A haunting anthology of vampire fiction -- one that brings a colorful new dimension to one of the world's most erotic and enduring myths.
FEATURING STORIES FROM SOME OF TODAY'SMOST POPULAR AFRICAN AMERICAN WRITERS
writing as The Urban Griot
The Old South falls prey to a handsome young vampire with a real taste for the ladies. Love at first bite never hurt so good.
ANGELA C. ALLEN
The mafia is no match for the wicked charms of a beautiful young vampire once she's let loose on the New York City streets.
Can a pair of fangs help a sister burn more calories? A full-figured woman goes on a thirst-quenching search for the perfect low-carb diet.
It's a matter of life and the living dead for a half-vampire whose greatest wish is to save lives...and become human again.
A sensuous vampire thirsts for something more...but can she find it without getting a dagger in her own heart?
KEVIN S. BROCKENBROUGH
A vengeful vampire pushes one woman to the edge, unaware that her family secret gives her the power to fight back.
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October 05, 2004
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Excerpt from Dark Thirst by Angela Allen
Chapter 1: Desire
It was almost midnight. I wrapped my mouth around the pizza, the doughy crust mingling with the tart sauce and the salty melted cheese sliding over my tongue. Then the roof of my mouth hit the spicy pepperoni, the tangy sausage and the meaty hamburger and I rolled it all over my taste buds, my teeth working the gooey goodness.
It was something like sex, the sensation building to the point where you can't let it go...Oh, don't stop, baby. I stuffed another bite in my mouth before I swallowed the first one. My cheeks pudged out and my eyes closed. I was in pizza hog heaven. This was as close to nirvana as I got.
Shoving it in fast, I covetously counted the pieces in case my girl Angelica, or Jelly, like everybody calls her, got ahead of me and copped some of my share. Jelly jams as good as I do when it comes to food. I feel downright petite next to her. I weigh two hundred and twenty-five pounds. I know Angelica tops three hundred.
Jelly and I go way back. I met her in high school when we were picked out of the projects for a math enrichment program, of all things. Nobody had ever given a shit about potential mathematical Negroes before. But some bleeding hearts had this idea to test tons of black kids and apparently Jelly and I were among the cream of the crop. They said we had high IQs and big potential. We both were surprised because you couldn't have guessed our smarts by our grades. We were run-of-the-mill fat black girls newly promoted into would-be math nerds.
We liked it because they took us all on fancy field trips and bought us stuff. We got big-time perks. It was the only reason we hung in there because the whole thing was a social drawback. It was definitely not down in an inner-city black school to be stylin' like some sort of nerd.
But Jelly and I often discussed that if it wasn't for that program, we'd probably still be in the projects with ten kids between us and less than ten dollars left out of our welfare checks each month once we'd spent for the necessities.
Now we were both computer programmers with nice homes and healthy incomes. But when you think about it, success is all relative. If we were back in the projects, we'd be getting fucked, maybe by low-life, no-working, dependent losers, but we'd at least be getting some. We'd get high when we could and we'd party when we could. We'd have friends and family and kids and we wouldn't worry too much about shit.
All we had now was each other and our jobs. We worked together in a big company, you've probably heard of it, with a bunch of white folks. White folks don't think much of fat black women. Surprise, surprise.
One thing I've noticed about white nerdy men, they worship bony white women with big tits. It ain't natural. But I don't envy white women, because most of them don't look like that.
Jelly pulled me away from my thoughts when she snorted, turned the lights off, and pulled open the window blinds. I was irritated. What could be going on outside that was important enough to interrupt my pizza groove
"Keeshia, check out those Mexicans heaving that heavy shit like it was nothing. They're moving fast too. Where were they when I moved from my house and had to deal with those niggas leaning upside their truck and holding it upright while I was getting billed by the hour " she demanded.
I sighed and moved to the window. Short, stocky men were unloading a moving van. I guess Jelly decided that they were Mexicans because of their small size and height. But they seemed uncommonly strong as I watched one handle a seven-foot sofa as if it were made of Styrofoam.
A classic silver VW Beetle pulled beside the van and Jelly and I both drew in a breath when we saw the woman who stepped out of it. She stood under the streetlight as if she were voguing for a magazine shoot. The light threw her ebony marble features into relief. Her hair and skin blended, both the color of black patent leather.