Copyright © 2009, Roxanne Rhoads
Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews For TORRID TEASERS Volume 59 by Roxanne Rhoads

Renata is a saucy heroine who’s sexy, smart and totally self sufficient. With the to-the-point character driven plot, “Renata” made for an overall delightful read...Throw in an unexpected twist and loads of blazing sex, and the outcome boils on high for a gooey-warm ending.

(The Questioning Concubine) Initially, the title threw me off the scent while tweaking my curiosity. Once I gained my reading momentum, it was sizzling-smooth, eyeballs-meets-mind goodness. The writing flexes its wonderfully visual muscles while my mental senses happily quivered from the intake.

Humorous, spicy and sweet, Torrid Teasers Volume 59 was definitely reading-time well spent. I didn’t know what to expect from scene to scene either, definitely a bonus. Roxanne Rhoads brings in fresh touches to each segment.

~Patrice F., Joyfully Reviewed

Sample Chapter For TORRID TEASERS Volume 59 by Roxanne Rhoads

Renata

The residents of the beautiful small town of Flushing, Michigan would never believe that a vampire lived among them. Renata looked up and down Main Street, lined with its original brick buildings now filled with stores and cafes. Renata remembered when this quiet little town officially became the Village of Flushing in the March of 1877. She had been here then. She sighed and felt wistful. Time just kept flying by.

The rest of the town was filled with historical Victorian homes that still held on to their original beauty with lush lawns, exquisite landscaping, and tree-lined streets that belied the presence of anything untoward. Surely nothing so dark and sinister as a vampire could taint the storybook beauty of the quaint little town. Renata smiled ever so faintly; no one would believe her if she walked up to them and said she was a vampire…especially not a vampire with succubus-like needs.

Renata walked down Main Street feeling slightly melancholy and wistful. Ever since the outing of The Others had wreaked havoc on the world in the late 1980’s, some people knew of the existence of supernatural beings, though after the mass world spelling performed by the most powerful of all witches and wizards, many minds were erased of the horrible panic and subsequent slaughters that occurred. Flushing seemed to have scraped through without a scratch. It survived as though it had never been touched by anything bad. That’s why she loved it here. She could hide in the safety and beauty of this pretty place.

Thankfully, Renata had managed to remain “in the coffin” during the Hysteria. She had not been outed as one of The Others and continued to live under the radar of those who monitored supernatural beings and their activity. She knew of only one human who knew about her and exactly what she was. Oddly enough, that human was a vampire hunter. She had nothing to worry about from him, though. He was one of the good guys.

She sighed again, pulling in the luscious scents of flowering trees and freshly mowed green grass. Renata tugged her large hat down a little farther and adjusted her sunglasses as she walked down the street lined with “painted ladies.” Renata lived in one of those Victorian mansions, again. She had bought it several years ago and kept a low profile ever since. In the evenings, she made her rounds to say “hello” to her neighbors and attended town social gatherings. She was even a member of the country club. No one ever suspected she was anything other than what she appeared to be: a beautiful, moral, young, well-to-do woman who bothered no one and fit in quite well in their little town. She loved the peace and quiet. No city drama to deal with.

If anyone questioned why they did not see her much during the day, she just replied that she worked all day as a writer and did not want to be disturbed. She also explained that she was allergic to the sun after getting severe sun poisoning in the Caribbean, so now she had to be careful because the sun made her extremely ill, confining her to bed with a migraine and other pains for days at a time. That, in a sense, was true: the sun did make her extremely ill, but it would not kill her like all the movies said it should. She did not burst into flames as soon as the sun touched her, but she could get a severe burn and be weak for several days. And she did contract her illness in the Caribbean…but that was over five hundred years ago.

The respectable folk of this sleepy little town would all be shocked if they ever found out what she really was or how she actually spent her days. Sometimes she even shocked herself. Her sexual escapades would be enough to have her run out of town; add the blood drinking, and they would probably want her head on a platter.

