Over My Dead Body Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  ABANDONED TOWN DESTROYED BY GAS LEAK

  THE SEVEN ANCIENTS

  THE BROKEN HEART TURN-BLOODS

  BRIEF HISTORY OF THE CONSORTIUM

  THE CONSORTIUM GUIDELINES

  GLOSSARY

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the Novels of Michele Bardsley

  Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home

  “Has action aplenty and a free-spirited, wittily sarcastic heroine who will delight fans.”

  —Booklist

  “Witty. If you like your vampires with a dose of humor, I highly recommend Bardsley’s Broken Heart series.”

  —Romance Novel TV

  “Bardsley has one of the most entertaining series on the market. The humor and wackiness keep hitting the sweet spot. Add Bardsley to your autobuy list!”

  —Romantic Times (top pick)

  “Michele Bardsley’s latest installment in the Broken Heart series is just as hard to put down as the ones before.”

  —Bitten by Books

  “Funny and entertaining. I can’t wait for the next adventure!”

  —Manic Readers

  “Michele Bardsley gives us another amazing addition to the Broken Heart series.”

  —Night Owl Romance

  “An enjoyable mix of humor and romance . . . fast-paced, steamy, and all-around entertaining.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Fun and lighthearted. . . . This book will appeal to fans of MaryJanice Davidson, Katie MacAlister, and Kathy Love since it has the same mix of fun comedy, paranormal fantasy, and romance.”

  —LoveVampires

  Because Your Vampire Said So

  “Lively, sexy, out of this world—as well as in it—fun! Michele Bardsley’s vampire stories rock!”

  —Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author

  “Five Ribbons! I laughed nonstop from beginning to end. . . . Michele Bardsley always creates these characters that leave readers feeling like they are our next-door neighbors. . . . I’ve been addicted to these books since the very first one was written, but I have to say, I think Because Your Vampire Said So is my favorite so far. . . . If I could, I’d give this story a higher rating. Five ribbons just doesn’t seem to be enough for this wonderful story!”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Another Broken Heart denizen is here in this newest, hysterically funny first-person romp. The combination of sexy humor, sarcastic wit, and paranormal trauma is unmistakably Bardsley. Grab the popcorn and settle in for a seriously good time!”

  —Romantic Times

  “Vampire romance readers will enjoy the return to Broken Heart, Oklahoma. . . . Michele Bardsley provides a fun paranormal romance with an interesting undead pairing.”

  —The Best Reviews

  Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire

  “Cutting-edge humor and a raw, seductive hero make Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire a yummylicious treat!”

  —Dakota Cassidy, author of The Accidental Werewolf

  “A fabulous combination of vampire lore, parental angst, romance, and mystery. I loved this book!”

  —Jackie Kessler, author of The Road to Hell

  “All I can say is wow! I was totally immersed in this story, to the point that I tuned everything and everybody out the . . . entire evening. Now, that’s what I call a good book. Michele can’t write the next one fast enough for me!”

  —The Best Reviews

  “A winning follow-up to I’m the Vampire, That’s Why, filled with humor, supernatural romance, and truly evil villains.”

  —Booklist

  I’m the Vampire, That’s Why

  “From the first sentence, Michele grabbed me and didn’t let me go! A vampire mom? PTA meetings? A sulky teenager? Throw in a gorgeous, ridiculously hot hero and you’ve got the paranormal romance of the year. Get this one now.”

  —MaryJanice Davidson

  “Hot, hilarious, one helluva ride. . . . Michele Bardsley weaves a sexily delicious tale spun from the heart.”

  —L. A. Banks

  “A fun, fun read!”

  —Rosemary Laurey

  “Michele Bardsley has penned the funniest, quirkiest, coolest vampire tale you’ll ever read.”

  —Kate Douglas

  “An amusing vampire romance . . . a terrific contemporary tale.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Written with a dash of humor reminiscent of Katie MacAlister . . . amusing.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “A savvy new take on the vampire romance . . . that will keep you laughing until the final pages.”

