In my blog posts, I do my best to destroy the myth of the single narrative usually painted of African Americans in the 19^th century, i.e., destitute, formerly enslaved, and/or dependent on the largesse of well-meaning Whites. Eliza Potter with her book, A Hairdresser’s Experience in High Life, does the same only to depictions of aspirational black women who sought only to uplift the race. Eliza bettered her personal situation first and then used that experience in her book to turn a mirror not only on the “high life” superiority assumptions Whites had about themselves, but also on blacks who exploited blacks.

Depending on your source, Eliza Potter was born of mixed-race parentage in 1820, either in NYC or Virginia. Little is known about her formative years. She married twice, the first time to Mr. Johnson and the second to Howard Potter in 1853, who died in 1860, a few months after her work, A Hairdresser’s Experience of High Life, was published in 1859.

Potter first made her living as a nanny/nurse and a domestic to families of the American “ton” in places like Newport R.I. and Saratoga N.Y. This enabled her to travel not only across the country but to Europe. In 1841, while in Paris, she learned to dress hair, which she did once she returned to the US and settled in Cincinnati. There, she pursued a full-time higher-paying career as a beauty expert and one knowledgeable about European standards of “ladylike” behavior.

Her memoir also falls into the category of travel narrative, popular in her day, because of the various places she visited but she didn’t just provide a travelogue. She commented on what she saw, particularly on slavery as she traveled the South. With her account of a black woman who owned slaves and was just as vicious as white slave owners, Potter shocked abolitionists who wanted to portray all blacks as victims.

The tone she employs in her book defies the deferential posture 19^th century blacks and women in particular were supposed to adopt.  Historian Henry Louis Gates in his chapter on her in The Portable Nineteenth Century African American Women Writers, describes her memoir not only as gossipy but sharp-tongued. In her introduction to A Hairdresser’s Experience Professor Xiomara Santamarina describes how deftly Potter’s critique comes off as advice on breeding rather than criticism.

When she died in 1893, she was reported to own $2400 in property, roughly seventy-two to seventy-five thousand dollars in today’s money. And lest I give you the impression she was self-serving, Potter regularly helped others. In Cincinnati, she served as a trustee of the Colored Orphan Asylum. While on a visit to Louisville, KY, Potter shared information on the Underground Railroad that helped a slave to freedom. For this act she was extradited, jailed and tried, but fortunately acquitted.

I’ll be forever grateful for the legacy left by 19^th century African American women like Eliza Potter and for the efforts of those who selflessly share so I can learn about them.

For a chance at a $10 gift card, share your thoughts on my post in the comments below.

“Put It in a Book” by Michal Scott
Inside Stranded

Trapped in a book by a sorcerer for rejecting his sexual advances,
an ex-slave’s daughter discovers one hope of rescue – a nosy thief.

Excerpt:

“No one will ever read your story,” he whispered with snake-like malice. His laugh bruised her heart each time he congratulated himself on his ingenuity. “You will remain hidden in these pages until you give yourself to me.”

Never had been her answer when he’d propositioned her a week after she’d arrived in Liberia. Never was her answer when he’d caught her pleasuring herself by the river’s edge after her morning swim. Never remained her answer from the day she’d awakened entombed within the pages of her own story to this.

How often had hope flared at the possibility of someone opening these pages and setting her free?

Too often.

How many times had Morlu’s possessive grip caressed her prison’s spine, his wet thumb sliding down the edges of its pages?

Too many.

“Everyone I’ve imprisoned yielded within a day. You’ve resisted for thirty,” he exclaimed. “I must dedicate a chapter to your resilience.”

He splayed his fingers across her prison’s pages, too accurately mimicking the spreading of her thighs. Her captive limbs shuddered. His calloused finger slid along the book’s gutter. Her inert hands tensed, unable to shield herself from the erotic—albeit vicarious—chafing his touch provoked.

“Your opposition makes your eventual capitulation that much sweeter.” He slid his finger faster, deeper between the pages. “And make no mistake…you will surrender.”

