Hot Damned Books
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.
This is holiday paranormal romantic comedy novella for your reading pleasure! It’s Christmas at the Cressida House and all Hell is breaking loose. Tree? Decorated and lit. Elf on a Shelf? Seated with style. Baby Jesus on the mantle? Fourteen neatly in a row. Life sized Nutcracker? Creepy, but standing proud. Invitations sent to entire immortal family to celebrate the holiday? Possibly the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever done. Mixing Heaven and Hell on my cousin’s famous birthday seemed like such a brilliant idea. I wanted my baby’s first Christmas to be special—memorable. I’d like chalk my heinous idea up to having been fallen down drunk, but that won’t fly as it’s insanely difficult for a Vampyre to tie one on. So instead I’ll deal with obscene gifts from relatives, kidnapped rock stars and catering by Mother Nature. To complicate matters, our new family pet thinks the whole house is his toilet. Ethan and I can’t even find a room with working lock on the door to spread a little holiday cheer. Never, never again. Christmas from now on will be at a freakin’ spa for the undead—no poles for dancing and no slumber parties with the Devil. I just have to make it through the next twenty-four hours without beheading a beloved one. Merry freakin’ Christmas—and Happy New Year.
What does a frustrated Vampyre do when the woman he’s chased for two hundred years is still trying to get away? He plays dirty, that’s what. Welcome to my own personal Hell. Name: Heathcliff. Occupation: Vampyre Warrior—one of the deadliest in the world. I plan. I fight. I win. Always. However, it’s never taken me this damned long to get what I want before. Only I would be blessed with a Vampyre mate I’d have to chase for two centuries. The chemistry between us is steamy and the sex is sizzling, but I want more—I want it all. Now just as I’m finally wearing Raquel down, I find I have competition—not for my mate's hand—but for her very existence. Raquel may run and she may hide, but she is mine and I will no longer take no for an answer. Whatever is in the way between us doesn’t matter. We were made for each other. Nothing anyone can do will change that simple fact…except maybe the Trolls...or the Wraiths...or the reclusive, insane Vampyre sister of my King who wants to drink my mate dry for reasons no one will freakin’ explain to me. Damn it, I thought the chase was difficult…keeping Raquel alive might prove to be my undoing.
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.
I have to trap the most evil, worst bad dude in existence without actually turning him to ash. So, what’s a Vampyre to do? For starters, enter an undead beauty pageant—in Oklahoma—where the hair is jacked and the contestants are busty and brainless. My name is Venus. I’m a two-hundred-year old killing machine and I’m trading in my daggers and sword for a sparkly dress and an obscene swim suit. Tiny strips of Lycra are not my typical battle wear, but when in Oklahoma… Armed with a fairly decent attitude, two debatably heterosexual insane old ladies, a woman I’d wanted to kill less than eight hours ago and the possible love of my undead life, I’m in over my head with this. Of course I have no clue what this is going to entail, but that’s never stopped me before. I’m learning quickly nothing is as it seems—not my past and least of all my future. With the not-so-angelic Angels watching our every move and more butt glue, lipstick and hairspray than I knew existed, I’m gonna take my fate by the balls and twist. Hard. In a race with death for the cursed life of the man I’m falling in love with, there’s no room for error. Especially when I can’t decide if I’d rather head butt him or jump his sexy bones. Mixed up in a tangled trap of spotlights, sequins and seduction, I’m gunning for a crown and my happily ever after with the arrogant alpha-hole who makes me feel alive. And the winner is… Hopefully me.
You think your job is tedious? Try being the Harbinger of Evil for a day.I dare you… What’s the Devil to do when his fire no longer burns away his sins and Fate is screwing with his… well, fate? Easy—lie, cheat, steal and dictate my questionably accurate autobiography slash romance novel to my unwilling and outstandingly rude Vampyre niece. Welcome to my Hell. A mysterious darkness is gunning for me and this time it might prevail, but I have little time to worry about that. Instead of seeking it out, I shall simply go about business as usual. If it’s fated, it will find me. My list is long. Traveling to Earth to promote my bestselling romance novel at an alarming book convention where I must protect my privates from the rabid lady readers is enough to frighten even the Devil. Not to mention, I have to avoid my insane mother like the plague and catch the smart-mouthed, gorgeous soul seller on Earth—who may or may not be someone I’d like to keep. So today is a day like any other. Punishments must be doled out and chaos must be encouraged. A vacation would be lovely, but there is no rest for the weary… or the evil. Luckily I know how to have an outstanding time doing outrageously bad things. Thank Hades, I’m a handsome bastard. There is no fated happily ever after for the Prince of Darkness, no matter what ridiculous ending my niece slaps onto my autobiography. Or is there? Fate is a bitch, but she usually gets it right.
