A Fashionably Freakier Friday (Hot Damned #20)

Chapter 1

ASTRID

The summer day had dawned bright, sunny and warm.

A golden glow streamed through the windows into the suite.

The light bounced off the crystal chandelier, causing iridescent dots to splash across the hardwood floors and celery green walls.

Normally, our lives were tornados in a teacup.

Peace and tranquility were rare. I was basking in it.

I sat alone and enjoyed the quiet. There were no battles to be fought today as far as I knew.

Of course, I’d been at this long enough to know that it could all change on a dime.

My son was going to stop by this evening and that made my non-beating heart happy.

Samuel had gone out on his own, much to my and Ethan’s very vocal disappointment.

He was an adult who wanted to live like one.

That didn’t stop my husband and me from worrying and being idiots.

We’d fought the good fight—bribery, bloody tears, attempts at grounding, and threats we were well aware we’d never follow through on.

We caved when Samuel laughed hard and then told us that we were cramping his style, wildly embarrassing ourselves and becoming what the younger generation called cringe.

We were not cringe. Well, maybe a little… At least he hadn’t called us Boomers.

We’d insisted on five warrior Vamps for protection, much to his very vocal disappointment, but in the end, he’d agreed.

I missed him, but I would see him soon. Today was set up to be a good one. The only thing that would make this lovely day more perfect would be the ability to eat a double cheeseburger and fries. Not happening.

“Oh my God, I seriously miss eating freakin’ food,” I announced loudly, then winced.

While I was pleased that I’d substituted the word fuckin’ with the word freakin’ since I was working on my poop mouth, I’d still possibly screwed up.

Eliminating foul language and not taking my uncle’s name in vain was fucking exhausting.

Quickly glancing around, I half-expected Uncle God to pop in sporting a white robe, halo and the latest Sketchers on his feet. God was way into the slip-on sneaker.

He did not show up.

The relief was enormous, and I giggled. It was iffy to shout my uncle’s name out loud since he was excellent about appearing in a blast of glittering golden magic when summoned.

He was such a nice guy that I always felt bad pulling him from important business for what basically amounted to me accidentally taking his name in vain.

Thankfully, God didn’t stand on ceremony.

He was truly the kindest and most forgiving person I’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

He accepted me and my potty mouth with open arms and unconditional love.

I’d never seen the man pissed off. Scratch that.

God could get pretty cranky with his only sibling.

His brother, Satan, also known as Uncle Fucker, wasn’t as forgiving as God.

The dummy enjoyed being the evil badass of the Universe.

However, under the polished exterior, Armani suits and practiced look of boredom that verged on a sneer, Satan was also a very good guy whose favorite hobby was pilfering office supplies, especially my husband’s, on the regular.

The Lord of Darkness would electrocute me for saying he was sweet, but payback was a bitch, and I’d smite his designer ass straight back to Hell with a wide smile on my face and an extended middle finger if he challenged me.

Families were complicated. Mine was insane. I wholeheartedly included myself in the insane part.

It was what it was. I’d learned with time, multiple electrocutions and a few lost limbs that eventually grew back, to accept and embrace my nutbag relatives. It was the food thing that was harder to let go of.

It was no secret that I missed eating. I was obnoxiously open about the biggest downside of being undead. So much so that it had become a running joke amongst my nearest and dearest.

Dreaming about hot salsa and chips was my norm.

Salivating when I imagined myself inhaling a vat of black raspberry chip ice cream was a daily occurrence.

However, the very few times I’d indulged in the last decade since dying had not ended well.

Turning an unappetizing shade of green and rolling in agony on the floor for days after licking a single tortilla chip had put an end to my fantasy.

Thankfully, my kookie little dead buddy Vinnie had invented flavored blood.

It had been a life saver—not that I technically had a life to save.

The potato chip flavored blood did scratch an itch, but I missed the crunchy part big time. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Ethan, the devastatingly handsome love of my life, was in his five-hundreds and could indulge in a cookie or slice of pizza every once in a while.

That was hard to swallow—pun mostly intended.

I’d detected the scent of a Ho Hos cupcake on his breath a year or so back and had an epic meltdown.