Each time he placed her back on the shelf, he planted a cold kiss on the book’s spine. Aziza quivered against the chill, unable to staunch the revulsion roiling in her throat—or at least, where she imagined her throat might still be.

“Until then,” he whispered.

Her spirit cringed at those words. She’d escaped from plantation owners eager to punish her for secretly teaching slaves to read. Her spirit had remained unbowed after fourteen harrowing weeks crossing the Atlantic. Even the hardships that had killed more than three-quarters of all who had emigrated to Liberia hadn’t vanquished her. If neither threats to her life nor dangers at sea nor the high mortality rate could defeat her, she’d be damned if this self-serving sorcerer would.

Buylink: Amazon – https://amzn.to/3dLd9rM

Reaching the spring equinox means winter is starting to release its icy grip.

The snow is melting—we haven’t had nearly as much as usual this year, for which I am eternally grateful. The days are getting longer, and the temperatures are slowly creeping upward. We may still get a freak snowstorm or two—a very likely possibility where I live—but the promise of warmer days is here.

One of the biggest things I look forward to every spring is shedding the heavy winter layers. I live in a winter clime, so I have to put on boots, a sweater, scarf, long coat, headband, and gloves before I even consider venturing through the door. I long for sneakers and a hoodie. I’m also looking forward to not having worry about the snow and ice on the way to the bus stop.

While curling up with a blanket and a book on a winter evening is cozy, I long for the days when I can read on the balcony with a cold drink at hand. I love the sunshine, so the dreary winter days can be difficult. The longer days and more frequent sunshine boost my mood.

Trees will soon start to bud, and the first flowers will poke their heads out of the ground. We may get daffodils and tulips in late April, or they might not show until May. Things move a little slower up here, but now that spring has arrived summer is on its way.

Whatever the weather is like where you are, I hope you enjoy spring!

Taming the White Wolf
Lone Wolf Legacy, Book 1

Destined to be alone…only to discover he’s not—in this intensely sexy new Lone Wolf Legacy series from New York Times bestselling author N.J. Walters

There’s only supposed to be one lone wolf. When other shifters see me coming, see my white fur and pale eyes, they know things are about to get real. Because my job—my fate—is to take out the wolves who go rogue.

Only now something has changed.

For the first time ever, there are three of us: one white, one gray, one black. And if that’s not ominous enough, my senses have pulled me to New York City…for a human.

There’s something almost supernatural about the connection between me and Zoe Galvani. It’s not just the crackle of heat, the blood pounding through my veins—or even that her eyes are the strange, pale hue of my own.

It’s that she makes my wolf come alive. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Almost like magic.

Which is when I learn that someone’s out to hunt me. That I’m their prey.

…and Zoe is the bait.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C7NTXG92/
Entangled Publishing: https://entangledpublishing.com/books/taming-the-white-wolf
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/taming-the-white-wolf-n-j-walters/1143634327
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/taming-the-white-wolf
iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/taming-the-white-wolf/id6450183902

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit her at:
Website: http://www.njwalters.com
Blog: http://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
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Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
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Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters

Joyeux Mardi Gras! This year, Fat Tuesday is being celebrated on March 4. Many people think of Mardi Gras as a celebration in New Orleans, specifically on Bourbon Street. While that is perhaps the most famous location, it is by far not the only location, nor is it the first.

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with a committee about having a Mardi Gras celebration in an area that doesn’t typically go all out for the holiday. There were many concerns that people wouldn’t attend, and many committee members mentioned that the holiday has a lot of negative associations and is only thought of as being a drunken cesspool of debauchery. Now, I won’t deny that the alcohol doesn’t flow freely or that acts of depravity and decadence do not take place. As with anything, there will always be a few outliers. Okay, when it comes to Mardi Gras celebrating, there are probably a lot of… let’s say… not demur activities that occur. However, Mardi Gras is about so much more than what many people see on the surface. It actually a pre-celebration to Easter. So, when these concerns were mentioned, many heads were turned in my direction.