Getting blackmailed sucks. Getting blackmailed by Satan into ghost writing his autobiography/romance really sucks—hard. But I’m not a weenie or a welsher. I’m a semi-materialistic, Prada lovin’ Vampyre-Demon with a bad attitude and a serious lack of cheating skills. If I were a good cheater, I wouldn’t be in this heinous position. I lost and now I have to pay. However, the price might deplete the wavering amount of sanity I have left… So I’m turning to you, Dear Diary, to pour out my inappropriate feelings and murderous inclinations toward a family member who shall remain nameless. Who in the Hell am I kidding? I’m gonna name that butthole over and over on these secret pages. It’s Satan or Lucifer or the Lord of Darkness or the Dark Angel—or, as I like to call him, Uncle F%#ker . That’s why I have chosen you, Dear Diary. You don’t have a mouth as far as I know and if you do, I’ll remove it—violently. Please keep that in mind as I tell you all my secrets. I’ve dealt with talking books and walls and they’re a real pain in the ass. So if you turn out to be one of those, we’ll have a problem. Sit back. Relax and get ready for a Hellish ride. xoxo Astrid NOTE FROM AUTHOR Dear Lover of Lucifer, Astrid and all things Hot Damned aka Fabulous Reader, It’s me, Robyn Peterman—the insane creator of the Hot Damned Series—with a little message for you. This is a HOT DAMNED EXTRA! It’s short. It’s snarky, fun and it’s short . If you haven’t read Fashionably Flawed, Book 9, you will not understand this and it has spoilers in it that will mess up your enjoyment of Fashionably Flawed. If you haven’t read any of the Hot Damned Series, this will make no sense to you whatsoever. LOL Sooooo, there you go. This is just a little ditty that I couldn’t get out of my head and thought the true fans of the Hot Damned Series would enjoy. Astrid and Satan are two of my favorite characters and I could write about them for ev-ah. Enjoy Astrid’s dairy of her month with Satan while writing his autobiography/romance . God knows I certainly did. xoxo Robyn
A movie deal for the Devil’s autobiography slash romance? Priceless. Maybe I should choose George Clooney to play me in the movie… No. Too gray. As much as I can’t see anyone playing me but me, I have far more important issues on my agenda—like finding the woman who stole my soul. Well, not exactly stole… I might have made the switch and taken hers, but the Siren, Elle Rinoa, has my soul nonetheless. Maybe Brad Pitt would be a good Lucifer… No. Too blond. Fate and I are on a crash course with destiny looking for the one woman who can change both of our lives—mine for the better—Fate’s for the worse. Never in my wildest imaginings did I think the Devil could have a happily ever after, but now I have hope. Maybe Jamie Dornan would do me justice… No. Fifty shades of wrong. Armed with a tremendously bad attitude and my two grumpy nieces in tow, I will find my woman and make her stay—even if I have to cuff her to me for the rest of eternity. Elle Rinoa is mine and as soon as she sees everything my way we will be fine. Maybe Dwayne Johnson would be an excellent Satan… No. Too bald. Whatever. With my insane mother proposing a disturbingly psychotic plan to find my girl and my father breaking every appliance in Heaven and Hell, I feel I have no choice but to go with my mother’s half baked scheme. I’ve done crazy, but this one will take the cake or put me six feet under—for real. How about Joe Manganiello playing me… No. I’m prettier. My Siren doesn’t know what’s about to hit her. I play for keeps and I play to win. Of course I cheat, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s showtime folks.
Once upon a time there lived a Fairy. And not just your run of the mill kind of Fairy. The reincarnated Fairy Queen of Zanthia. The Queen. She was a modern woman—a human no less. Armed with a potty mouth, a firm grasp of every note in Michael Jackson’s song catalogue, and some friends in very high places, she was set. Yet this Queen wasn’t exactly sure she wanted the job.Fine…it’s me.I’ve been happily human for thirty years. Now I’m discovering I’m the reincarnated Fairy Queen over a land chock-full of freaks who want me dead. Awesome. However, I’ll admit the perks are pretty cool. I definitely have more magic in my little pinky than should be allowed by law in any universe. Not to mention, the love of my life is a Fairy so smokin’ hot, he makes Hell look like a Winter Wonderland.Problem is, my hotter than Hades Fairy is imprisoned in Zanthia for nefarious reasons I won’t go into, but now I must head back to that crap hole where I’m the Queen, and save the damn day.I won’t go alone. Nope. I’m packing a narcissistic Mini Elf, two ancient singing Vampyres who couldn’t carry a tune if their undead lives depended on it, and the sister of my imprisoned love, The Kev. For him, I vow to discover my truth. Consequently, I’m unsure if this truth is meant to save or destroy. What I do know? The alternative is unacceptable.Fairy tales are meant to have happy endings. I’m determined to make that a reality.Ready or not… here comes the freakin’ Fairy Queen.
