検索キーワード： 著者 "Robyn Peterman" すべてのカテゴリー

How in the Goddess’s name did I get stuck at the Witchypoo Convention at Rump Arena in Hexington, Kentucky? Whoops...my bad. Rupp Arena in Lexington, Kentucky. Whatever. It’s like one cavernous indoor garage sale of “magic” crap. It’s nothing more than a convention of human wanna-be witches in pointy ankle boots and half-price black hats...Baba Yopaininmybutt sent me to root out the very evil shenanigans going down in the sea of faux witches, mummies, and vamps...Listen to find out more!

I’m desperate to resign from the Werewolf Treaty Federation aka WTF. Don’t judge. I didn’t name this crew of misfit Shifters so hear me out. After investigating a deadly Jazz Cabbage outbreak, I discover we need a necromancing demon to help solve the crime. My gay vampyre BFF, Dwayne, dated one of these gems several decades ago. Seems all we need to do is summon his evil butt into this plane of existence and poof, crisis solved. The question is, can we bring him back without causing a flesh-eating, end-of-the-world zombie apocalypse?

What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tis’ Christmas time on Mystical Isle, and just like the fat bastard in red, I’ve made a list, and now I shall check it...twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I’m not an arse. It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I’m not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.

Letting the ocean current take me where it may for the last 25 years hasn’t worked out so great. So, instead of getting my tail in a knot, I’m making some swimmingly simple changes.

This is simply not my week. Finding out I can’t cook is appalling. My luncheon with the big-boned Immortal socialites went to Hell in a handbasket. I’ve been hoping to join the Fearsome Five and make it the Psycho Six. However, the chances of that happening now are looking slim. Of course, I could force my way in since I’m Mother freakin’ Nature, but I want to be accepted for being me - and because I’m fabulous. It’s bad enough my two sons, God and Satan, are driving me to crazy town while my best friend, Mr. Rogers, is riding in the backseat having a breakdown....

Unlike my sisters, I haven’t found my HEA. And I’m looking - hard. But finding a man who wants to blowhole dive in Hawaii on the first date is more difficult than you might imagine. I’ve been forced to settle for a few meaningless orgasms with men who disappear when I suggest fun activities, like scaling 20 stories while blindfolded.

I’ve been happily human for 30 years. Now I’m discovering I’m the reincarnated Fairy Queen of a land chock-full of freaks who want me dead. However, I’ll admit the perks are pretty cool. I have more magic in my little pinky than should be allowed by law in any universe. Not to mention, the love of my life is a Fairy so smokin’ hot, he makes Hell look like a Winter Wonderland. Problem is, my hotter-than-Hades Fairy is imprisoned in Zanthia for nefarious reasons I won’t go into, but now I must head back to that crap hole where I’m the Queen, and save the damn day.

Poseidon is smoking some bad seaweed if he expects me to take the one job I’m obviously not qualified for. Rumor has it, Cupid is a chubby baby with a bad attitude. That’s all I need. A pissed off porcine toddler with love arrows gunning for my tail because I took his job. On top of that, the idiot I’m kind of seeing who shall remain nameless - mostly because I don’t know his name.

I’m bored. And if I’m being honest, I’m jealous. I want my sister to have her happily-ever-after. I do. But I want my own adventures and my own true love. For 200 years, I’ve suffered through one immortal asshat after another while stuck on Mystical Isle. And while running a tourist trap for humans might be entertaining, I’m never going to find my true love in this sea of monotony.

Getting blackmailed sucks. Getting blackmailed by Satan into ghost writing his autobiography/romance really sucks - hard.

My name is Dima, and I'm a Dragon. I'm also going to die soon. It's a battle I've waged most of my life, but now the odds are looking crappy. Before I go up flames, I have to find a way to save my horde and make sure my secret treasure is safe. There is one way I could stick around a bit longer, but the men I've met aren't exactly lining up to save me.

I'm a nice girl - really I am. I'm just a typical computer-hacking, knife-throwing, Star Trek-obsessed, overeducated Werewolf nerd who can't seem to get her love life to compute. However, it's time to grow up and face the music or, more accurately, the man I'm in love with...Junior, aka Jacob Wilson - the Alpha of the Georgia Pack. First I'll have to stand up to some nasty gals whose pants are so tight I can see their religion. Then I'll claim my man.

What's the Devil to do when his fire no longer burns away his sins and Fate is screwing with his...well, fate? Easy - lie, cheat, steal, and dictate my questionably accurate autobiography-slash-romance-novel to my unwilling and outstandingly rude Vampyre niece. Welcome to my Hell. A mysterious darkness is gunning for me and this time it might prevail. Traveling to Earth to promote my best-selling romance novel at an alarming book convention where I must protect my privates from the rabid lady readers is enough to frighten even the Devil.

Vampyres don't exist. They absolutely do not exist. At least I didn't think they did 'til I tried to quit smoking and ended up Undead. Who in the hell did I screw over in a former life that my getting healthy equates with dead? Now I'm a Vampyre. Yes, we exist whether we want to or not. However, I have to admit, the perks aren't bad. My girls no longer jiggle, my ass is higher than a kite, and the latest Prada keeps finding its way to my wardrobe.

Running a tourist trap for humans in the Bermuda Triangle had sounded like a fine plan - until it wasn’t. With the Sea Hags gunning for our island and ruining our questionably successful business, I did what any desperate Mermaid would do. I called for backup. Of course, getting help from the Otherworld Defense Agency is risky as they don’t usually deal with ocean creatures. Whatever. Desperate times call for crappy measures. Chances are they’ll send freaking Pirates. I hate Pirates.

Welcome to Hell. Literally. The Hell where the Prince of Darkness is hotter than Hades, Hell Hounds smell like brownies, and the Seven Deadly Sins are addicted to Facebook.... Not to mention the soundtrack in the Underworld is Journey. For real. I should have known no good could come from offing my parents in the space of 20 minutes no matter how psychotic and evil they were....

Mixing heaven and hell on my cousin's famous birthday seemed like such a brilliant idea. I wanted my baby's first Christmas to be special - memorable. I'd like to chalk my heinous idea up to having been falling-down drunk, but that won't fly, as it's insanely difficult for a Vampyre to tie one on. So instead I'll deal with obscene gifts from relatives, kidnapped rock stars, and catering by Mother Nature.

Three waxed cats, one Cookie Witch, a Brazilian gone bad, and the last name Bermangoggleshitz...not the best ingredients for a successful spell. Or is it? Avoiding the truth has been working out just fine for most of my life. I'm finally happy. I have friends and a kangaroo shifter who adores me. Never in my 29 witchy years did I think I would have a place to call home with people who truly cared. Now my BFF, Zelda, wants to have a chat. Can't crappy news wait?

Planning my own wedding should mean I'm having the time of my life...not defending it every time I turn around. Dragons, feral Wolves and Were Cows...I mean who in the hell knew Were Cows even existed? All I wanna do is marry Hank, have 2.5 beautiful little Werewolf babies, and live happily ever after while having sex on a very regular basis. Oh...and I still want to shoot stuff occasionally. Apparently no one got the memo.

My name is Venus. I'm a 200-year old killing machine and I'm trading in my daggers and sword for a sparkly dress and an obscene swimsuit. Tiny strips of Lycra are not my typical battle wear, but when in Oklahoma... Armed with a fairly decent attitude, two debatably heterosexual insane old ladies, a woman I'd wanted to kill less than eight hours ago, and the possible love of my undead life, I'm in over my head with this. Of course I have no clue what this is going to entail, but that's never stopped me before.