Anyone who follows my blog, Creole Bayou, knows it is about anything and everything Creole and Cajun related. Mardi Gras is a topic that has cropped up on my blog more than a few times. While I am, by far, not an expert, I have acquired a lot of knowledge on the subject from having grown up in the traditions and also studying/researching it. For that reason, I feel comfortable sharing my knowledge to increase others’ awareness about what Mardi Gras is and what it isn’t. There are a lot of misconceptions and wrong uses of terms. So, let’s get into it, shall we?

Why is Mardi Gras celebrated on different dates?

The date of Mardi Gras is set according to when Easter Sunday is celebrated by the Orthodox Christian churches. Easter is celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon occurring on or after the March Equinox. There are two equinoxes every year. One is in March and one in September. The Equinox is when the length of the day and night are nearly equal due to the sun shining directly on the equator. This is not a fixed date.

What is the difference between Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday?

The French word for Tuesday is Mardi, and the French word for fat is Gras. In the French language, adjectives come after the noun. Hence, translated Mardi Gras means Fat Tuesday. The term Mardi Gras is often used to refer to the entire Carnival season, but specifically, it is the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. Fat Tuesday is the last day of Carnival. Lent begins on Ash Wednesday.

What is Mardi Gras’ relationship to Ash Wednesday and Lent?

Mardi Gras occurs the day before Ash Wednesday, which is the beginning of Lent. Ash Wednesday occurs forty days (not including Sundays) before Easter.

What is Shrove Tuesday?

It is another term for Fat Tuesday. The word “shrove” derives from the word “shrive,” which means to absolve. The easiest way to explain this is to take a historical look at Ash Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent, the time in which Christians reflect and penance. Being the day before Lent—a period of abstinence, almsgiving, prayer, reflection, and fasting—Christians would remove from their household any items they would be abstaining from during the 40 days of Lent. Often, this included food, many of which were fatty or caused one to become fat (e.g., meats, sweets, and alcohol). What better way to remove these items than to have one big ol’ party and pig out? Because of this, it gained the nickname of Fat Tuesday.

Side note: Some historians will argue that Mardi Gras originated from a pagan tradition. During this pagan tradition, a fat ox was paraded while onlookers indulged in binge drinking and eating. Other historians argue that Shrove Tuesday originated from the pagan celebrations of Lupercalia and Saturnalia, which celebrated fertility and spring.

What is Carnival?

Carnival is the season of festivities that stem from the Roman Catholic tradition and celebration of Lent. Carnival begins on January 6, which is the Feast of Epiphany. The Feast of Epiphany is also called the Twelfth Night, Three Kings Day, or the Twelfth Day of Christmas. Carnival lasts from January 6 until midnight of Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday). It is a time of celebration, feasting, fun, and parties before the beginning of Lent when the abstaining begins.

What are Carnival balls?

Carnival balls are fancy parties and/or grand events (many are masquerade or un bal masqué) that begin on January 6 with the Twelfth Night Ball hosted by the Twelfth Night Revelers and continue throughout the season. More than one hundred Carnival balls occur in New Orleans and have been occurring since the beginning of the celebration of Carnival. The first Krewe ball was held in 1857 by the Mistick Krewe of Comus. Today, most of these balls are by invitation only, and the general public is not privy to the full grandness of Carnival. During the ball, there is a king cake-cutting ceremony. According to tradition, the person who found the bean (the feve) hidden in the cake would host the next ball.

What is a Mardi Gras court?

The Mardi Gras court consists of the king (Rex), queen, dukes, duchesses, princes, princesses, captains, and maids. They are selected by the Krewes from Krewe members. This is one of the highest honors of Mardi Gras. Court members usually can easily be identified by their crown (une couronne), royal mantle, and scepter (or royal insignia).

What is king cake?

King cake is a Mardi Gras staple. Actually, it is more of a bread than what most people consider cake. It is a dessert made with brioche dough, cinnamon, and glazed with purple, gold, and green sugar icing. The name stems from the Biblical story of the three kings who brought gifts to Baby Jesus. Inside the cake is a plastic baby (i.e., be careful when eating as this can be a choking hazard). Whoever is served the baby in his/her slice of cake is blessed with good fortune but also must purchase the next king cake for everyone to share. It is said that it is not truly Mardi Gras without king cake.