  —Paranormal Romance Writers

  “A marvelous introduction to the world of vampires and werewolves . . . funny and filled with explosive sexual tension.”

  —The Romance Reader’s Connection

  “Add the name Michele Bardsley to the ranks of talented paranormal authors who wield humor as a deft weapon.”

  —Romantic Times

  Other books by Michele Bardsley

  Paranormal Romances

  Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home

  Because Your Vampire Said So

  Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire

  I’m the Vampire, That’s Why

  Erotica

  Cupid Inc.

  Fantasyland

  SIGNET ECLIPSE

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

  A division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, May 2009

  Copyright © Michele Bardsley, 2009

  All rights rese
rved

  SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-06140-4

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Elaine Smythe,

  who lives on forever in the hearts of those who love

  her and in the pages of this book.

  To Terri Smythe—

  Terri’s Angels love, love, love you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My children freaking rock.

  My daughter, Kati, is fabulous. She’s smart, wicked funny, talented, and has a big ol’ bleeding heart. She’s got an attitude, too, and she’s mouthy. I adore her. I can only take credit for bringing her into the world and making sure she survived until adulthood—all the rest is her.

  My son, Reid, is brilliant. He’s only eleven, but he has a killer sense of humor and the kindest heart. He tells cool stories and has awesome ideas. He wants to change the world. And you know something? He will.

  To my children: I love you forever.

  I adore Renée, Terri, Dakota, Jaynie, Juanita, and Lori (Chapman, just so we’re clear, you-know-who-you-are doubters). I am so very blessed to have you as friends. I would even give you chocolate instead of keeping it for myself—that’s how much y’all mean to me.

  Jose, you have good taste in tattoos (and you, too, Beth, ’cause I know you’re reading this). And hey, no more sugar and carbs, dude. I’m sorry, but going to the hospital is BAD. Cut that shit out already!

  I gotta give props to Jackie Kessler, who wrote Hell’s Belles, which is such an awesome book. I fell in love with the way she told that story and every story since. The woman has mad skills—www.jackiekessler.com.

  I worship at the altar of Mark Henry. The man can flat-out write. I’m horribly jealous of his talent. If you have not checked out Amanda Feral’s fabulous and fashionable adventures, you are sooooo missing out. Go forth and buy—www.markhenry.us.

  Toni McGee Causey writes very (very, very, very) funny novels about Bobbie Faye, the terror of Louisiana. I adore her and her creator, the übertalented Toni—www.bobbiefaye.com.

  To all these writers I owe a world of thanks for inspiring me and for writing such kick-ass books for me to read.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to those people who read this novel and offered comments: Renée, the plot master and handholder; Dakota, the deadline ho and fabulous line editor; Terri, the voice in my head yelling at me to “write the fucking book, already”; and Butch Treese, the ultimate fan who knows my books better than I do. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  No acknowledgment would be complete without gushing about my literary agent, Stephanie Kip Rostan, her rawkin’ assistant, Monika Verma, and all the wonderful people at Levine Greenberg Literary Agency.

  I also gotta give high fives to my ever-patient editor, Kara Cesare, and the staff and crew at New American Library. Nobody deserves Godiva more than you guys.

  I gotta say this to Miss Dakota and her man, Rob: That kind of bright and shiny love couldn’t have happened to two nicer friends. Here’s a chocolate martini for the rest of us who hope every day to find the same.

  I would also like to mention Brenda Anderson. I just wanted to say to Brenda Anderson that you are a valued member of the fan group. Brenda Anderson, we don’t care that your brain juice is a quart low. Ours is, too, and we don’t even have an injury to account for why we do the stupid shit we do. And dear, dear Brenda Anderson, the one who lives in Pittsburgh and didn’t say hello until Friday at RT 2008 and then never came back to the conference so I could properly torment you, you wanted to see your name in print. Here you go: Brenda Anderson, Brenda Anderson, Brenda Anderson, Brenda Anderson, Brenda Anderson, and for good measure, Brenda Anderson.

