Kirjahaku

Vampyres don't exist. They absolutely do not exist. At least I didn't think they did 'til I tried to quit smoking and ended up Undead. Who in the hell did I screw over in a former life that my getting healthy equates with dead? Now I'm a Vampyre. Yes, we exist whether we want to or not. However, I have to admit, the perks aren't bad. My girls no longer jiggle, my ass is higher than a kite and the latest Prada keeps finding its way to my wardrobe. On the downside, I'm stuck with an obscenely profane Guardian Angel who looks like Oprah and a Fairy Fighting Coach who's teaching me to annihilate like the Terminator. To complicate matters, my libido has increased to Vampyric proportions and my attraction to a hotter than Satan's underpants killer rogue Vampyre is not only dangerous . . . it's possibly deadly. For real dead. Permanent death isn't on my agenda. Avoiding him is my only option. Of course, since he thinks I'm his, it's easier said than done. Like THAT'S not enough to deal with, all the other Vampyres think I'm some sort of Chosen One. Holy Hell, if I'm in charge of saving an entire race of blood suckers, the Undead are in for one hell of a ride. ***** "Uproariously witty, deliciously provocative, and just plain fun No one delivers side-splitting humor and mouth-watering sensuality like Robyn Peterman. This is entertainment at its absolute finest " Darynda Jones, NY Times Bestselling Author of the Charley Davidson Series

Welcome to Hell.Literally. The Hell where the Prince of Darkness is hotter than Hades, Hell Hounds smell like brownies and the Seven Deadly Sins are addicted to Facebook...Not to mention the soundtrack in the Underworld is Journey. For real. I should have known no good could come from offing my parents in the space of twenty minutes no matter how psychotic and evil they were... Now I find out my family tree includes almost every deity and mythological being alive while Ethan, the one and only love of my undead life has a limited time down under before he turns to dust. In the land of Sin, you'd think I'd get some nookie time with my man, but no. Baby Demons, cousins and grandparents put the kibosh on that. Blue balls are the new normal. What the hell does a half-Vampyre Half-Demon have to do to catch a break? Apparently find a freakin' sword, calm Mother Nature's unmedicated mood swings and make sure Mister Rogers keeps his sticky fingers to himself during weekly poker with the Devil. And I have three days to do it. By all that's unholy, I thought Ethan's Vampyre family was crazy...Trust me, they have nothing on the Demons. ***** "Uproariously witty, deliciously provocative, and just plain fun No one delivers side-splitting humor and mouth-watering sensuality like Robyn Peterman. This is entertainment at its absolute finest " Darynda Jones, NY Times Bestselling Author of the Charley Davidson Series

Where does a Demon go when she gets deported from Hell? Kentucky. Eden, Kentucky to be more specific-where nothing is exactly as it seems. My name is Dixie. I'm a Demon-a lousy Demon. I'm a twenty-one year old virgin and I have a battery operated boyfriend. My magic is iffy at best and downright dangerous at worst. Leaving Hell to represent my race is not high on my list of things to do. Hell was exact. Hell was simple. All I want to do is get to home base with the hotter than Hades Demon of my dreams and work on my dark side so Satan, my dad, will get off my ass. Instead I end up in Kentucky looking for the Balance of Chaos, avoiding pole dancing classes with Mother Nature and finding out my invisible friend is a silver skinned destructive weather pattern. And if that isn't craptastic enough, the damn Sword of Death is missing again and who ever has it wants the King of the Underworld dead. Seriously. With new powers emerging daily, keeping my Demon side, horniness and general disgust under wraps doesn't make it any easier to fit in with the humans. Thankfully my priorities are in line: get laid...save world...try not to blow up kitchen appliances...and get laid again. I was ready to rumble. All I want to do is go back to Hell, but with the balance of good and evil in my hands, I'm stuck in the garden of Eden. Oh well, what the Hell. Someone has to save the world before there's no world left to save. Might as well be me.

I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever. I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed - a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne - my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I'd left and I'd rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank. Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return. But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I don't have to eat my words and my paw.

What could possibly go wrong when a Mermaid and a Werewolf are sent on a dangerous mission by the drunken, diaper-wearing God of the Sea?Better question. What could possibly go right?Unlike my sisters, I haven't found my HEA. And I'm looking-hard. But finding a man who wants to blowhole dive in Hawaii on the first date is more difficult than you might imagine. I've been forced to settle for a few meaningless orgasms with men who disappear when I suggest fun activities, like scaling twenty stories while blindfolded.Look, I know meaningless nookie won't help me find my happily ever after, or even a guy who believes tightrope handstands over the Grand Canyon are fun. But there is someone out there for me so next time I do the horizontal mambo, it's for keeps.May the gods help me. Well, me and whoever I boink next.

