Blood Moon over the Mississippi - Paranormal Vampire MMF Menage Romance

By Rebecca Abbott

The year is 1923, and Violet Miller, muse to the artists of New York and Europe, socialite and actress, arrives New Orleans. Tired of the grey monoliths of Manhattan, she goes in search of the country life and a taste of jazz and creole spice. A life of anonymity amongst ornate cast iron porches and sweet flower blossoms. When an uninvited guest invades her sanctuary, Violet is thrown into the world of New Orleans after dark. The taste of dangerous cocktails, voodoo magic, and encounters with creatures of the night draw her away from the light of day into the embrace of conjure men and vampires. Will she sacrifice her life and succumb to the deadly allure of the moonless night? 

*** Standalone short story, no cliffhangers. ***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Finest Shapeshifter Romance Club
• Release date: Nov 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386718932

Book preview

Blood Moon over the Mississippi

Dead Bouquets

Violet Miller arrived in Louisiana on April 3, 1923. The train pulled into New Orleans Union Station, issuing a cloud of steam and soot as it slowed to a stop at the platform, groaning with the weight of ten cars and 800 miles of track behind it. A misty rain was falling, and the warm earth steamed up into the cool afternoon air, blurring the outlines of the city. The station master checked his pocket watch. At 4:00 sharp, the doors of the train were thrown open in unison, and a flurry of activity swarmed over the platform. Red caps and chauffeurs rushed forward to take hold of trunks and hat-boxes. Mothers and nannies grabbed hold of wayward children as they sought to slip away into the fog. Men shouted their greetings to each other. Women kissed each other’s cheeks. The din of many accents filled the air as people from every corner of the country congregated there. The train sighed and settled in place. The fireman wiped sweat and black soot from his weathered brow. Violet Miller stepped onto the platform, and smiled.

Even in the chaos of the arrival, she turned the head of every man in her vicinity. She stood poised for a moment, looking around interestedly at the goings on. Her dark chestnut bob was nearly hidden by a peacock blue cloche hat pulled down low over her deep azure eyes. She wore a grey dress that dropped just below her knees, blue shoes, and gloves to match her hat. A sable stole was draped casually over her narrow shoulders. She held a small travelling case. She was lithe and tall. The artist Miró had once said to her, over his fifth tumbler of absinthe, that she was the most perfectly proportioned woman alive. Beyond her slender form, it was her bright blue eyes, shining out from beneath thick black lashes that commanded the attention of those around her.

Her trunk emerged from the train, and immediately a young porter procured it for her.

You lead the way, Violet told him, her voice husky, her words carved out into harsh consonants by her New York accent. I’m brand new here. She offered him a smile. He tipped his hat and hurried ahead, cheeks rosy from the encounter. He hailed a black cab, and loaded her trunk inside of it. She gave him the address on Bourbon Street, and the driver whisked her away toward the French Quarter. Violet took in the city from the back of the car, gazing out the window into the rainy streets. Through the gray haze, she could make out ornate porches, and cheerfully painted buildings. Naples yellow and crimson, framed with cast iron vines. Flowers and palms spilled from window boxes and balconies. A streetcar trundled by her window. She was staying at the home of a friend from New York, a banker who had roots in Louisiana. He had warned her of the rough and tumble environment as he handed her the keys, and then he laughed, and allowed that it was probably just the kind of excitement she was looking for.

Though the rain fell harder as they drove, the streets were filled with people of all colors and origins, crisscrossing in front of them, huddled under umbrellas or the necks of their jackets. Violet smiled to herself. Soon the car pulled to a stop in front of a two story house. It was painted a deep emerald green with grey painted shutters, and the cast iron porches of each story were overflowing with spring flowers. A light hung just above the front doors, glowing warmly in the fog, beckoning Violet into her new home.  As she walked up the steps, the cab-driver close behind lugging her trunk, the double doors opened, and she was greeted by a matronly woman with a friendly smile.

"Welcome, welcome, Ms. Miller. I’m Caroline...Mr. Astor has instructed me to take very good care of you. Come in, come in!" She beckoned Violet forward, shuffling around, taking her hat and her fur and instructing the driver on where to bring her luggage.

Thank you Caroline, Violet smiled, relieved to be rid of her belongings. She looked around the inside of her new home with great interest. She was standing in the front hallway. The grey light of the day filtered in through long sheer curtains, illuminating a room decorated in the latest style. There were bits and pieces of Mr. Astor’s travels on display—an alligator head sat on a small table. Violet recognized paintings by some of their friends. A Picasso nude hung next to a Dalí sketch.

"I’ll give you

Reviews for Blood Moon over the Mississippi - Paranormal Vampire MMF Menage Romance

[Ms empress Oracle · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Amazing book! Great details and poetic imagery! This author is a hidden gem!