Vexed by Vampires: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel

By Margo Bond Collins

Vampires. Not the midlife crisis I expected.

When I finally got around to dating after my jackhole of a husband walked out on my fortieth birthday, I thought personal grooming was my biggest worry.

Until I went on a date with a vampire and ended up fighting for my life.

Now I see magic—and danger—everywhere I look, and somehow I’m the one responsible for keeping everyone safe.

It’s worse than being roped into heading a PTA committee. Well...maybe.

Anyway, whatever happened to finding a teenage girl to be the Chosen One?

Still, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the people I love safe.

I might even be willing to protect that jackhole ex.

But only if I have to.

Fans of KF Breene, Shannon Mayer, and Victoria Dannan will adore this hot new midlife women’s fantasy novel!

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Bathory Gate Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005405175

Book preview

Prologue

Until I ended up on a date with an actual vampire, you want to know my biggest post-divorce dating dilemma?

Personal grooming.

Not the shave my legs, put on makeup, wear deodorant kind. I’ve been doing all that for more than twenty years.

Nope.

The what the hell to do with my lady-bits kind. Shave? Wax? Go au naturel?

My son Joey’s favorite television show was Studying Sasquatch.

It ran so often on the living room TV that I began having nightmare visions of being in bed with some amateur Bigfoot hunter as he came up for air, pronouncing, It’s really ’squatchy up in there! and then headed back down in search of the elusive clitoris.

I mean, I’d barely had sex at all since the birth of my youngest—and I hadn’t had good sex since…well, let’s not go there.

Deciding to join a dating app was the most adventurous thing I’d done in more than a decade.

Now, here I stood over a pile of bubbling red goo slowly spreading out and sinking into the surrounding dirt. I glanced back and forth between the sludge pile and the small tree branch in my hand, finally forcing my fingers to uncurl. The stick tumbled from my nerveless grip, hit the thin strip of struggling grass at my feet, and then bounced off the curb and clattered into the parking space next to my car.

What the hell just happened? I was sure I had spoken the words aloud, but I couldn’t hear them.

As if from a distance, the echo of sharp voices tumbled against me, cutting into the numbness cushioning me from reality.

Go, go, go!

My heart pounded in time to the shouted instructions.

Helmeted figures in dark clothes poured out of the back of a black van parked three rows over in the otherwise almost-empty parking lot.

A SWAT team?

The soldiers swarmed around me, buzzing like bees, their voices distorted by the helmets—or possibly by something in my brain.

I glanced back down at the pile of clumpy red jelly at my feet, then gagged as I remembered what it really was.

Ma’am, a woman’s voice next to me said, and I realized she had been repeating it for several seconds.

I lifted my gaze toward her more slowly than I intended. Yes?

My voice sounded as far away as theirs had seconds ago.

Her tone turned even more intense, as if that were possible. Ma’am, did he bite you anywhere?

My hand crept up to my neck, and I rubbed at it absently, pulling my palm away to check for blood. I don’t think so, I finally answered, holding my clean fingers out for her to see. He tried, though.

The woman in uniform next to me popped her visor open. We’ll need to have our medics check you out, but I think you’re right. She cast an experienced gaze over me. No blood, she announced to her team. Time to clean up this mess.

The commandos grabbed my arms and tugged me off the strip of landscaping. I stumbled away, and they began sweeping across the red clumps with flamethrowers, sending black smoke curling into the sky.

Chapter

One

THREE HOURS EARLIER

"M om!" My daughter Emma’s voice echoed through the house, startling me. My hand holding the straightening iron jerked, and the edge of it sizzled against the back of my neck.

Dammit, I muttered to myself, pulling the iron away from my head—and taking several strands of long dark hair with it.

Mom? Emma shouted again. Where are you?

I took a deep breath and gently set the straightener down on the counter next to the sink. In the bathroom, I called out.

Emma’s beautiful fifteen-year-old face popped in around the doorframe. Where are my new jeans?