One of these things is not like the others-life threatening community theatre, wire hangers, chipmunks, tree-house sex-capades with a hot werewolf and head-shrinking with a porno-loving rabbit Shifter. Actually none of these things are even remotely like the others, but it's my life and I'm going to make the pieces fit into a perfect puzzle-even if I have to shove it together and glue it with magic. New leaf, new leaf, new freakin' leaf. Caring for people wasn't in my repertoire until I landed in Assjacket, West Virginia. Falling in love wasn't anywhere on my agenda. It's messy. However, I've been told messy is what showers and therapy are for. I'm hoping that info is correct because Goddess knows I'm trying. Never until now have I been a witch that wanted it all-the guy, the job, the friends and the place called home. Now I just have to fix my slightly irresponsible and somewhat unstable witchy ways so I deserve it. I'm going for perfect...or at least a loose definition of the word. Messy...here I come.

My name is Dima and I'm a Dragon. I'm also going to die soon. It's a battle I've waged most of my life, but now the odds are looking crappy. Before I go up flames, I have to find a way to save my hoard and make sure my secret treasure is safe. There is one way I could stick around a bit longer, but the men I've met aren't exactly lining up to save me. What in hell does a Dragon Princess have to do to find a mate? Offing my father, the reviled Dragon King, would be one way to go. He has a penchant for eliminating any male who shows interest-not to mention he's been trying to kill me for almost 500 years. So my brilliant plan is to take out my father in a blaze of glory-pun intended. However, I have to suck it up and do some stuff I don't want to do. For example, getting along with Dragons who don't trust me is a horrific challenge even though we share the same goal. That's why I aligned myself with the rag tag pack of shifters who accepted me and my secret treasure unconditionally. They're my friends now and I'm keeping them. I'll fry anyone who dares to speak against my Werewolves, Werecows and the fabulous gay Vampyre named Dwayne. Unfortunately the Weres who love me don't have the kind of fire power I need to take out my father. To get that I have allied myself with a dangerous Dragon weyr known as The Resistance. Staying away from the sexy, pompous, fire-breathing, blow hard of a leader is turning out to be a full time job. And no... he's not even in the running for the mate. Mutual incineration would be inevitable. You see... Dragons aren't the easiest of the Were species to get along with. You can dress us up and take us out, but at the end of the day we're still the idiots who like a little friendly blood shed and sex-make that lots of sex. My life keeps getting more and more complicated, but I've run out of options. I'm about to run out of time too. I'm learning there's no where to run and no where to hide from destiny.

I know I'm already mated...I wanna get married. What do you get when you combine a three headed monster named Charles, a rotund, gay, dancing Demon named Doug, a culinary disaster baked by Mother Nature, a celibate premarital councilor named Jeff, an offer from Satan that's impossible to refuse and Steve Perry? You get the Royal Wedding from Hell-or to be more accurate-possibly in Hell. All I want to do is marry the Vampyre of my dreams with my closest friends and family in attendance. Yep, I know nuptials in the undead world are unheard of, but I'm still hanging onto my humanity if only by a thread. Being mated is great, but getting married is important to me. Tacky invitations and cake that causes food poisoning aside, I also need to deal with the stream of Demons entering my world from mysteriously opened portals. Not to mention Angel Jeff is going to fail us on the premarital test if we participate in any nookie before the wedding. I'm trying really hard not to go bridezilla on everyone. With five days to plan the wedding, I have figure out who's opening the portals and deal with our hostile allies who think our wedding is a farce. It's been a very difficult week-especially the no nookie part. All I know is this, I will say I do on Saturday even if it I have to go to Hell and back to accomplish it.