He now indulged far, far away from me and brushed and gargled thoroughly before stealing a kiss.

Having been dead for only ten-ish years, I had a few centuries to go before I could make my dreams of overstaying my welcome at an all-you-can-eat-buffet come true.

The fact that my man could eat without convulsing and writhing in pain was the only point of contention in our otherwise perfect relationship.

The pros of my existence outweighed the cons, but biting into something salty and crispy would forever be missed.

“Whatever,” I muttered, glancing down with a happy sigh at my empty calendar.

It was rare not to have a crap-load of appointments.

Being married to the Vampyre Prince of the North American Dominion, and holding the title of the Chosen One, came with baggage and a busy schedule.

Keeping people in line who were both entitled and older than dirt was tantamount to herding greased cats.

Not that I’d ever tried to wrangle oiled-up felines, but the analogy fit.

I was old school and still kept a planner. Most of the undead had embraced technology. I was very adept at tech, but still loved list-making and writing stuff down. I had several notebooks filled with junk I still had to do.

Thankfully, time wasn’t an issue. When one lived forever, the hours in a day, week or year were irrelevant. I’d get to everything eventually.

Staring out the window of our bedroom with my elbows perched on the priceless antique desk and my chin cupped in my hands, I scanned the grounds of the Cressida House. The manicured lawns with flowering trees, lush greenery, and so many flowers boggled my mind and calmed my soul.

“I have a free day,” I informed myself. “What should I do? Target spree for a bunch of stuff I don’t need? Transport to Zanthia and visit Gemma? Binge watch the Housewives? Doom scroll Henry the Eighth’s ex-wives? Drive through all the fast-food places in town, order shit and sniff it for an hour?”

The choices were endless and none were appealing… except for the fast-food option. The only problem with that was I would be wildly tempted to lick a fry.

I squinted as my gaze landed on something odd at the far edge of the formal rose garden. Something that didn’t quite match the aesthetic. It wasn’t an enemy. It wasn’t a threat. I could feel it in my gut. But whatever it was, it was off.

“What the hell?” I muttered, tilting my head and trying to make it out.

“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked as he entered the suite, looking all business.

He was wearing a dark gray Hugo Boss suit and looked good enough to eat. The man still gave me butterflies.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, admiring the view.

“A little business needs addressing in Oklahoma,” he replied, annoyed.

“Need help?” I asked hesitantly, hoping he’d say no.

If there was a problem, it most likely had to do with Vamps.

The Vamps in Oklahoma were assholes. They didn’t like me, and I didn’t like them.

Referring to their compound as the hairy armpit of the USA hadn’t landed well.

They were ancient, old-school and bitchy.

Last time I’d had the displeasure of seeing them, they’d come at me over the fact that I’d made a decree that all undead had to pay taxes.

And when I say came at me, I mean they came at me with swords and axes.

I’d had to remove multiple arms and legs.

Only one head, though. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t popular in Oklahoma.

“I’m good,” Ethan said with a chuckle. “I think your presence might cause a riot.”

“Word,” I replied with a giggle. “Will you be gone long?”

“Nope,” he replied, kissing the top of my head. “A day or two at the most. I’ll take a few generals with me.”

If Ethan was bringing backup, it was dangerous. I pursed my lips. “What’s the issue?”

He shook his head. “Not clear—just whispers of discontent. I’m going to cut off any unsavory behavior before it becomes a real problem.”

The love of my undead life didn’t mess around when it came to our people blending into society.

We were a secret species that lived somewhat public lives.

The undead had lived in relative harmony with humankind for millions of years.

Part of Ethan’s duty as the Price was to keep it that way.

If humans discovered that Vampyres lived next door to them, all Hell would break loose.

As always, we worried about each other. He was protective of my safety. I behaved the same with his. Vamps were very hard to kill, although, silver through the heart or decapitation definitely could do the trick. Just ask the misfortunate asshole in Oklahoma.

“So, what are we looking at?” he inquired, scanning the grounds through the window.

“Not sure, but nothing’s wrong-wrong,” I assured him. I pointed to the area at the far-left side of the rose garden. “I can’t figure out what I’m looking at. What do you think that is?”