I don’t know. I fought to keep my tone calm and reasonable. Did you put them away after you washed them?

Emma’s brown eyes widened in outrage. I didn’t wash them. I thought you were going to.

The muscles in the back of my jaw tightened involuntarily, and I had to force them to relax. No. We agreed that you would be doing your own laundry from now on.

Her mouth flattened into a thin line, but lucky for her—and probably for me, too—she didn’t actually say anything. Instead, she spun around, her blond-streaked ponytail bouncing as she flounced away without another word.

I turned to the mirror, giving myself a scrutinizing look. Good enough, I muttered to myself, then ran my hand over my mostly straightened hair one last time.

A loud crash reverberated from the kitchen. What now? I sighed to myself.

Mom! I need help! This time, it was my four-year-old, Joey.

Emma, I called out, go help your brother.

Emma muttered in the living room, and I pretended not to hear her, especially once she moved toward the kitchen.

Mom! A duo of voices came from the kitchen.

I slipped on a pair of black flats and made my way across the house. At the edge of the kitchen tile, I froze.

A jar of strawberry jam had shattered on the floor just outside the refrigerator. Joey stood over it, eyes wide, hands up as if he were being arrested, and sticky red gel smeared across his face and down his soccer uniform T-shirt.

Globs of it studded with glass shards splattered across the white floor, the viscous red liquid slowly spreading out from the main mess.

I repressed another sigh and pulled a handful of paper towels off the dispenser.

As I knelt down to begin cleaning, Joey whined, I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Yes, well, we don’t have any more jelly. You could have just peanut butter if you’d like.

My phone rang. I finished scooping up the bulk of the mass, dropping it into the nearby trash can. Hello? I answered, leaving a red smear across the screen.

Mrs. Dylan? This is Kelly Cartwright? I wasn’t sure why she was asking me, but I murmured an acknowledgement. She continued, I just wanted to tell you that I came down with strep throat today? I won’t be able to watch Joey tonight, she finished in a rush.

I bit back a groan. Okay. Thank you, Kelly. I hope you feel better soon.

I clicked off and turned to look at Emma, who backed away. Mom, no. Please. I have plans tonight.

I closed my eyes and sent up a little prayer for patience. So do I. And you’ve been out every weekend night for weeks. It’s my turn.

My kids glanced at each other, then turned on me as one, their voices rising into a shrill wail. Mom!

Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of a local bar and grill, The Green Dragon—a pitiful attempt to replicate a British pub in a strip mall in Plano, Texas.

I had chosen this as our meeting place because it was close to my house—but not so close that my blind date was likely to be able to follow me home. And also because I had been here once before, years ago, with some of my now ex-husband’s work friends. As I recalled, the drinks were good and the food was average. Not that I was likely to eat, anyway—I was far too nervous.

I pulled into the parking lot and parked underneath one of three trees—Texas suburbia’s version of landscaping.

Grabbing my phone, I shot off a text to my friend Ariana, letting her know I was there. She responded immediately. Good luck. Hope it goes well!

There was a long pause as she typed something else. What did you decide to do about the girly bits?

God. Of course she’d ask that.

Nothing, I replied, but it was a bald-faced lie. I’d tried shaving and had ended up with a mangy-looking mess.

The text had barely had time to go through when my phone rang.

Ariana. Of course.

Hey, Jenna! she sang out when I answered. You aren’t planning to have sex with him tonight, are you?

God, no. I’m just meeting the man for the first time tonight.

Then no problem. I could practically hear her shrug over the connection.

You think I should, don’t you?

"Entirely up to you, mi chica. You’re a grown woman. If you like him and want to, I think you should. It’s about time to get back on that horse."

Ugh. Don’t call sex a horse. Horses terrify me. They have all those huge teeth.

As ever, Ariana’s bright chuckle made me smile. "Horses are herbivores, querida. Those big square teeth? They’re for chewing vegetables. It’s not like they have fangs."