What are the colors of Mardi Gras?

The colors associated with Mardi Gras are purple, green, and gold.

Do the colors of Mardi Gras have any symbolic meaning? Yes. Purple is a symbol of justice and royalty. Green is a symbol of faith. Gold is a symbol of prestige and power.

What are flambeaux?

Flambeaux are the torches that carried in the parages. The first Mardi Gras parade (un défilé) was in 1857, twenty-two years before the invention of electricity. To have night parades, the street parade route needed to be lit. In comes the flambeaux. Flambeaux is the French word that means torchlight. Flambeaux carriers were originally slaves and free men of color who carried torches along the parade route. However, they didn’t just carry the torches. They twirled, danced, and performed tricks with the flambeaux to the delight of spectators. To this day, flambeaux carriers are an integral part of Carnival.

Why do people wear masks during Mardi Gras?

There are several theories to this. However, the most popular and most agreed upon one is the following. Masks were first worn during Mardi Gras by the krewes, which were (and still mostly are) secret and elite societies. (Being a member of a krewe is generally by invitation only and generational. It is a very prestigious honor to have and extremely difficult to obtain.) The masks were used to conceal the identity of krewe members, many of whom engaged in outlandish and outrageous behaviors. It grew in popularity because it allowed all celebrants to be equal. Slaves and people of lower social economic status could blend amongst the wealthy and affluent. Without the mask, slaves and persons with lower social economic status would have been viewed as not equal and would not have been allowed to participate in the festivities.

What is thrown from the parade floats?

A common phrase associated with Mardi Gras is, “Throw me something, Mister.” This is a request parade goers show to the people on the floats to be tossed goodies (known as throws). Throws consist of beads, cups (also known as dinnerware), doubloons (coins stamped with the krewe’s logo, parade theme, and the year), toys (frisbees, figurines, plush animals, etc.), and other trinkets (also called des babioles). Note: Due to the concern for potential injury or damage, coconuts are no longer thrown from floats. However, if lucky and close enough, parade goers may be handed one by a Krewe member. Coconuts aren’t banned. They just can’t be thrown.

And that’s all I got for today. Now, it’s your turn to sound off. Let me know your thoughts below in the comment section. Your feedback allows me to know the content that you want to read. And if you like this post, consider clicking the like button and sharing.

Demon Rodeo

If Brokeback Mountain, 8 Seconds, Poltergeist, and Supernatural had an orgy, Demon Rodeo would be the lovechild.

Demon Rodeo is available now on Amazon. For video book trailers, visit my TikTok page. The full blurb is on my Instagram and Amazon.

Demon Rodeo is the first book in the Chasing the Buckle series but can be read as a standalone. It’s a friends-to-lovers romance set in the rodeo world. These are not your typical cowboys. It’s a widely diverse cast of characters and a mashup of genres that aren’t always seen together. If you’re looking for a palate cleanser, this may be a book for you.

Order
⇨ Amazon: https://readerlinks.com/l/4174852
⇨ All Stores: https://books2read.com/u/bP8RG7
*Note: All of my books can be purchased from brick-and-mortar bookstores (e.g., Barnes & Noble, Book-A-Million, etc.) as well if requested at the checkout counter.)

Until next time, happy reading and much romance. Laissez le bon temps rouler.

If you’re not following my blog, Creole Bayou, what are you waiting for? There’s always room at the bayou.

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Locker Room Love

 Locker Room Love Series

Are you searching for a sexy book boyfriend? You’ve come to the right place.

• Out of the Penalty Box (book #1) One minute in the box or a lifetime out.
• Defending the Net (book #2) Crossing the line could cost the game.
• Ice Gladiators (book #3) When the gloves come off, the games begin.
• Penalty Kill (book #4) Let the pucker begin.
• Future Goals (book #5) The future lies between a puck and a net.

About the Author

Hi, I’m Genevive, and I am a contemporary sports romance author. My home is in South Louisiana. If you like snark and giggles with a touch of steamy Cajun and Creole on the side, I may have your poison in my stash of books. Drop by the bayou and have a look around. The pirogues are always waiting for new visitors.

