to-date set of sales venues.) And remember, every purchase entitles you to a free copy of my book Body Electric - just for the asking!
Merry Christmas to all!