What does a hungry, pregnant witch do when her whole freaking town goes on a no carb diet? I'll tell you what. She goes on the sly and conjures up some anchovy-chocolate chunk cookies dipped in hot sauce-that's what. Of course my cheating gets complicated when all of the magic in the world goes on the fritz. To solve that particular wrinkle, I'll have to finally find the source of the lurking evil. Easier said than done. Maybe if I wasn't pregnant and starving, I could deal with the nasty old witch who resides in a gingerbread house. Add in carb eating fairies who speak French and three rotund familiars who enjoy defacing property with profane graffiti, and what you get is almost more trouble than I can handle in my baby baking condition. I'm still not convinced I won't be giving birth to puppies since the smokin' hot father of my babies is a werewolf, and NO ONE has given me ANY concrete proof to the contrary. Getting knocked up by the werewolf of my dreams was all kinds of awesome in practice, but the reality of becoming a mother scares me more than Baba Yaga's horrendous 1980's wardrobe. Monstrous decisions with enormous ramifications are best handled with meticulous planning-or in my case-after eating a giant mustard slathered jelly doughnut. Neither of those options is possible at the moment, but since there is no way I'm bringing my children into a magicless world, winging it will just have to work. Wait... Was that a contraction I just felt? Goddess help us all...

Why do I have to have my tail in a knot for the one hot, sexy Werewolf who can't seem to keep his Johnson in his pants? I'm a nice girl-really I am. I'm just a typical computer-hacking, knife-throwing, Star Trek-obsessed, overeducated Werewolf nerd who can't seem to get her love life to compute. However, it's time to grow up and face the music or more accurately the man I'm in love with... Junior aka Jacob Wilson-the Alpha of the Georgia Pack. First I'll have to stand up to some nasty gals who's pants are so tight I can see their religion. Then I'll claim my man. What should be an easy feat, gets sucktastic when you throw in a three hundred year old fabulous gay Vampyre, an antiquated motherboard from the 90's and a challenge from the vicious, deadly Alabama Pack. Not to mention a libido that is out of control. Mine. So I'm just gonna dive in-head first and eyes closed. Love conquers all. Right? As long as reality doesn't wear me out, I plan to win.

Three waxed cats, one Cookie Witch, a brazilian gone bad and the last name, Bermangoggleshitz... not the best ingredients for a successful spell. Or is it? Avoiding the truth has been working out just fine for most of my life. I'm finally happy. I have friends and a kangaroo shifter who adores me. Never in my twenty-nine witchy years did I think I would have a place to call home with people who truly cared. Now my BFF, Zelda, wants to have a chat. Can't crappy news wait? As soon as my varnished Virginia is mobile, I want to go home to my adorable little house I share with with the love of my life and my four semi-violent, adopted, gum-smacking chipmunk shifter sons. But, noooooooo... Instead of enjoying a bouncy romp of nookie with my marsupial man whose last name I should really find out, I have to deal with an odiferous, butt-ugly, dead-beat, evil warlock of a dad named Bermangoggleshitz-the very same douchecanoe that tried to kill my rodent children. Not to mention, said sperm donor has called up a Legion of demons from the Underworld. Fanfreakintastic. So armed with my questionable intellect, a shaky handle on the French language and a penchant for blowing up buildings, I'm gonna grab this problem by the nuts and squeeze-like a brazilian times...whoops, bazillion. That French gets me every time. I will have my happily ever after no matter what or my name's not Sassy Louise...umm... Bermangoggleshitz.

"For a good time, read Robyn Peterman!"--Michelle Rowen, national bestselling author"A zany over-the-top rompfest."""--Lexi George, author of "Demon Hunting in a Dive Bar"What happens when an accountant decides to grab life by the horns and try something new? Apparently a pirate named Dave, a lot of pastel fleece, and blackmail-just to start with...Visualize and succeed, Oprah said. I was sure as hell trying, even if my campaign to score a job as the local weather girl had ended in a restraining order. Okay, TV was not my strength. But a lack of talent has never stopped me before. Which is why I've embarked on a writing career. I mean, hard can it be to come up with a sexy romance?

"For a good time, read Robyn Peterman!" -Michelle Rowen, national bestselling authorA few hard truths...Don't bet on Hasselhoff, Bigfoot might actually exist, and searching for the impossible may lead you to your heart's desire... It's a big fat hairy deal when I lose yet another bet to my best friend, Rena. Not only do I end up attending Bigfoot meetings with her kooky Aunt Phyllis, I find myself traveling with a band of reality TV, Sasquatch-hunting nut-jobs! Not to mention a suspiciously shady film crew. As if those little nuggets weren't enough to send me on the express-train to Crazytown...I stupidly swore off men! Clearly all this would mess up any gal's social life, but the worst part of the story? The minute I send my libido on vacation, I meet Mitch. Yep, Mitch, the sexiest cop ev-ah. The hottest, best kissing, finest tushied, SINGLE guy I've ever laid eyes on. I'd rather be hot on his trail than anything that involves the word Big or Foot. But sometimes what you're hunting for has been right in front of you all along ..."A zany over-the-top rompfest." -Lexi George on "How Hard Can It Be?""