Today is Tell a Fairy Tale Day! I’m here to tell you fairy tales aren’t just for children…

Fairy tales aren’t what I usually write, but years ago, I did write one for an anthology entitled Fairy Tale Lust! My story was a cross between “Beauty and the Beast” and “East of the Sun and West of the Moon.” It’s the story of a very naughty woman who was willing to do almost anything to escape an ordinary life. She’s not the nicest person and is impulsive. It gets her into trouble, of course.

To celebrate today’s fun holiday, go grab your copy of “The Obedient Wife” and enjoy! But be warned: It is an erotic tale!

The Obedient Wife

Find out what really happened between The Beauty and The Beast. Hint: It’s not your children’s fairytale!

Get your copy here!

UPDATE: The winner is…Dana Zamora!
*~*~*

It’s not often one of my blog post subjects has an obituary published in the New York Times, but such is the case with Gertrude Bustill Mossell, journalist, author, poet, teacher, suffragist, and civil rights activist.

Born on July 3, 1855, Gertrude Bustill was born into a Black Quaker and Presbyterian family in Philadelphia, PA. Her family’s activism ranged from baking for the Continental Army at Valley Forge to creating the first mutual aid society with black activists Richard Allen and James Forten to engaging in the Underground Railroad. No wonder activism filled all aspects of Gertrude’s life. Her graduation speech, “Influence,” so impressed AME Bishop Henry McNeal, he published it in his newspaper, The Christian Recorder, and encouraged her to send him her poetry and essays for publication.

She taught in the public schools of three states for seven years. While teaching she also wrote and edited for seven magazines and newspapers. In 1883, she married Dr. Nathan Francis Mossell, ending her teaching career and taking a break from journalism to have two children.

She began writing again when editor T. Thomas Fortune hired her to write for his newspaper, The New York Age. From 1885 to1889, her column, “Our Women’s Department,” focused on issues from how to care for a household to civil rights and being politically active.

After that, she was the editor of the Indianapolis World from 1891 to 1892. Her byline was Mrs. N.F. Mossell. Gertrude wrote for both black and white publications, becoming the highest paid black newspaperwoman of the late 18th century, earning $500 a year.

She not only wrote articles but encouraged African American women to write and submit their work, making her an early advocate for women journalists. Gertrude wrote The Work of the Afro-American Woman in 1894, in which she wrote essays that highlighted the accomplishments of African American women in many walks of life, included a number of her poems, and challenged African American universities for not hiring enough of their own graduates and African American teachers in general. The book includes a photo of Gertrude and her two daughters, Mary Campbell and Florence Alma to whom her dedication prays “that they may grow into a pure and noble womanhood.” Her book reminded me of Hallie Q. Brown’s 1926 Homespun Heroines which I blogged about here back in February 2024. In 1902, Gertrude published a children’s book, Little Dansie’s One Day at Sabbath School.

In Philadelphia, Gertrude and her husband founded the Frederick Douglass Hospital for which she raised $30,000 ($1,000,000 in today’s dollars). The hospital included a training school for nurses. She also organized the Philadelphia branch of the national Afro-American Council, the first national civil rights organization in the US.

Gertrude died in 1948 in Philadelphia. An historic marker stands at 1432 Lombard Street in Philadelphia where she lived.

In the HBO series, the Gilded Age black journalist Peggy Scott is confronted by her father who tells her he doesn’t know any women who make a living writing. He obviously never heard of Gertrude. Unfortunately, there are movements in the US today hell bent on making sure the accomplishments of marginalized communities remain unheard of. I share these posts as my way of joining the fight with other groups to make sure those movements fail.

To win a $10 Amazon gift card, share your thoughts in the comments.

“The Patience of Unanswered Prayer” by Michal Scott inside Cowboys

Kidnapped and destined to be another victim of Reconstruction-era violence, a feisty shop owner is rescued by a trail boss whose dark secret might save them both.

