Gay Cowboy Vampire

By Tabatha Austin

Genre: Gay Romance / LGBT Supernatural Romance 

James is slim, built, and a vampire death over his limit.

After one too many kills, the local vampire nest sends him an ultimatum.

"Work with us, or you won't see morning."

Working with a vamp isn't ideal, even if his new partner is awfully cute - and an authentic Old-West cowboy to boot.

Can a too eager vampire hunter and Old West cowboy work together to complete their mission and more?

This 18,000+ word LGBT supernatural romance contains detailed explicit descriptions of hot love making between a trim and hard vampire hunter and a Old-West vampire cowboy.

It's intended for the enjoyment those who love gay paranormal stories with cowboys and vampires.

Author Note: This is a standalone HEA/HFN gay romance with no cliffhanger.

Title changed from Gay For His Cowboy Vampire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tabatha Austin
• Release date: Nov 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516360284

Book preview

GAY COWBOY VAMPIRE

by Tabatha Austin

GAY COWBOY VAMPIRE

Tabatha Austin

tabathaaustin.com

All Rights Reserved ©2016 Tabatha Austin. First Printing: 2016.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Author’s Note: All characters in this story are 19 years of age or older.

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GAY COWBOY VAMPIRE

I ran my finger in a slow circle around the top of the Bloody Mary cocktail. I’m not sure if that was an unintentional joke on my part.

Can’t think of a more appropriate drink for this bar.

I glanced away from the counter and took in the scenery. Deep-red wood paneling reflected soft amber lights from the ceiling above. Soft shadows ran over Renaissance era paintings of the bar’s owners, and marble statues.

Behind the sculpture of the owner, was a windowed view of their wine cellar.

The bar was old, but there were modern amenities, like discrete security cameras tucked away in the corner.

I wasn’t sure when it was built, but I was sure the owner was around when they set the first stone.

If I didn’t know who owned the bar, I might have liked it.

My gaze went back to the paintings and marble. Either one was worth more than I made in my old life. They had more money than anybody had the right to have. That’s not jealousy talking.

I could be a billionaire, if I had centuries of compound interest or hoarded every nickel like a damn dragon.

A soft approving feminine murmur took me back to the present.

A skinny blonde in a painted on black dress smiled as she extended her hand. Her view lingered on my lean muscles as she smiled.

Monica.

I pressed my lips together and returned a forced smile. James.

Her gaze went down toward my ass and then back up.

I wasn’t sure if she was friendly because she thought I was one of them or if she liked swimmer bodies.

The matter, the reason, it was a waste of time. She wasn’t what I was after – business wise or pleasure.

Still, it’s a terrible Southerner who’s not polite. I gave a nice smile, while she went to a far bar stool.

Probably wants me to follow.

I felt a twinge of guilt for wasting her time, even if it wasn’t intentional.

Eh, someone like that’ll find someone. Just hope it’s not the wrong kind.

I kept the smile, even though she assumed I was one of them. I didn’t see similarities besides liking cock. Maybe it’s that ‘old soul’ people say I have. Even when my brother and I were the same age, people assumed I was the oldest.

I let out a slow sigh and shook myself back to the present and toward the brownish blond guy in the tight blue jeans and black tank top.

There’s ‘my man.’

People say you can’t tell, but that’s not true. Clients – the real ones – of a place like this, carry themselves differently. There’s arrogance in their swagger tempered by centuries of powers. They all have it. I suppose it made an amount of sense. Immortality, super strength, and wealth greater than some nations make anyone arrogant.

I’d hold my head up higher too if I had their power.

Speaking of which.

I returned its stare, and my gaze dropped to his tight baseball player sized biceps. Even in the soft lights, I saw his developed chest muscles push out against the black tank top. Black hides definition, but his grooves and bumps still showed through.

If he wasn’t a monster, I’d say he was a hot piece of man candy.

Hell, if he was a guy at the club, I’d spend a night with him.

Not that he’d pick me.

Nothing against my lean muscles, but men built like that wanted other muscled guys. Lean swimmer-dancer me isn’t their type.

Although there are exceptions.

I stared back at the man in a simple, clean black tank top and blue jeans. He leaned forward, inhaled deep and approached slow. Each step was methodical – balanced between chasing prey and to keep up the mysterious aura. Either it was that or a belief they shouldn’t rush for a ‘mere human’.

Most BloodBangers flocked to guys like that. I don’t. It’s part of my charm and why I’m irresistible to the wrong crowd.

I’m not most men’s type, even though I’m definitely not ugly. Most of them came from earlier times when lean was the ideal. I’m the type that got them hard.

I wasn’t sure if I should laugh at the universe or give thanks.

At least it made things easier.

His voice was deep and almost musical when he spoke. Michel.

I nodded and took another sip of the Bloody Mary. I breathed in the tomato juice and hot sauce and wondered if he did the same with my blood. His eyes went along my tight chest