Hey y’all. I’m BA Tortuga, resident redneck and lover of all things bitey.
I’m so stoked because I’ve added almost 15,000 words to my vampire novel, Long Black Cadillac and it’s releasing from Dreamspinner Press. It’s had some polish, some more background, and now Clay, Vince, Gryph, and Remy are back! Most of the additions were adding more Remy and Gryphon to the story, so I’d like to share Remy’s introduction. Remy is vampire Clay’s human buddy and go-fer, a sweet, happy little Cajun.
“Get more steak, he says. Lawd o’ mercy, Clay done got himself a new puppy to play with.” Remy Arceneaux whistled on his way to the A&P, cash burning a hole in his pocket.
He did love to shop, and boss was usually… well, he usually wanted Remy to eat dat steak. He wasn’t jealous none. Boss liked to play.
You did this kinda work long enough, you started to remember who was the gators and who was not.
Clay was good to him. They’d figure it.
He wandered into the grocery, moving slow and lazy, knowing that M’seu Bonnier would be staring at him with his one eye. Remy liked to flaunt himself in front of the old guard, make them a wee bit crazy. They sure didn’t know where his money came from these days.
Hell’s bells, they didn’t know a whole lot of nothin’. He’d met his boss in the swamp, the big ole gator man not even having to work too hard for him. Clay said he was made for sippin’, like fine whiskey.
He shivered at the idea. Who knew it would feel so good when someone with teeth like that bit a man?
Granny always said he was born to belong to another, born to take care, and he reckoned she was right. Clay needed him in the daylight, and Remy loved it.
Mrs. Lawry glared at him, and Remy did wish he had a hat to tip. “Ma’am.”
“What are you up to, Remy Arceneaux?”
“Shoppin’.” Duh.
“Why do you need all that steak?”
“You askin’ did I steal the money to get it all?”
“I’m saying I want to know what you’re doing.”
“And I want to know why for you got a cartful of Depends. Christ.”
Her face went slack with shock, and he moved on.
Hot Tamales for him. Clay liked the sting when Remy sucked him.
Mmm. Sting. Just the thought of Clay’s prick splitting his lips made him goofy. He did love that, being down on his knees, making his whole family proud…. He hooted, drawing stares.
He waggled his eyebrows and blew a kiss at the world at large. He had to wonder who the boss had there, how much red meat they’d need.
How long the new guy would stay.
Not that he was possessive none. No, sir. He took what he was given. He could still put a hurt on anyone who got in the boss’s way.
Clay was his friend. His boss. And he belonged to Clay, all the way.
Right?
He whistled a little tune, getting chocolate, bread, and peanut butter. Nothing with garlic, which was a shame. He did love garlic toast.
He picked up a pork butt for his Uncle Henri. That would feed the family for a week. Clay was good about that. He never did ask what the extra went to. How did that man get all his money? Maybe his type all started out with lots.
Whatever. It wasn’t none of his. Not at all.
Nope. His was to get the groceries and love on his boss and drive when it was light out if he had to.
Also he dragged logs across the boss’s road when folks got too curious. That kept out everything but the snakes and gators. Well, sometimes even the gators stayed on the other side.
Especially the big lazy ones.
The little ones just dug under. They were pretty good eating, he had to admit. Remy liked them fried best. Oh, he could get some batter. Yessir. Hooee, he would stuff himself.
He grabbed three boxes of MoonPies and a six-pack of RC Cola and then toodled up to the checkout. He looked in his cart. Good. He did get steak.
Lots.
Good on him.
Sometimes he forgot what Clay sent him for. He’d drop off the pig at Unc’s, and then he’d have himself a beer.
He loaded up bags once he checked out, then headed out to the car. The back of his neck prickled as it did when someone was watching, so Remy stopped and looked around very deliberately. “You don’ want to mess with me, whoever y’all is. No sir. I’m on a mission.”
There was nothing. No sound, no movement. So he loaded the car, but he kept him one eye peeled to the back of his head. Other folks came and went, but whoever was watching him was steady. Constant.
Huh.
Good thing he had a sawed-off shotgun under the passenger seat and no patience for nonsense where his boss was concerned.
No one ever did accost him, so he hopped into the car to take steak for the new guy. If’n he was lucky, Remy would need one soon too.
Oh, now, he didn’t need no hard-on while he drove.
He thumped himself good and firm, shaking his head. Time for him to get hisself on the road, earn his keep. He would get his reward somehow, he reckoned. Even if it was just in candy and fried gator.
Much love, y’all.
BA
Long Black Cadillac
Official Blurb
When cop-turned-vampire-hunter Vance is sent to eliminate a bloodsucker from the Louisiana swamps, he figures it’s just another day at the office.
But he has no idea what he’s getting into.
Clay is no ordinary vampire, and the spark he lights in battle-scarred Vance is anything but average. Clay should be the enemy, but Vance is powerless to fight something that feels so right… and so damn good. In Clay’s expert hands, Vance might realize he’s misjudged vampires and that donating a little blood can be sexy as hell.
Clay might even ride to the rescue and save his new love when Vance’s mission goes south and Vance becomes the hunted instead of the hunter. Along with his human familiar, a crazy Cajun named Remy, and the enigmatic older vampire Gryphon, Clay must get to Vance before it’s too late. Then they can find the man who betrayed Vance and take their revenge.
But faced with lies and motives darker than they ever imagined, they’ll have to wade through blood and fight their way to a happily ever after….
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds and her beloved wife, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.
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