Excerpt:

Franklin crawled hidden in the tall grass toward the voice. The smells of oil and sulfur assaulted his senses. Echoes of the two explosions that ripped the night apart still played in his ears. The first body thudded against the ground. The second splashed into the creek. Moonlight glinted off the shooter’s gun and chest. Franklin’s upper lip raised over his incisors as he recognized the metal of a sheriff’s badge.

The man stalked over to the body sprawled by the creek bank.

The woman.

A Black woman.

The cur gloated and pointed his gun barrel at her unmoving form.

Franklin snarled. He leapt and went straight for the sheriff’s throat. The man’s horrified cry yielded to stuttered curses as he choked and writhed in the grip of Franklin’s jaws. The copper tang of blood fueled his indignation. The crunch of cartilage sounded lovely in Franklin’s ears. Flesh and bone yielded to canines and incisors.

The man staggered under Franklin’s weight. Lithe and lean in his wolf form, he still carried the heft of his human two hundred and fifty pounds.

The man convulsed, slumped then stilled.

Life flowed in the villain’s veins yet, but wouldn’t for long. The merciful thing to do would be to finish him off before some other predators made a meal of him.

Franklin felt nothing akin to mercy.

Buylink: https://amzn.to/3zfDpo2

UPDATE: The winner is…Diane Sallans!
*~*~*

Another day, another game! Woot! Since yesterday’s flashback post, I thought matching the covers of some of the Night Fall stories would be fun!

A little home news—we have heat! And just in time since, today, the kids didn’t go to school due to icy roads. We’ll be lazing around for the day. Or they will. I have edits to work on and canvases to gesso for a fun paint-together class with the local art guild.

Did I mention that the 11-year-old has been watching too many glam influencers on TikTok? Yeah, she used her mother’s bikini shaver to “fix” her eyebrows the other night. We had to make an emergency trip into town to find one of those draw-your-own-eyebrows wands at Walmart. The crisis was avoided since my dd is fabulous with makeup. However, we’re adding ten minutes to the morning routine so she doesn’t leave the house with butchered brows.

Kinda reminds me of when I decided to cut my own bangs. Uh-huh. I had one-inch bangs forever!

So, let’s have some fun. Solve the puzzle, then tell me if you ever had a self-made “glam disaster” when you were a kid for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

UPDATE: The winners are commenters 1 – 6!
*~*~*

Before I wrote bounty hunters, I wrote about vampires…

Contest

Answer me this for a chance to win your choice from among my many Night Fall titles!
Bounty Hunters or Vamps and Werewolves?

Truly, Madly…Deadly

Just this once…

On the trail of a serial killer, vampire Quentin Albermarle is mistaken for the killer by a police special task force. Once the smoke clears, Quentin finds himself in a delicious position—atop one of the unit’s crack officers, Darcy Henry. In need of Quentin’s access to the vampire sub-culture, the task force leadership invites Quentin to join the crime unit as a special advisor, much to the chagrin of the men in the unit, and especially, of Darcy.

Caught between opposing forces, vampire and hunter…

A no-nonsense cop with no time for romance, Darcy suddenly finds herself embroiled in a steamy love triangle between her mortal partner, Joe, and the handsome vampire. Going from abstinence to wantonness, she is unable to resist the two men’s relentless seduction or her own sensual curiosity about a vampire’s special “kiss”.

A hunger like no other…

When the real killer threatens the life of someone close to her, Darcy makes a choice that forever binds the three of them together.

Get your copies here!
Night Fall Series

“He’s coming in. Get ready.”

Joe’s voice jerked Darcy Henry to wakefulness. Berating herself for dozing off during a stakeout, she fumbled for the switch on her night vision goggles. Instantly, the landscape before her was awash in shades of luminescent green. She scanned the water’s edge. The crests of the ebbing tides rolled onto the beach, unbroken by any sign of “Bat-boy.” Had she already missed her opportunity?

“Where do you see him?” she whispered into her headset, glad the roar of the incoming surf masked their voices.

“Ten o’clock. Get cocked.”

