Title: Let the Bite One In
Series: Kitten and Blonde, Book Two
Author: Eule Grey
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 09/10/2024
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 41900
Genre: Paranormal, contemporary, paranormal, British/Yorkshire, lesbian, over 40, mystery, vampires, blogger, reporters, local paper, witch, neurodivergence, Whitby
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Description
Throw a hungry vampire a steak.
Life has never been better for Kitten and Blonde, paranormal investigators and beer enthusiasts. Finally, there’s time for a rest instead of always rushing into the spirit world to solve ghostly disputes. Even Penny, the grumpy office cat, is purrfectly happy.
Everything’s good until the vampire sisters of Whitby fly in for a visit. Enigmatic Em is well known throughout Yorkshire as a defender of women’s rights and for her hefty right hook. But the minute she laments about a lost vampire, things go bats-up. It’s a twisted tale… Is Em thirty or three hundred? One fact is indisputable—she’s hot. Mave pushes aside her doubts and accepts the case. The pay’s good; the perks are even better—everyone likes a day on Whitby Beach. Count Dracula is a fun myth, right?
Wrong. As soon as Mave starts digging, the nightmares begin: a woman trapped on a train, unsettling aromas, a watchful, hooded figure. It sucks. Even butch Lisa gets her spook-on, and Penny accompanies Mave everywhere, as if she senses malice creeping inevitably closer.
Never tell a witch and her familiar no. Mave discovers strength and powers she didn’t know existed. Meanwhile, a timeless love story hurtles to a fearsome battle for the vampire crown and a woman’s soul.
Dracula. Betrayal. Atonement. Sibling love. When the blood hits the fan, will Kitten and Blonde be strong enough for the final Countess-down?
Kitten and Blonde: Love at first bite. Mostly paranormal. Sometimes alien. Always gentle.
Let the Bite One In
Eule Grey © 2024
All Rights Reserved
I coughed meaningfully, hoping for at least a squeeze. “I had an impromptu visit last night.”
As expected, my darling tutted and went green-eyed monster. “Rude! I hope you told it to bugger off and return during business hours. What did it want?”
Usually, I could hazard a guess at the purpose of the request before the spirit spoke—ghosts revealed what they wanted from their demeanour and aura, whether sadness, regret, bitterness, or love. Happy ghosts often turned yellow, while angry ones flitted from red to blue. The hovering spirit had exuded all four emotional states and more. “I’m not sure. It stank of cheap perfume. It was loud, though silent. Manic and still. I think it was sussing me out.”
Despite her resentment at the intrusion, Lisa must’ve heard something she recognised because she nodded knowingly. “Manic and still, eh? Sounds familiar.” She gazed fondly at a picture on the wall of Tom as a child. “Maybe it’s a bipolar spook? I suppose ghosts can be, same as us.”
Right then, Tom returned, armed with bags full of aromatic curry and spicey bread he claimed to have found on offer. “It makes sense—why would spirits be any different from us? Some must be neurodivergent.” He beamed at the idea. “See—you’ll need my help. I told you I won’t be a pain or get in the way. I am a valuable asset!”
Lisa clipped him around the ear and kissed him loudly and fiercely on the cheek. “’Course you are, and anyone who says differently is a tosser.”
Not for the first time, I was moved by Tom’s seemingly endless optimism that his neurodivergence would one day land him a top job. His was a life I understood only too well. Insight led to a mental place of uncertainty and loneliness. While the masses swore ‘being yourself’ was the elixir of life, people weren’t always accepting of those who experienced the world in a manner different from their own.
I, too, loved the idea of helping a neurodivergent ghost. “I’ve crashed into spirits with mental illness and one with Tourette’s, so why not? Maybe it’s what Jo and Em want help with? If so, they’re most welcome to my assistance and resources. To be honest, it’s difficult to see how I could help them otherwise—Em’s a top lawyer. I’m a lowly reporter.”
There was a sharp knock at the door right then, as if the ladies had been hovering outside, waiting for an invitation. Nervousness gripped me and Tom. We shrieked, grabbed for each other, and lost the power of our legs. Thankfully, reliable Lisa gave us a big sister ‘look’ and then ushered the three ladies inside without so much as an awkward pause.
The smell was the first thing I noticed—an overwhelming, chemical stink of flowers. It reminded me of outings to the chemist with my sister as a teen when we’d sampled every available perfume we could afford with our pocket money.
I became ridiculously nervous, shuffling between stools with a stupid grin, worried Lisa would finally see me for what I was—a nobody.
Tom was a little more composed, but not much. Em hugged him roughly and patted his cheeks. “Nice to see you, cockerleeky, but don’t come near my hair again, or I’ll tear yer throat.”
“Fair enough,” Tom replied, laughing.
All three ladies cackled like caricature witches rather than vampires. They were a striking group. Em and Jo had dressed smartly, if unconventionally, in suits, long boots, elegant scarves, and flowing cloaks. The third group member, a beautiful young woman, thrust a hand into mine. “Hello, love! I’m Rubina. Thanks for the invite.”
Her hand was oddly cold, given the mildness of the temperature. I smiled in return and found my voice.
“Hello! It’s lovely to meet you. Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. Tom’s bought curry if you’re hungry.” I held my breath, half expecting them to decline due to their strict vampire diet of blood and gore.
But all three nodded eagerly. “Yes, please, heap it on!” Rubina licked her lips as if she were starving.
Em rubbed her hands together and stared me down with a smirk, as if to suggest she could read my thoughts. “Extra garlic during daylight hours? Perfect.”
It seemed Whitby vampires had found a way around the traditional vampire lore mentioned in the Bram Stoker book.
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Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!
She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!
For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.
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