  And last (but never, ever least), I want to say how much I adore the members of my Yahoo! Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MicheleBardsley/join.

  Obviously you have stupendous taste in paranormal fiction. Even though I lurk too much and I forget to send out prizes and I post erratically and I torture you with random sentences from my WIPs, I really and truly lurve you all. Mostly because you’re as crazy as I am. Don’t bother denying it.

  “That which is Below corresponds to that which is Above, and that which is Above corresponds to that which is Below, to accomplish the miracles of the One Thing.”

  —The Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus

  “Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath: Neither give place to the devil.”

  —Ephesians 4:26-27

  “Well, I think I learned a valuable lesson: Always take down your Christmas decorations after New Year’s, or you might get filleted by a hooker from God.”

  —Dean Winchester, Supernatural, “Houses of the Holy”

  Chapter 1

  Friday, June 21

  Killing Braddock Hayes changed my life—such as it was—forever. Committing murder should change a person, at least a person who still has a conscience, and I sure as hell had mine.

  My name’s Simone Sweet. My personality obviously doesn’t match my name. How could someone who was truly sweet rip open the carotid artery in a man’s neck and enjoy the thick, bloody flow of his life onto her lips?

  I’m a vampire, and folks may believe that vampires walk around and kill indiscriminately. All right, some do. But not me. Not the ones I lived with in Broken Heart, Oklahoma. We had rules.

  The same rules I’d tossed out the proverbial window the minute I sank my fangs into Brady’s neck and drank all of his essence.

  I knelt before my sacrifice, penitent yet darkly thrilled by what I’d just done. My gaze drifted up past the pine trees. The moon was out. It shone through the feathery branches like the bright eye of the goddess, the one the lycanthropes worshipped. She had surely witnessed my act and was passing judgment on me. Could a deity that wasn’t mine punish me?

  The shitty part was . . . I’d killed someone before. Before I even knew vampires and werewolves were real. Before I knew that the world in which humans lived was an illusion they created. Paranormal creatures have been with us for a very long time. It’s not so much that they’re good at hiding. It’s more that humans are better at ignoring what they don’t understand, and denying anything that doesn’t make sense in their reality.

  Yes, I’d killed someone when I was human. He deserved it. I have to believe that he deserved it. But as I looked down at the corpse of Braddock Hayes, a man who’d done nothing but try to help me and my family, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.

  Nobody deserved to be killed. Not even killers.

  I stood up, shaking, my body full of blood and that strange, addictive ecstasy. That was the danger of draining a human. Vampires liked it. We enjoyed blood nearly as much as women enjoyed shoe sales or free Godiva samples. That forbidden joy was why vampires who either belonged to the Consortium or followed the rules of the Ancients took o
nly one pint every evening from willing donors.

  Blood smelled like rust.

  It almost looked like rust, especially when it was drying on clothes and clotting on skin. Staining my outsides, the way my sins stained my soul. It wasn’t the same as before . . . when I killed Jacob. Oh, there was blood then, too. But not like this.

  I cocked my head, listening to the sounds of paws thwumping on the marshy ground and crashing through the underbrush. Lycanthropes had exceptional senses. That edge made them superb guardians of the undead.

  I was still staring at the moon when a black wolf skidded into the clearing. Damian, the leader of the guardians. He sniffed Brady, his big furred face swinging toward me. He barked at me, his jade eyes glittering in accusation.

  Then he lifted his snout into the air and howled.

  Patrick O’Halloran and his father, Ruadan, sailed into view and landed between me and Brady. They could fly not because they were vampires, but because they were part sidhe, or fairy. They both looked like a young Pierce Brosnan with raven black hair and stormy silver eyes.