I came home to find two men sitting at my kitchen table. One of them was my live-in sweetie. The other was one of our best friends. One of them was a wereleopard; the other was a werewolf, both of them were strippers. At least once a month they took off more than just their clothes on stage. They changed shape on stage in front of a live audience. Those nights the club was standing room only. I mean you can go to other clubs to see men take their clothes off, but their entire skin and body . . . well, that was unique.
Nathaniel came to greet me with a kiss and a hug. I let my hands play in the long, thick auburn hair that trailed down his broad shoulders, the curve of his waist, the tightness of his ass, and the long muscular legs. He was 5' 7" now, an inch taller than when I'd met him. In my three inch heels I was still an inch shorter than him. At twenty-one he was finally growing into the promise of those shoulders. His face was less soft than it had been, and more masculine. He would always be beautiful rather than handsome, but the bone structure had changed minutely so he just suddenly looked his age, instead of like jail bait.
He blinked down at me with the soft lilac of his eyes. On his driver's license it said his eyes were blue, because they wouldn't let him put lavender, or purple. His eyes were different shades of color, depending on his mood, or what he wore, but blue was never the color of his eyes.
His hands slid underneath the jacket of my suit, and a little lower to trace the top of my skirt. His hands hesitated a little at the gun in its shoulder holster. Guns do get in the way of cuddling.
I wrapped my arms around the bareness of his upper body, breathed in the scent of his skin. He was wearing what he usually wore in his off time in the summer, little bitty jogging shorts. Most of the wereanimals would go around nude if you let them. I wasn't quite comfy with that, so he wore the shorts to save my delicate sensibilities. There were some who thought I didn't have any of those left, but they would be wrong, and they would be jealous.
Holding him, breathing in the warmth and sweet vanilla of his skin, I understood the jealousy. Though frankly, not all of it was about sex or even having found love at last. It was about power and them wanting it, and me and mine having it. It was about me being the human servant of Jean-Claude, the Master Vampire of St. Louis. It was about body count, and me having the highest kill count among the vampire executioners in the good ol', U. S. of A.
"I would give a less favored body part to have a woman greet me at the end of the day like that," Jason's voice said.
I had to peer around Nathaniel's body to see Jason. He was still at the kitchen table nursing a coffee mug. It even smelled like coffee, but he huddled over it, as if it were something harder and more intoxicating.
Jason was two years older than Nathaniel, which made him twenty-three now. Strangely, I'd met them both when they were nineteen. Jason was my height, give or take a half inch or so. His hair was that shade of yellow blond that movie stars are fond of, but his was real, and didn't have to come from a good salon. His hair was cut businessman short. I liked long hair, but I had to admit that Jason's face looked cleaner, better, more handsome even, without the hair to distract. He was wearing a blue t-shirt that made his eyes even bluer than they were. The color not of spring, but of summer skies, before the heat has gotten too hot, but you know it's not May anymore.
The clothes hid what I knew, that he looked even better out of them. It wasn't for lack of cuteness and desirability that Jason wasn't my sweetie. He was my friend, and I was his.
"What about Perdita, Perdy? You and she are going steady, right?"
He grinned at me. "Going steady, you're so cute."
I frowned at him. "What else do you call it?"
Nathaniel kissed me on the forehead. "You really are cute."
I moved away from him and scowled at

Sorry i haven't been around for the last month or so,
I've been really busy.
But i'll try harder this month to be online and to revamp this page.
Thanks
-x-

The Harlequin June 5, 2007


Chapter One


Malcolm, the head of the Church of Eternal life, the vampire church, sat across from me. He'd never been in my office before. In fact, the last time I'd seen him, he'd accused me of doing black magic, and being a whore. I'd also killed one of his congregation members on church grounds in front of him and the rest of his congregation. The dead vamp had been a serial killer. I'd had a court order of execution, but still, it hadn't made Malcolm and me buddies.

I sat behind my desk, sipping coffee from my newest Christmas themed mug. A little girl sat on Santa's lap saying "Define good." I worked hard every year to find the most offensive mug I could so that Bert, our business manager, could throw a fit. It had become one of my holiday traditions. I'd at least dressed for the season in red skirt and jacket. The shirt was blue, instead of green, but it was still very festive, for me. I had a new gun in my shoulder holster. A friend of mine had finally persuaded me to give up my Browning Hi-Power for something that fit my hand a little better. The Browning was at home in the gun safe, and the Heckler and Koch P200 was in the holster. I felt like I was cheating.

Once upon a time, I'd thought Malcolm handsome, but that had been when his vampire tricks worked on me. Without vampire wiles to cloud my perception, Malcolm was good looking in a way, but not handsome. His bone structure was too rough, almost as if it hadn't quite gotten smoothed out before they put that pale skin on it. His hair was cut short and had a little curl to it, because to take the curl out of it he'd had to have shave it. The hair was a bright, bright, canary yellow. It's what blond hair does if you take it out of the sun for a few hundred years. He looked at me with his blue eyes, and smiled, and the smile filled his face with personality. That same personality that made his Sunday morning television program such a hit. It wasn't magic, it was just him. Charisma for lack of a better word. There was force to Malcolm that had nothing to do with vampire powers and everything to do with who he was, not what he was. He'd have been a leader and a mover of men even if he'd been alive.

The smile softened his features, filled his face with that zeal that was both compelling, and frightening. He was a true believer, head of a church of true believers. The whole idea of a vampire church still creeped me out, but it was the fastest growing denomination in the country.

"I was surprised to see your name on my appointment book, Malcolm," I said, finally.

"I understand that, Ms. Blake. I am almost equally surprised to be here."

"Fine, we're both surprised. Why are you here?"

"I suspect you have, or will soon have, a warrant of execution for a member of my church."

I managed to keep my face blank, but felt the stiffness in my shoulders. He'd see the reaction, and he'd know what it meant. Master vampires don't miss much. "You have a lot of members, Malcolm, could you narrow it down a little. Who exactly are we talking about?"

"Don't be coy, Ms. Blake."

"I'm not being coy."

"You're trying to insinuate that you have a warrant for more than one of my vampires. I do not believe it, and neither do you."

I should have felt insulted, because I wasn't lying. Two of his up-standing vamps had been very naughty. "If your vampires were fully blood-oathed to you, you'd know I was telling the truth, because you'd be able to enforce your moral code in entirely new ways."

A blood-oath was what a vamp did when he joined a new vampire group, a new kiss. He literally took blood from the Master of the City. It meant the master had a lot more control over them and the lesser vamps gained in power, too. If their master was powerful enough. A weak master wasn't much help, but Jean-Claude, St. Louis's master of the city and my sweetie, wasn't weak. Of course, the master gained power from the oath, as well