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    Just Desserts (Vampire Soul, Book Eight): Vampire Soul, #8
    Just Desserts (Vampire Soul, Book Eight): Vampire Soul, #8
    Just Desserts (Vampire Soul, Book Eight): Vampire Soul, #8
    Ebook75 pages59 minutes

    Just Desserts (Vampire Soul, Book Eight): Vampire Soul, #8

    By Mac Flynn

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    About this ebook

    The final adventure. The last fiasco. And one hell of a mess.

    Misty's unusual life gets dangerous when Rose returns with a strange book and an even stranger companion. She intends to steal Roland's soul, but Misty gets in the way, literally, and her plans backfire for everyone. The problem becomes a family affair when Roland and Misty need help, and their call for backup is answered by Misty's aunt and uncle. The young and old couples find themselves soul-deep in trouble when the persistent pipsqueak vampire returns and makes an even worse mess than before. Now they're up against an unexpected foe with the fate of their very souls on the line along with Misty's chance at a long life with a certain handsome vampire. Will love prevail, or will Misty find herself on the wrong end of a silver bullet?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCrescent Moon Studios, Inc.
    Release dateNov 5, 2015
    ISBN9781519920805
    Just Desserts (Vampire Soul, Book Eight): Vampire Soul, #8
    Author

    Mac Flynn

    A seductress of sensual words and a lover of paranormal plots, Flynn enjoys writing thrilling paranormal stories filled with naughty fun and hilarious hijinks. She is the author of numerous paranormal series that weave suspense, adventure and a good joke into a one-of-a-kind experience that readers are guaranteed to enjoy. From long adventure novels to tasty little short-story treats, there's a size and adventure for everyone.Want to know when her next series comes out? Join The Flynn newsletter and be the first to know! macflynn.com/newsletter/Also check out her website at macflynn.com for listings and excerpts of all of her books!

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      Book preview

      Just Desserts (Vampire Soul, Book Eight) - Mac Flynn

      1

      W atch it with that thing! Ralph yelped.

      I’m being careful! I argued.

      Yer fingers! Yer gonna lose yer fingers! he screamed.

      I put my hands palms-down on the top of the cardboard box and glared at him across the void of dead wood. You want to open these boxes?

      He scowled back at me. Ya know what happened the last time Ah opened a delivery!

      Ralph and I stood in the middle of the kitchen with a new shipment of plates and cups for the diner. The regulars had had a fight the other night. Somebody had made the comment that their pistons were bigger than somebody else’s and chaos had ensued. The ancient china of the diner, much of it from the Tang dynasty, had exploded against walls, windows, stools, foreheads, pocketbooks, tiles, the coffee maker, and even in the cracks between the tables and the walls. There were no survivors. Of the china, that is. The truckers all made it through with only a minor amount of scratches, cuts, stitches, and loss of blood.

      I don’t think these dishes are going to be haunted, I told him.

      Ah’m not taking any chances, now stop yer yapping and start using that box cutter right! he ordered me.

      I held a box cutter in my right hand. This was the first time Ralph had allowed any of his employees to handle such a weapon. He usually just gave us the knives and forks with which to defend ourselves against unwanted advances.

      I know how to handle one of these, I assured him as I returned to cutting the packing tape off the top of the boxes.

      Don’t cut towards yerself! Cut away! he snapped.

      Then I’d be cutting towards you, I pointed out.

      The color drained from his face and he hurriedly stepped back. I appreciated the room. His breath smelled like a tuna-head sandwich after it sat on the counter for a biblical amount of time.

      Well, don’t cut so fast! This stuff ain’t going nowhere! he ordered me.

      I pocketed the box cutter, opened the first box, and peeked in. Ralph stretched his neck and looked inside. The china was of the finest quality that a Third-World, pre-industrial country could offer. The white color was off and the plates weren’t completely round. Ralph stepped up and took the top one in hand.

      Not too bad, he commented.

      I don’t know if they’re thick enough, I added. The interim between the rowdy night and the arrival of the plates had seen Ralph’s food eat away dozens of plastic and paper plates.

      They’ll work, he growled. He set one on the counter. The plate rocked back and forth showing its bottom was as flat as a soup bowl. Yer just gonna have to be careful with ‘em, that’s all.

      Yeah, we wouldn’t want the customers to think this place wasn’t on a fault zone, I quipped.

      Ain’t it time for ya to leave? he snarled.

      Past time, I told him as I closed the flaps of the box.

      Ah’m not paying ya-

      I know, I know, no overtime, holiday, or death-of-a-family-member’s-dog pay, I finished for him.

      Darn right! he agreed.

      I snatched my jacket from its hook and slipped it on, but I paused at the door and turned to him. I forgot to ask. Did that Finnegan guy ever stop bothering you? I wondered.

      Yep. Last message Ah got from him was some phone call about fish and stuff, Ralph told me. He shook his head and flipped off the front lights. Some people are just nuts.

      Aren’t we all? I murmured as I opened the door.

      I stepped outside and shivered. Gone was the autumn, and in its place was the cool chill of winter. A light snow fell as I stood at the top of the dangerous stairs. The steps beneath me were covered in crunched and frozen snow. One false step and you’d be pushing up daises a few months before spring.

      Can’t we buy a bag of salt for the stairs? I yelled over my shoulder at Ralph.

      No, and don’t let me catch ya using the table salt, neither! he shouted back.

      I rolled my eyes and shut the door behind me. I grabbed the railing and stepped carefully down the steps. My car sat a few yards off, and a few miles farther was a warm apartment and a certain frisky vampire who waited for me with a hot bowl of soup and hopefully no clothes. On the vampire, not the bowl.

      My foot reached the last dangerous step when a sudden gust of wind blew over me. I was pulled forward. My hand lost its grip on the railing and I tumbled to the cold, ice-hardened ground. I fell on my side and skidded a few feet before I stopped a yard short of my car door.

      I sat up and rubbed my bruised side. Damn it. . . I muttered.

      Too late, a voice quipped.

      I whipped my head

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