"Outrageous, profane, hilarious, sexy and all kinds of wacky!" --Michelle Rowen, national bestselling authorWhen you get time off for bad behavior, romance is the last thing on your mind--but good old-fashioned lust is a whole different story. . .Life undercover isn't exactly one big party--not when you're a DEA agent--but it sure beats a desk job. Except when you screw up big and someone has to go in and clean up after you. In that case, even paper-pushing sounds better than babysitting an erotic romance writer with as many enemies as there are euphemisms for "throbbing manhood."I've been taking down drug dealers for so long, playing bodyguard to a woman named Shoshanna Lehump sounds like nothing more than a giant pain in my ass-- and being partnered with the gorgeous egotistical jerk I never should have slept with in the first place just makes a bad situation even harder--especially when he pursues me as diligently as we're supposed to be chasing the bad guys...What's a girl have to do to get a happy ending anyway? "For a good time, read Robyn Peterman!" --Michelle Rowen, national bestselling author"A zany over-the-top rompfest." --Lexi George, author of "Demon Hunting in a Dive Bar""

What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tis' Christmas time on Mystical Isle and just like the fat bastard in red, I've made a list and now I shall check it... twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I'm not an arse.Battle the human women in sweatpants and snow boots for electronics on Black Friday. Check.Cover each palm tree in lights even though the Mermaids insist they look phallic. Check. By the way, what does phallic mean? Never mind. Check.Moving on.Weave a Christmas tale during family story time on the beach, have a family portrait made in the special sweaters I pilfered, and write a letter to Santa. I mean, fat bastard... Check.Planning activities that may end in bloodshed. Check. That's what I call a yuletide win, so check-check.It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I'm not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.And I am. Check.

Mix one part Mermaid-one part Genie. Throw in an intoxicated God of the Sea and a few smack-talking Pirates. What have you got?Pandemonium.Petunia's Pandemonium to be more accurate. Letting the ocean current take me where it may for the last twenty-five years hasn't worked out so great. So, instead of getting my tail in a knot, I'm making some swimmingly simple changes.-Stay on Mystical Isle with my cousins who love me.-Avenge my parents and eliminate the sea monster who's wreaking havoc.-Forget about the gorgeous, no-good Genie who left me at the altar... so to speak.-Stay away from Genies until the end of time.-Join Poseidon's embarrassingly named online dating service for Immortals and get back into the game.What could go wrong?

Pirate DougWhat in the Chicken of the Sea was I thinking to agree to this half arsed Otherworld Defense Agency mission?I'm the most absurdly good looking Vampire Pirate of the High Seas. Being on the run for my life is very important work... and a freaking full time job. Defending Mermaids from some vicious Sea Hags is going to cut into my pilfering time. Unacceptable. Even though this is a very bad move on my part, I know I'll eventually agree-too many bounties on my arse to refuse, and the thought of a certain Mermaid makes my roger quite jolly.However, Tallulah, the leader of the Mystical Isle Pod of Mermaids, isn't going to be happy to see me... at all. The horrible, sexy, breathtaking woman has been starring in my dreams for too many years to count. Sadly, just when my mind wanders to the really good nookie part, the dream ends with her lopping my Johnson off.I just hope to Hell and back that the Sea Hags have some outstanding booty to steal. If I'm going to have to regrow my tallywhacker, the treasure had better damned well be worth it.TallulahRunning a tourist trap for humans in the Bermuda Triangle had sounded like a fine plan-until it wasn't. With the Sea Hags gunning for our island and ruining our questionably successful business, I did what any desperate Mermaid would do. I called for backup.Of course, getting help from the Otherworld Defense Agency is risky as they don't usually deal with ocean creatures. Whatever. Desperate times call for crappy measures. Chances are they'll send freaking Pirates. I hate Pirates...Well, I hate one Pirate in particular.Hopefully, it won't be the one seafaring jackhole I despise more than any other. Pirate Doug would be an idiot to show his face here after what he'd done. Not only did the dumbass abscond with our treasure, the son-of-a-bitch took my heart with him as well.I'll tear his sorry ass to shreds if he so much as steps even one hairy toe on my island.