It’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature. Really, it’s not. This is simply not my week. Finding out I can’t cook is appalling. My luncheon with the big-boned Immortal socialites went to Hell in a handbasket. I’ve been hoping to join the Fearsome Five and make it the Psycho Six. However, the chances of that happening now are looking slim. Of course, I could force my way in since I’m Mother freakin’ Nature, but I want to be accepted for being me and—because I’m fabulous. It’s bad enough my two sons, God and Satan, are driving me to crazy town while my best friend, Mr. Rogers, is riding in the backseat having a breakdown. It’s definitely not a beautiful day in the neighborhood of Purgatory… God has taken up softball and is impossible to get ahold of just when I need to chat with him about the impending end of the world. And Satan. Satan has agreed to grocery shop with me so I don’t show up at his next poker game in Hell and pole dance. See I’m certain if I find the famous chef Betsy Cocker and learn to cook I can halt the end times. According to the Internet, she resides in aisle three. What I really want is to be left alone with Bill—the love of my Immortal life. And for the world to not come to a cataclysmic and fiery end because that is unacceptable. God tells me the end times aren’t on his schedule, but the strange days afoot and the physical changes in Bill tell me otherwise. And I would know. Normally, I create all the strange days. There is no storm strong enough to defeat me. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Mother Nature. I am the mother humpin’ storm. And it’s not over until I say it’s over.
A day in the life of the Devil should be exhilarating—lying, stealing, cheating at poker and finally beating Mr. Rogers… Life should be wonderful. Right? Wrong. The love of my dastardly immortal life is eating everything that isn’t nailed down and tried to behead me over a chocolate croissant. While I take chocolate croissants very seriously, I do believe decapitation is somewhat harsh. My daughters, the Seven Deadly Sins, are driving me to drink. Getting them mated off and the hell out of Hell is at the top on my agenda. The one thing that is keeping me sane—sane being a relative word—is my upcoming special day. After living a millennium and never knowing the date I came to be, I have sussed out the information from my certifiably insane, pole-dancing mother. She’s swears on her empty head that my birthday is April 1st. Soon, April 1st will mean something. I’m no fool. I plan to make my birthday far more famous than my do-gooder nephew’s. That day in December will be forgotten when I get done making my womb eviction day the most important in the history of the Universe. I shall simply go about business as usual. Punishments must be doled out and chaos must be encouraged. A vacation would be lovely, but there is no rest for the weary… or the evil. Luckily I know how to have an outstanding time doing outrageously bad things. Thank Hades, I’m a handsome bastard. Oh, and Happy Birthday to me.
Being an undead Princess comes with baggage. And unfortunately, it’s not Prada. Getting shredded in the Daily Fang, The Bloody Times and The National Dhampir is par for the course in the life of a royal Vampyre—especially mine. However, that’s nothing compared to the sh%tshow unfolding in my life. My nightmares are coming true. Satan is throwing fits about changing diapers. The Baby Demons are full of cryptic messages. Martha and Jane have a sphincter obsession. There’s a half-naked Demon in my closet with a mouth as foul as mine. On top of all that, we’re hosting Demon-hating royal houseguests. Oh, and did I mention the Vampyre-eating-Zombies on the west coast? With Ethan by my side, along with new friends and a few well-hidden enemies, it’s time to adjust my crown, put a few Vampyres in their place, and kick some Zombie butt. I’m dead. Life is still good. I have unconditional love. And on most days, when I’m not covered in Zombie guts, I’m wildly fashionable. Fashionably dead, that is, and loving it.
