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A Tisket, A Tasket, My Love Sleeps in a Casket

Author(s): Carla F. Cripps

A Tisket, A Tasket, My Love Sleeps in a Casket

by Carla F. Cripps

Vamp Dude*
A Fang-in-Cheek Parody
by Serena Campion,
Dedicated to Her Lovelorn Pal, Vincent
Vincent's Choice
Vincent hasn't seen Rose since she was a baby, but he's fallen instantly in love with the beautiful young woman she's become. He wants only to cherish and protect her—to slay dragons for her—it's just too damn bad that, being a vampire, he's the dragon.
Lovin' a Vampire Can Be a Blast
When demons trash your workplace, who ya gonna call? Demon-slaying vampire Alex, of course. But if Alex and Briohny can't get their romantic act together, who they gonna call? Finchley Cupid, naturally.
Let No Vamp Write Her Epitaph
Hell never envisaged the fury of a she-vampire scorned. As if Rand Michaelson didn't have enough guilt haunting his vampire sleep, the nightwalker who turned him—without his consent—is about to add the murder of Melanie McConnell, his new, mortal love, to her blood-drenched scorecard.
Summertime and the Lovin's Enchanted
In Finchley Cupid's expert opinion, Nathan is the most clueless, inept vampire ever fledged. Finding the sweet-natured, klutzy nightwalker a suitable home, lair and girlfriend becomes the cupid's highest priority, but he can't resist playing hero to the lovely Giselle, who just might be his own cupid true love.


Vincent’s Choice
By Carla F. Cripps

December 31, 1990, “The Bay,” Glenelg, South Australia

At his age, Vincent knew he ought to be over fireworks, but his addiction was as bad now as when he was a boy, maybe worse.

Definitely worse, he thought, as he wove through the New Year’s Eve crowds, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. Exceeding two hundred years old, it was well past time to “put away childish things.” Not that time had much significance when he had all eternity before him.

A vampire’s life was not only long, but overwhelmingly solitary—lonely, if he’d admitted it—but here, awash with mortals enjoying a cheap night out, he almost felt a sense of fellowship. It hardly mattered that no one spoke to him, that almost no one had touched him in friendship, let alone love, in more than two centuries. Here, for a few hours, he could wallow in the sounds, sights and smells, and savor the buzz he got from the energy seething around him.

Vincent was more than six feet tall, so finding a vantage point where he could see over people’s heads wasn’t difficult. He leaned against the rough trunk of a Norfolk pine, his back protected by a well-worn leather vest he’d owned since the 1770s, when he was made vampire. Though night had fallen, mirrored aviator shades shielded his blue-green eyes from the intrusion of mortals and protected those light-sensitive eyes from the painful glare of the fireworks.

The night air throbbed with excitement, though the fireworks hadn’t started. Vincent hadn’t come to The Bay to hunt, but he wasn’t above feeding, or having a quickie, if offered, and on this hot, South Australian summer night, he could almost smell the mortal blood pulsing around him, could certainly see and smell the enticing females milling about in skimpy outfits, some eyeing off the big, handsome male. He was, however, content to wait, and watch both the display in the air and the one on the ground.

He was completely enveloped in solitude until a young family settled on a blanket nearby. A little brown-haired boy of maybe four or five plonked himself down, followed by Dad and Mum, carrying a cute little blonde rug-rat sporting two, brand-new front baby teeth. Vincent tried to ignore them, but the bub wouldn’t have it, grinned and drooled at him, and cooed happily, thrashing out with chubby arms and legs she couldn’t yet control. The mother apologized, but Vincent smiled and shrugged, offering the standard Aussie reply of “No worries.”

Eventually, the baby wore him down. She was just too adorable, too determined. He played peek-a-boo, then, when no one was looking, giddy with his own brashness, he flashed his fangs at her. The baby cooed delightedly and made a little hop on her Mum’s shoulder. She was too young to know fangs were “wrong,” too young to be afraid. Her innocence touched Vincent in a way nothing adult could.

Then, when the night sky reached the perfect depth of blackness, Mum shifted the bub to give her a bottle, and everyone else turned their attention to the heavens, except a few couples making out and some littlies already sound asleep.

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ISBN (Print): 978-1-61235-361-6
ISBN (Electronic): 978-1-61235-362-3
Genre: Paranormal
Date Published: 08/27/2012
Publisher: Melange Books

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