She reached for her crossbow, drew back the linen cord with both hands, and latched it in the spring clip. Then she slid a steel-tipped arrow onto the track. Sighting down the shaft, she braced the bow in her left palm and dug her elbow into the sand. With the stock snug against her shoulder, she slid her right forefinger around the trigger and turned her sights back to the water’s edge—just in time to see a tall figure stride out of the surf.

He fit the description she’d purchased from the barman at the “blood bank” of the new vamp in town. Only, the barman hadn’t filled in all the details. Darcy stiffened against her body’s sudden surge of attraction and firmly reminded herself the vamp’s body was like any other man’s. Yeah, right.

Her gaze flickered over him, inventorying his characteristics—for my After Action Report, of course. Broad-shouldered, leanly muscled, just over six feet tall. Blond, she could tell, despite the fact his hair was plastered to his head. Handsome, too, with broad, prominent cheekbones, a longish straight nose, and lips that appeared permanently curved in a smirk.

Unable to resist the temptation, she adjusted the lenses of her goggles to zoom, and her gaze slipped lower. His package was as fine arriving as his ass had been going into the water. His long, uncircumcised cock dangled between his legs. Something else not mentioned in the barman’s description—and definitely not something that would make it into her AAR.

“Hold up!” Impatience clipped Joe’s words. “A civilian’s in your line of sight.”

Darcy lowered the bow, cursing under her breath. “Where? And how the hell did we miss that?” she whispered angrily.

“She had to have been here when we arrived,” Joe replied. “If I hadn’t seen her hand rise above the dune…”

Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. A vampire spotted on Vero Beach just happened to meet the description of a suspected killer they’d circulated that day.

This night’s stakeout might be a bust, after all. They’d have to track him to his lair and try to take him out while he slept. Dusting a sleeping vampire never sat well with Darcy. Too unsportsmanlike. Asleep, even a probable serial killer like this one who wore an innocent face.

She burrowed deeper into the wet sand at the bottom of her shallow foxhole, prepared to wait it out. This time she wouldn’t doze, no matter how balmy the November night grew. Too many late nights and too little sleep were taking their toll on the whole team. Instead, she concentrated on how uncomfortable she was with damp sand working its way into her clothing and the smell of rotting seaweed all around her.

Having a target to observe helped. Hopefully, the vamp wouldn’t make a meal of his host and force Darcy to intervene. Hand-to-hand with a vamp was a last resort. Humans almost always lost to their superior strength, no matter how many degrees of black belt one had earned.

Joe let out a low whistle. “Damn! How’d a ghoul like that get such a fine piece of ass?”

A woman sat up near the top of a dune, her arms outstretched, revealing a slender back, rounded hips and a cascade of long, dark hair.

The vamp went down on his knees and leaned over her.

Darcy tensed, ready to spring to the woman’s rescue at the first sign of fangs.

Instead, the woman’s back arched to offer her breasts to her lover. His mouth closed over a beaded tip, and the woman’s loud groan of approval was discernible over the rumble of the incoming tide.

Joe’s soft laughter sounded in Darcy’s ear. “Better take notes, Darse. See what you’re missing?”

Darcy knew better than to answer her partner. Any response would only add fodder to the ribbing she’d receive at the Special Unit’s morning briefing. Her lack of social life was already a favorite topic. As it was, she was glad the guys weren’t wired in to her goggles.

Joe’s fed the monitor in the van parked farther down the beach.

Maybe she’d get even luckier and the vamp would move his tryst indoors.

Instead, he released the woman’s breast. With his hands braced on either side of her, the tops of his shoulders rippling as he “walked” down her body, he circled his head as he kissed a path across her belly. Then he moved lower.

Darcy squirmed. When was the last time a man had buried his face in her pussy? God, had it really been three years since Manny transferred to Miami-Dade?

The woman’s hips lifted, and her hands dug into the sand. His face reached the juncture of her thighs, and she shouted and thrashed her head from side to side.

Darcy wished she could roll to her back and give the couple their moments of privacy—and herself a reprieve from an unwanted rush of desire. Tight as a spring, the yearning wound inside her belly. She was helpless to stop the flush of heat that swept from her face to her breasts, and thankful for the darkness so no one on her team would see her blushing.