I shuddered at the thought of fanged horses. "Okay. You are not helping. I’m going inside now."

"Por supuesto. Break a leg. But not your own." She clicked off, but another text from her came through almost immediately.

Let me know when you leave.

Ariana had been a lifesaver since my divorce. And apparently now she’s going to be a lifesaver as I begin dating again.

With an inhale, I steeled myself for this first date.

Opening the dating app on my phone, I glanced down at Christophe’s picture for about the millionth time.

He was dark-haired and pale-skinned, with eyes so brown they photographed as almost black. In the photo he wore a slight smile, as if he were hiding a secret he couldn’t wait to share. His profile said he was forty-nine, almost seven years older than I was, but he looked like he could pass for forty.

When Emma had seen the picture, she had said, It’s an old photograph. He won’t look like that when you meet him.

So young to be so jaded, I teased her, and she grinned and shrugged.

Now, butterflies danced in my stomach as I sent a private message. Outside the Green Dragon. Are you here yet?

I waited anxiously as the ellipses showing he was responding bounced up and down on the screen.

Last table on the left as you enter.

Showtime, I muttered.

I smoothed my hair down one last time before I took a deep breath and got out of my car to cross the parking lot and move into the building.

At the entrance, I pulled open the door, enjoying the air conditioning that washed over me as I stepped inside. Blinking, I paused just inside the door and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The tables were illuminated by small pools of golden light shining from round, metal-covered fixtures hanging down low over them.

I should’ve worn my glasses.

The booth at the far end of the room seemed more shadowed than the others, though I could tell the light hanging above it provided the same amount of brightness.

Cristophe sat facing me, his face hidden in the darkness behind the light.

A sense of foreboding crawled across my skin, and I shivered.

It’s just the air conditioning, I told myself, even though part of me didn’t believe the perfectly logical explanation.

Cristophe stood to greet me, and I forced myself to place one foot in front of the other, making my way through the bar. He held out both hands, enveloping mine in his. So nice to finally meet you in person, he said, leaning in to brush his cheek against mine in a strangely old-fashioned, courtly gesture, his hands and cheek both cool to the touch.

You’re taller than I expected, I said inanely, even though I had read on the app weeks before that he was a little over 6’3".

He simply smiled and gave an acknowledging hum.

Idiot, I berated myself as I moved to take a seat in the booth across from him. Of course he’s tall.

But I hadn’t been lying. He did seem taller than I had expected. Perhaps it was because he was so very thin, almost cadaverously so.

He slid into his seat across from me and folded his hands together on the table in front of him. Something about the way his fingers moved unsettled me—as if they were a little too slow, a touch too precise.

I told myself it was simply in contrast to Ryan. My ex-husband was neither tall nor slender, but rather of average height. Muscular, too, having built up his construction business by starting at the bottom.

Ryan’s hands had always been callused, strong, capable, I used to believe, of holding me safe through anything.

Well, anything except his own infidelity.

I pushed away the thought.

Focus on your date, Jenna, I admonished myself. Be here now. My yoga instructor’s mantra flickered through my brain.

So tell me more about yourself, Cristophe said, opening our conversation

I laughed nervously. I’m not sure there’s much I haven’t told you already in our texts.

But it’s so much more revealing to hear your words than to simply read them.

Is that a touch of a French accent I hear in your voice? I deflected his request.

Indeed it is. As I told you, my parents were French immigrants.

The longer we talked, the more I settled into the old rhythm of conversational exchanges, of give-and-take, and the more comfortable I felt with Christophe. He was polite and charming, with a light conversational touch.

Before I knew it, an hour and a half had flown by before I even glanced at my phone.

Oh, I exclaimed,

Reviews for Vexed by Vampires

[Renae · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Imagine if Buffy was a single parent & didn’t become the chosen one until her early 40’s.

Yea the kids are annoying but drew me & kept me hanging on until the end.