Cravings is a quartet of unabashedly erotic novellas by four of today's most provocative writers -- Laurell K. Hamilton, MaryJanice Davidson, Eileen Wilks, and Rebecca York -- that includes a new Anita Blake tale by Hamilton that is as bloodcurdling as it is enticing!
Hamilton's "Beyond the Ardeur" -- an excerpt from her next Anita Blake novel, Incubus Dreams -- begins with everyone's favorite vampire hunter attending a friend's wedding. At the reception, sandwiched between two supernatural hunks -- Nathaniel, a stripper/wereleopard, and Damian, a green-eyed vampire -- Anita struggles to control her insatiable need to feed. As her yearning for lust (sexual energy, blood, etc.) grows, so does the potential for one unforgettable wedding reception!
MaryJanice Davidson revisits her Undead universe with "Dead Girls Don't Dance," a laugh-out-loud story about a vampire who fatefully gets unearthed by an old college crush. Andrea Mercer is a relatively young bloodsucker trying to find a way to Minneapolis to pay homage to the new vampire queen. When she hitches a ride with a former love interest, Daniel Harris -- a hulking stud muffin with the IQ of a head of lettuce -- she realizes being dead isn't necessarily the end of the world.
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June 28, 2004
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Excerpt from Cravings by Laurell K. Hamilton
ANDREA sat up and coughed out a lungful of sand. The man crouched beside her scrambled up and away, as if she had--imagine it!--come to life.
"Holy shit!" he cried. "I thought you were a corpse!"
She coughed out more sand, cursing herself. She'd been so moody last night, instead of finding a decent alley to skulk in or a flophouse to cower in, she'd just burrowed into the beach sand like a big old worm, and waited for sunset.
Except this idiot found her before she could rise.
"Did--" Cough, hack. "--you call--" Hack-hack. "--anybody?"
"Well, yeah," he said, sounding weirdly apologetic. "I mean, I was running down the beach here--I've just gotta get down to two-twenty-five, y'know, and lay off the Cheez E Brats--anyway, I was running and tripped over something, and I thought it was a piece of driftwood but it was your foot, so I started to unbury you and then I couldn't find a pulse so I called the cops on my cell phone. You didn't look, y'know, grody or anything. In fact, for a corpse, you looked pretty good."
He's an idiot. Perfect. She finished coughing. It was amazing--even if you didn't have to breathe, sand got everywhere. Every time she moved, more of it trickled into her underpants. "How long ago did you call?"