Anastasia I’m dead. He’s demonic. It never would have worked… Getting dumped by the Demon of my dreams wasn’t exactly in the game plan. Game plans suck. Throwing caution to the wind is my new motto. I used to be a semi-happily single Vampyre. As the Princess of the Australian Dominion, I have an enormous palace, a fabulous wardrobe, I don’t look a day over thirty, and I have gobs of friends—most of whom would be happy to see me permanently deceased. However, they hide it well. In the violent world of the undead, I consider it a win. Getting kicked to the curb by my True Mate has turned my world upside-Down Under. Whatever. If the Demon doesn’t want me, fine. He can skip his butt right back to Hell. And if Levi thinks walking back into my life under the guise of ending the bad guy terrorizing my Dominion is gonna fly, he’s got a few electrocutions coming his way. He wants the bad guy. I want him. Game on. Levi Falling for Anastasia is a damned disaster. I’m a Demon. She’s a Vampyre. I don’t do feelings or relationships. I’m a killing machine with a bounty on my head. I have nothing to offer her. Period. I’m a dumbass for cutting her loose. But visions of the gorgeous Vampyre getting caught in the crossfire of idiots trying to whack my head off is unacceptable. While Anastasia is violent—an attribute I find wildly arousing—she didn’t sign up to be a target. The thought of her alive without me is far more appealing than her being permanently dead because of me. Of course, just when I thought I’d solved the problem by removing Anastasia from the equation, life—or rather, the pain in my backside, Satan—throws me back into her path. Behemoth is darkening Anastasia’s Dominion, and I’m going to need the Vampyre princess if I want to take him out. Two birds. One stone. Right? Kill Behemoth. Spend time with the woman I want, but I can’t have. Win-win. Kind of. Whatever. Blue balls, here I come.
Welcome to my Hell… and not the good one where I’m in charge. Word on the street is that my brother’s son was potty trained at eight months old. Unacceptable. I shall not be bested by God. I have pilfered plastic potties, Cheerios and bagels. I am prepared to teach my boy to put the pee in the hole. All I need now is a potty song. Or so I thought. Apparently, sending Lizard to clog all the commodes in Heaven has put me in hot water with Mother Nature. The certifiable woman has threatened a pole dancing punishment if I don’t play nice with my brother. So I shall do what any sane leader of Hell would do—die my hair, shave my eyebrows and go into hiding for a century. Desperate Devils do stupid things. But no one hides from Mother Nature for long, not even God and the Devil. Now we’re in a cornfield in Nowhere, Indiana. No magic. No cell phones. No IDs and three days to make nice and figure out how in the Hell to get to Kentucky. Good luck to us… Sometimes you need a little Heaven to raise a lot of Hell.
The rich bloodsuckers don’t want to pay taxes. Too bad, so sad. They’re the least of my problems right now. At the wise suggestion of my beloved mate, I indulge in a little retail therapy so I don’t dismember the pissed off crew of greedy Vamps who don’t want to pay their fair share. How could a trip to the happiest place on earth aka Target go wrong? Let me count the ways… Martha and Jane want to ride in the cart. Vinnie convinces me to buy chicken potholders because everyone needs poultry inspired oven mitts. Most horrifying? I’ve run into the most dastardly and most boring enemy yet, and they’ve turned my happy place into a nightmare. Their diabolical powers have already put Ethan into a trance, and I’m next on their list. I’m going to have to rely on my unconventional crew, Martha, Jane, Vinnie and some undead mimes hopped up on caffeinated blood, if I want to kick ass and end this supernatural snoozefest. Adding my untrustworthy, homicidal sister to the mix might end in catastrophe, but it’s a case of the Devil made me do it. Disaster has struck again, but I’ll handle it on my terms—fashionably and with no mercy. May the best Vamp stay awake long enough to win… and let it be me.
The twenty-first century is quite the horrifying eye-opener for a Vampyre warrior whose been in a magical coma for a thousand years. The Vampyre in question would be me. I’m so damned confused by the modern world, and getting electrocuted for being misogynistic — whatever that means — is getting old. It’s insanity. Apparently, there’s a species called Karens running in the wild. The Tube of You and the Book of the Faces are alarming. From what I understand, the Karens gather there. I much prefer homing pigeons to the small rectangular metal box the undead of today seem to favor. Although, I am enamored with the horseless metal chariots. The good old days of skin peeling and ripping out entrails are over. So be it. I’ll fit in. Getting set aflame sucks. Plus, there’s a beautiful blonde who’s in my every waking thought. She might not know it yet, but we’re destined to be. Although, every time I cop a feel, I get my nards kneed up into my esophagus. My wooing skills might be a little rusty… Armed with the magic word, please , and the challenge of using my words instead of my sword, I shall succeed. I’m fierce. I’m fabulous. And I’m in love.