Showing results by author "Robyn Peterman"

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.

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.

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 20 minutes no matter how psychotic and evil they were....

What happens when an accountant decides to grab life by the horns and try something new? Apparently a pirate named Dave, a lot of pastel fleece, and blackmail - just to start with. Visualize and succeed, Oprah said. I was sure as hell trying, even if my campaign to score a job as the local weather girl had ended in a restraining order. Okay, TV was not my strength. But a lack of talent has never stopped me before. Which is why I've embarked on a writing career. I mean, how hard can it be to come up with a sexy romance?

My name is Dixie. I'm a Demon - a lousy Demon. I'm a 21-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.

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.

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 on to my humanity if only by a thread.

I've been taking down drug dealers for so long, playing bodyguard to a woman named Shoshanna Lehump sounds like nothing more than a giant pain in my ass - and being partnered with the gorgeous egotistical jerk I never should have slept with in the first place just makes a bad situation even harder - especially when he pursues me as diligently as we're supposed to be chasing the bad guys.... What's a girl have to do to get a happy ending anyway?

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. Traveling to Earth to promote my best-selling 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.

And I thought being half Vampyre/half Demon was hard.... That's nothing compared to being a mother. Sweet baby Moses in a boob tube, there aren't any books on raising True Immortals, so let me give you a few tips.... Make a map of every closet and bathroom in your home if you enjoy having sex. Sleep deprivation can cause confusion, and a map will help if you have only seven minutes and 31 seconds. You're welcome.

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 to chalk my heinous idea up to having been falling-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.

My name is Venus. I'm a 200-year old killing machine and I'm trading in my daggers and sword for a sparkly dress and an obscene swimsuit. 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.

It's a big fat hairy deal when I lose yet another bet to my best friend, Rena. Not only do I end up attending Bigfoot meetings with her kooky Aunt Phyllis, I find myself traveling with a band of reality TV, Sasquatch-hunting nut-jobs! Not to mention a suspiciously shady film crew. As if those little nuggets weren't enough to send me on the express train to Crazytown...I stupidly swore off men! Clearly, all this would mess up any gal's social life, but the worst part of the story? The minute I send my libido on vacation, I meet Mitch.

Three waxed cats, one Cookie Witch, a Brazilian gone bad, and the last name Bermangoggleshitz...not the best ingredients for a successful spell. Or is it? Avoiding the truth has been working out just fine for most of my life. I'm finally happy. I have friends and a kangaroo shifter who adores me. Never in my 29 witchy years did I think I would have a place to call home with people who truly cared. Now my BFF, Zelda, wants to have a chat. Can't crappy news wait?

I was a top-notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago, where I had everything I needed - a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs, and Dwayne - my gay Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I'd left, and I'd rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank. Hank the Tank Wilson was the six-foot-three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart.

Witches and glitches and testicle-obsessed cats...Oh my. One dilemma down and approximately 74,876,283 to go. I think being the Shifter Whisperer is hard - or Shifter Wanker as I enjoy referring to my new job - but healing wounded Shifters is easy compared to finding and eliminating the lurking freaking evil. Throw in a ghost, a potentially explosive ex-cellmate, a long lost dad and a smokin' hot werewolf who's convinced he's my mate, and suddenly it's party time - from hell. And this is my mission?

Released from the magic pokey and paroled with limited power is enough to make any witch grumpy. However, if you throw in a recently resurrected cat, a lime-green Kia, and a sexy egotistical werewolf, it's enough to make a gal fly off the edge. Not to mention a mission...with no freaking directions. So here I sit in Asscrack, West Virginia, trying to figure out how to complete my mysterious mission before All Hallows Eve when I'll get turned into a mortal.

My name is Dima, and I'm a Dragon. I'm also going to die soon. It's a battle I've waged most of my life, but now the odds are looking crappy. Before I go up flames, I have to find a way to save my horde and make sure my secret treasure is safe. There is one way I could stick around a bit longer, but the men I've met aren't exactly lining up to save me.

What does a hungry, pregnant witch do when her whole freaking town goes on a no-carb diet? I'll tell you what. She goes on the sly and conjures up some anchovy-chocolate chunk cookies dipped in hot sauce - that's what. Of course my cheating gets complicated when all of the magic in the world goes on the fritz. To solve that particular wrinkle, I'll have to finally find the source of the lurking evil.

One of these things is not like the others - life-threatening community theatre, wire hangers, chipmunks, tree-house sex-capades with a hot werewolf and head-shrinking with a porno-loving rabbit shifter. Actually none of these things are even remotely like the others, but it's my life and I'm going to make the pieces fit into a perfect puzzle - even if I have to shove it together and glue it with magic.