Dead Girls Don’t Sing
The Undead Space
Initiative, #2
by Casey Wyatt
Date of
Publication: December 18th 2017
Publisher:
Casey Wyatt
Cover
Artist: Kim Killion Designs
Genre:
Urban Fantasy, Time Travel
Tagline: Time will have its way
The
Book Junkie Reads . . . began reading DEAD GIRLS DON’T SING (The Undead Space
Initiative, #2) . . . I loved
book one of this series.
BLURB
When former vampire stripper
Cherry Cordial settled on Mars with her undead family, she thought she’d left
her chaotic past behind her. After finding her mate and becoming the first
vampire to give birth, she’s hoping to lead a drama-free life.
Naturally, the universe has a
different plan. When mysterious undead space travelers arrive, an ancient
Martian plague is released, infecting the undead. To find the cure she must
return to Earth. All she needs to do is travel into the past, confront her own
tangled history, and not break the space-time continuum. But if Cherry’s
learned anything, it’s that her life is never that easy.
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Excerpt:
Tiny
pokers stabbed my eyes.
Another
body, warm and hard, spooned against my backside.
Ian
always felt so good, comforting and real.
His hand
wrapped around my waist, cupping the underside of my breast. A cool sheet slid
off my bare shoulder.
I was
naked and in bed. A snippet of memory interrupted my appreciation of my
husband’s hand.
Wasn’t I
running from something . . .?
Fingers
trailed along my spine, heading south. The touch was wrong, unfamiliar and
rough.
Hold on.
That wasn’t Ian. I shouldn’t feel the warmth of sun against my skin either. We
lived on Mars, where it was colder than a witch’s tit.
If not
Ian, then who was touching my inner thigh?
My
eyelids snapped open like a shade on a spring. Bolting upright, I bared my
fangs and grabbed the man’s wrist.
Oh, holy
hell. I was in bed with another man. I rolled away and slammed into a different
body. Shit, make that two other men. Two eye-poppingly gorgeous men.
Hey, I
might be dead, but I’m not dead dead.
“Mistress?
Have I displeased you?” said the man whose wrist I was about to shatter.
Stunning blue-gray eyes. Dark stubble lined his chiseled jawline. His dark hair
was mussed and complimented his swarthy skin tone. Dried blood smeared his
neck. A red trail led to puncture marks.
The other
man’s brown muscled chest rose and fell in rhythmic sleep. His body was fully
exposed on the white sheet. Puncture marks lined his neck, his groin and his
very erect penis.
My cheeks
heated like a furnace. Clearly, we’d had a good time.
“No.
Leave me. Both of you go to your rooms.” I dropped his wrist. The man woke his
drowsing companion, and they left as I’d commanded.
Damn. I
wished I could get the other men in my life to be so compliant.
Other
men? There were other people important to me. Why couldn’t I remember them?
I’d kill
Jonathan if he was messing with my mind again.
But
yet... that idea didn’t feel right.
Somewhere
in a dead corner of my memory, this moment seemed familiar. Jonathan, sensing
my unhappiness with our “arrangement,” had spent the early years of our
relationship attempting to please me.
This must
have been my slut phase, where we’d bring home gorgeous men and I would feast
and fuck while he watched. I enjoyed knowing it bothered him that I wouldn’t
sleep with him. Only the mortals that we found in gaming dens, brothels, even
at society events. The only other thing I would take from Jonathan besides his
money was his blood, and only out of necessity.
Fucking
hell. Ian’s go-to phrase—I remembered him now—helped resurface the reason why I
was reliving this not-so-proud moment in my past.
The
plague. The Lost Ship. The time stream. My daughter.
Oh, dear
God. I hoped she was safe.
“Good
morning, my pet.” Jonathan read a page of the morning newspaper while sipping
tea from a dainty cup. He sat on the balcony situated outside my bedroom. From
his vantage point, he could view the bed and my doings in Technicolor glory.
My heart
lurched at the sight of his arrogant beauty. I had forgotten how full of life
he’d been, especially in this time period. And, oh, how handsome he was. His
raven hair glossy with blue highlights sparkled in the early morning sunshine.
The strong line of his jaw and perfect Roman nose coupled with full lips made
it hard not to stare at him. He hadn’t yet acquired the weariness that having a
Family would place on him.
In later
years, after much bitterness between us, I no longer saw him anymore. The
beauty was tarnished, and we became as passionate as two coworkers passing the
time until their shift ended. He had become someone I had to endure rather than
enjoy. Not that I ever really “enjoyed” him because of the circumstances
surrounding our sham marriage.
The
horrid image of his death, when he’d knelt, offering Thalia his head, shattered
the peaceful moment. With a plaintive look, he commanded that I accept his fate
and mine. We both knew that Thalia, the dead queen’s heir apparent, was a
vindictive bitch. She blamed me for her mother’s death and Jonathan refused to
bow down to her. So, he did what he always did. He protected his Family by
sacrificing himself so we could escape. In his last moments, regret had filled
his eyes. The wish that we could have been different together had been silenced
forever.
Seeing
Jonathan again and remembering was worse than reopening a wound and rubbing
salt in it with a lemon juice chaser. If only I could apologize to him for how
awful I’d been. I hadn’t been blameless in wrecking our relationship. I could
have tried harder to accept my fate instead of punishing him at every turn.
The
temptation to blurt out the truth bubbled inside, until I had to force myself
to look away from him. Would this Jonathan be willing to help me? Or would he
use my current predicament to his advantage?
No. I
couldn’t, wouldn’t chance it. Not with the entire colony’s lives hanging in the
balance.
Would’ve,
Could’ve, Should’ve. Sew it on a patch and you’d have my life’s motto.
Yup.
Regrets sucked.
Jonathan
placed the teacup down and smiled. “Did you enjoy yourself? You seemed a bit
surprised when you awoke.”
Surprise
didn’t cover how I felt. That word was too puny, too inadequate. After a few
seconds, I found my voice again.
“Yes, we
had a good time. Thank you.” It sure looked that way.
He acted
like finding his wife in bed with other men was no big deal. It wasn’t like I
would keep them. To him they were more like pets or meals with legs.
But now,
with a century of wisdom tucked under my belt, instead of relishing in his
annoyance, I realized something. He was sad. With himself or me, I wasn’t sure.
And it didn’t matter. I had a mission to accomplish. A future to save.
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Author Info
Casey Wyatt grew up in a mid-size
Connecticut town where nothing exciting ever happened. To stem the boredom, she
read fantasy and sci-fi stories, imagining her own adventures in her head. Not
much has changed since she’s grown up, only now she's a multi-published author
of paranormal romance and urban fantasy novels. In her spare time, she loves
all things geeky, hangs out in museums, and collects stray cats.
Visit Casey on the web:
www.caseywyatt.com. You can also find Casey on Facebook and Twitter
(@CaseyWyatt1).
To receive advance notice about
new releases and special sales, subscribe to Casey's Newsletter at www.caseywyatt.com
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