When she saw the suspected vampire rise to kneel between the woman’s legs, Darcy’s heart thudded dully in her chest and increased in tempo. His cock fell onto the woman’s belly, engorged and enormous, just before he hooked his arms beneath her knees and lifted her buttocks off the sand.

The woman reached for his cock and guided it to her pussy.

Then his hips slammed forward, hard.

The woman arched into the sand and shouted again.

No man had ever made Darcy shout, a thought that niggled her feminine pride while it aroused her curiosity—although, with his super-sized hardware, the shout might not have been one of ecstasy. The thought cheered her for the moment, until she noted the woman slamming her hips upward to meet the vamp’s thrusts.

From Darcy’s angle, she had a perfect view of the long, gliding action of his hips as he pumped into the woman’s body. Darcy’s legs widened, and she dug her knees into the sand, shifting her hips to relieve the itch between her legs.

“I’ll bet you twenty she comes before he does,” Max’s voice broke in.

“You’re on,” said Joe. “What man wouldn’t come all over a woman like that?”

“Ahem. Just a little reminder, guys,” Darcy said, hoping to cut off this particular line of conversation. “Captain will be reviewing this feed, too. Joe, you better not have on your zoom.”

Soft chuckles sounded from the guys, but they soon quieted and hunkered down to wait—and watch.

Darcy’s attention returned to the couple farther down the beach.

The woman’s legs straightened, her toes pointing toward the moon, and her long moans indicated she was fast approaching the big O. The vampire ground his hips into hers, and the woman screeched.

Joe groaned.

“You owe me twenty,” Max said.

“Damn,” Phil whispered. “Wonder if the wifey will be up for a little tickle in the morning.”

“I’m telling Bets you called her that.” Darcy’s mouth was so dry the words almost cracked.

The woman’s legs jerked up and down.

The vamp flung back his head and thrust faster. Suddenly, he stopped, his nose lifting into the breeze.

Realizing the wind had shifted, Darcy hugged the sand and held her breath.

The vamp turned his head and stared straight at her.

Darcy froze, hoping he hadn’t really seen her. But a grin stretched across his face.

“Fuck, Darcy!” Joe shouted into her headset. “You’re made. Get out.”

Darcy couldn’t risk a shot with the woman downrange. She ditched her crossbow, ripped off her goggles, and sprang from the foxhole. Running straight for the road a hundred yards in front of her, Darcy felt the world slow. Her feet mired in the sand. Her heart drummed loudly in her ears.

Then she heard bare feet pounding in the sand and knew he was gaining.

“I’ll try to get off a shot,” Joe said, his breaths coming short and fast, “but he’s moving in on you. Pick up your feet. You’re running like a damn girl.”

Anger and a spurt of adrenaline increased her pace. She leapt over a hummock of tall sawgrass and hoped it scraped his balls. The road was fifty yards away. The headlights of the approaching van swept the beach in front of her.

“He’s too close. I can’t get off a shot,” Joe said. “Hold him off. I’m coming.”

Twenty-five yards and uphill now, she strained, her boots sinking ankle-deep as she climbed a dune. She reached the top, and then her feet left the ground as a heavy weight knocked her through the air.

They rolled to the bottom of the dune in a jumble of twisting limbs. When they stopped, his long, hard body stretched over hers, anchoring her to the ground.

Darcy opened her eyes, expecting a vampire’s mask and a row of jagged teeth. Instead, the vamp’s handsome face hovered only inches from her own. She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “A she-cop. A dangerous species, indeed.”

“You’re English,” she blurted. Something else not in the report. Was he even a vampire? Despite the layer of clothing separating their skins, Darcy burned from his heat. She struggled against his restraint.

He stretched and hooked his ankles around hers, and his hands held hers easily to the ground above her head.

Finally defeated, she let her head fall back in the sand. “So, how’d you know I was there?” she asked, already knowing the truth, but needing to distract him. His teeth were too close for comfort.

His face lowered, and he sniffed along her neck and the collar of her shirt. “My dear, I could smell your arousal. Delicious.”

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