QSFer Eule Grey has a new FF paranormal book out, Kitten and Blonde book two: Let the Bite One In.
Throw a hungry vampire a steak.
Life has never been better for Kitten and Blonde, paranormal investigators and beer enthusiasts. Finally, there’s time for a rest instead of always rushing into the spirit world to solve ghostly disputes. Even Penny, the grumpy office cat, is purrfectly happy.
Everything’s good until the vampire sisters of Whitby fly in for a visit. Enigmatic Em is well known throughout Yorkshire as a defender of women’s rights and for her hefty right hook. But the minute she laments about a lost vampire, things go bats-up. It’s a twisted tale… Is Em thirty or three hundred? One fact is indisputable—she’s hot. Mave pushes aside her doubts and accepts the case. The pay’s good; the perks are even better—everyone likes a day on Whitby Beach. Count Dracula is a fun myth, right?
Wrong. As soon as Mave starts digging, the nightmares begin: a woman trapped on a train, unsettling aromas, a watchful, hooded figure. It sucks. Even butch Lisa gets her spook-on, and Penny accompanies Mave everywhere, as if she senses malice creeping inevitably closer.
Never tell a witch and her familiar no. Mave discovers strength and powers she didn’t know existed. Meanwhile, a timeless love story hurtles to a fearsome battle for the vampire crown and a woman’s soul.
Dracula. Betrayal. Atonement. Sibling love. When the blood hits the fan, will Kitten and Blonde be strong enough for the final Countess-down?
Kitten and Blonde: Love at first bite. Mostly paranormal. Sometimes alien. Always gentle.
Get It At Amazon | Publisher | Universal Buy Link
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Excerpt
Why does nobody see me, trapped on a train crammed with people and their noise?
I make a fuss, bang on the windowless walls, float through seats and bodies, but still, nobody notices me at all. “Hello? Where’s the exit? I can’t get out. Help! Can’t you see me?”
They look through me because I don’t matter.
I’m alone with the chaos of my own head.
“Help!”
I mattered once, but I lost her.
I lost her.
Without her, I’m nothing but a dirty stain.
Did I ever exist?
Am I real?
Shut up.
Shut up!
There’s something at the far end of the carriage that I can’t quite see. With slow, confident steps, it walks towards me.
It’s him.
Coming.
For.
Me.
“Help!”
I woke up screaming. The nightmare faded almost immediately into a telltale prickle at the base of my neck. The prickling sensation was my body’s way of letting me know a spook was nearby.
Rather than fear, an indignant sense of resentment rose to the surface. After a lifetime of liaising between the physical world and the supernatural, those seeking my services hardly ever showed the same respect I offered them.
“What do you want?”
I’d spent the previous two weeks staying with Lisa, and it seemed some of her natural assertiveness had seeped into me.
The entity didn’t reply. Through the darkness, I gained the impression it was saddened rather than angered by my question. Guilt crept in. Maybe the entity had its reasons for sneaking in?
I adopted a more professional tone, albeit grudgingly. “Please call back at a sociable hour. We’ve a drop-in Wednesdays and Thursdays in the garden shed from eleven. If there’s a queue, wait your turn, and no arguing with other customers.” Boundaries were necessary, especially for the dead, who did not discern doors or locks. I didn’t bother offering an address for Lisa’s house. Ghosts rarely needed a map.
The weekday drop-in had been her idea. After a lengthy 3:00 a.m. heart-to-heart with a lonely ghost, she’d put her foot down. “They can make an appointment like anyone else does. You were in the bathroom for hours last night, for fuck’s sake! I thought you’d been sucked down the loo by a giant snake.”
The welcome memory of Ms Blonde led me to a kinder disposition. “You’re here now, so you might as well talk. Where are you?”
The dark cold of my bedroom offered no clues as to the position of the ‘guest’. Though my eyes smarted from the intensity of my glare, only the outline of a wardrobe and billowing blackout curtains looked back.
I inched up the wall until I was sitting rather than prostrate. The top of my head banged against the headboard. To relieve the tension in my neck, I looked up.
It hovered directly above me, only inches from my face. Later, I’d swear she was female, but the shape vanished too swiftly to be sure. A stain of a conflicted aura remained in the atmosphere, chaotic and afraid, a contradictory spirit at odds with itself. The aura might have comprised more than one being. Oddly, it reminded me of Lisa’s brother, Tom.
Wishing I’d spoken more gently, I reached aside and clicked on the lamp. Bright pink light—a Christmas present from Tom—flooded my room. I leapt from bed with the agility of a young Olympiad, banged open every cupboard door, and swept aside my curtains in haste to apprehend the spirit and, perhaps, to make it feel better.
I was too late. It—she—had already departed. The only lingering evidence of her visit was a chilly draft blowing in through a crack in the windowpane I’d meant to fix and a curious smell of godawful cheap perfume. “Ugh.”
Author Bio
Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!
She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!
For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.
Website: https://eule-grey.square.site/
Facebook: http://facebook.com/eule.grey/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/EuleGrey