Exterminate This
My Boyfiend is a Vampire – Book 1
By Jenny Iroh
Prologue
I don’t say “Fuck” much, but Fuck!
Double fuck!
This was pretty much the worst day, ever.
Worse than the day I gave myself brain damage. Worse than the day I told
my only elementary school teacher that she had bugs in her no-no. Worse than the time I walked in on my parents
trying to achieve tantric orgasm.
Worse even than my parents sitting me down to explain tantric
orgasm.
This was bad.
I was dressed like a whore.
That part was cool.
I’d never dressed like a whore before.
I normally look like a socially awkward geek who would rather not change
out of sweatpants. Usually there was a Star Wars or Harry Potter shirt. And a
messy bun that never looked chic, just messy.
I had no idea that I could pull off noir bondage. It was pretty
hot. I’m six foot with long red hair, and I have to admit that hooker boots and
a tight leather boob-holder were badass.
Usually, I’m so dang gangly and weird – so, I didn’t hate this.
However, I was dressed like a whore because I was about to be sold at a
vampire auction.
Sold.
At a vampire auction.
I hated that part.
Vampires liked the way psychics’ blood tastes.
Again: The vampires like way my blood tastes
So, that’s gross.
I was lined up with the other talented humans. In front of each of us was
a high cocktail table filled little cups, like what you get grape juice in at
church. In the cups was not grape juice. It was blood samples. Our human blood.
So the vampires could sample us.
Literally, strangers would come up and sip my cold blood from a cup and
comment on the delicious undertones, and the notes.
I should taste like booty-hole.
For real. My blood should be nasty.
Sure, I’m psychic, but my psychic talent pretty much sucks.
To the left of me was a girl on auction who could feel your emotion, and
to the right of me a boy who could move objects with his brain. An empath
and a telekinetic. I bet that does taste good. Able to discern the future? Capable
of lifting objects with your brain? That is a psychic flex that probably makes
you delicious.
Me? I could talk to bugs.
And spiders.
Shrimp.
Lobsters.
Arthropods. I could talk to arthropods.
Lamest super-power ever. I was legally insane because of it. I had court
papers and everything.
Bugs. I hear them.
After you understand how absolutely bat-crap crazy that is, you realize that
hearing vampires buzzing about for human blood is only slightly stranger than hearing
hordes of mosquitos, fleas, and horseflies scream for blood.
Don’t misunderstand, this is the
strangest thing to happen to me, but it is not the scariest. That was the
chemical lobotomy I had after cracking my own head open on the sidewalk.
Long story. I’ll tell it to you later.
I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was
supposed on a normal date with my new boyfriend Karl. He’s a vampire.
I didn’t know vampires existed two days ago.
So, there’s that.
Also, Karl isn’t my boyfriend anymore, because he bit me. Ripped my
shoulder open in front of a ballroom packed with vampires.
It’s the equivalent of a dog pissing on you. He was trying to claim me as
his territory so I couldn’t be auctioned.
I’m not dating his ass after that.
Also, he got blood on my leather bra and messed up my makeup. I never wear
makeup or leather bras, so I wanted them to be nice.
I have had two major traumatic brain injuries, and I don’t need to justify
how messed up my thoughts were. Yes, the vampire slavers made me look pretty.
Yes, I wanted to stay pretty. Yes, that was an inappropriate way to think as I’m
being auctioned.
I just really felt pretty in a dirty way, and I wanted it to last.
Let’s go back to the original point:
This situation merited a few F-bombs.
I’m a psychic bug-whisperer in slut
boots, about to be sold off to the highest bidder, who will enslave me with
vampire-sex-magic and use me as the good wine for guests at house parties.
They caught my twin brother, too, and they’re selling us as a pair. Gale
doesn’t have any psychic talent, he’s just smart. But we’re the same height
with the exact same coloring, so the monsters really like us.
We’re like matching accent lamps for the salon.
Also? The vampires faked a car
accident with our DNA in it, so my parents think we’re dead.
So yeah.
Fuck.
Fuckular, fucktastic, fuckity-double-fuck-fuck.
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