Every vampire has his or her own set of powers and weaknesses that are inherently his or her own. While some powers and abilities are passed on from the sire, most are with the vamp lying dormant while in human form. The human mind and body are capable of so much, but that potential is almost never fulfilled. It lies there useless. Vampirism is the key that unlocks the door to all that power. It’s like a catalyst. Older vamps can often detect that power in humans, power waiting to be freed. Being changed makes one stronger, faster, wiser, and in addition to being immortal and almost indestructible, the change brings out all those abilities that had been hiding in the deep recesses of the human mind. That’s why some vamps end up able to read minds, control minds, teleport, move things telekinetically or even fly and shapeshift.

Renata had the normal vamp powers like the ability to erase minds, but her specific power was like that of a succubus. It was almost more of a curse than a power. Renata needed sex, and she had the body and the attraction factor to get it, along with a stronger than usual dose of vamp pheromones that she could send out at will.

My parents were killed five years ago. No one knows who killed them or why. Very strange circumstances surround their deaths. Of course, when you are the High Priest and Priestess of the Witches’ Council and head of the largest coven in America, what seems strange to normal people is everyday to you—why should death be any different?

Their deaths have remained a mystery. Neither human police nor the coven investigators have any leads. Not even my cousin, The Preternatural Liaison for the Flint Police Department, has been able to find a lead. Anwyn is a witch, too. More importantly, her power name is She Who Knows. Even she doesn’t have a clue about who or what killed my parents or why. So much for knowing everything.

The Flushing Police turned it over to the Flint Police Department because Flushing doesn’t have a homicide investigation department. Nobody dies in “storybook land.” Anyway, the police have pretty much closed the case. It has gone completely cold. Anwyn keeps trying, but she has her hands full being the only PL in Michigan.

I, however, have not given up or stopped searching for answers. Part of it is probably guilt for not being here when it happened; part of it is just stepping up to the plate and doing what needs to be done. I will not give up until I find out who or what killed them.
I have finally accepted my heritage and taken my rightful place in the circle, if only to learn the secrets that led to my parents’ deaths.

As a child I thought my powers were cool—it was great being able to do things other people couldn’t. Then as a teenager, I was labeled a freak, shunned by almost everyone. Even my best friend Sarah and my boyfriend, Nick, were totally freaked by my power after they accidentally discovered what I could do one night.

I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone; things just got a little out of hand one night when Nick and I were involved in a serious make-out session. The desire caused my powers to flare uncontrollably. Nick was overwhelmed by the power and got a little scorched, and Sarah, who was in the next room, felt the aftershock. They weren’t hurt, but it totally freaked them out, and they stayed away from me after that. It didn’t help that my teenage years coincided with the Hysteria. The quiet storybook town of Flushing, Michigan almost scraped by without a scratch, but it did leave some people very wary, especially skittish teenagers who only want to blend in, not stand out.

After my best friends turned their backs on me, I was labeled a witchy freak in school. I heard all kinds of rumors. Then the Satanist rumors started circling, and somehow I got tangled up in it. Someone spray-painted my car with the words “baby sacrificing witch.” Even the Goths stayed away from me after that. I decided to deny my power. I didn’t use my magick for anything, and I wanted nothing to do with my parents’ lives in the council or the coven.

When I turned eighteen, I left home and went off to college, trying to forget who and what I was. I made a new life for myself, one without magick, much to my parents’ disappointment.

Then my parents were killed when I was twenty-two. I was heartbroken and guilt ridden. I knew the magick had something to do with why they were killed. I returned home and immersed myself into their world again. That meant that I had to take my parents’ place inside the coven. I had to accept and embrace the power I had neglected for so long.

Now here I was five years later, still no closer to answers than when I first came home.
I had exhausted all my resources, both human and magickal. I had used every power and resource that I possibly could; scrying, runes, tarot cards, psychics, other witches, even normal means like police and private detectives. The only image that kept repeating to psychics and witches was a black book. That wasn’t much help at all. Even Miss She Who Knows only saw a black book.

Do you have any idea how many black books there are involved with witches? Traditionally every witch kept a black book, also known as a grimoire, of all their spells and potions. Black book doesn’t even necessarily mean the book is the color black—it is a loose term, more symbolic than anything and completely outdated, not to mention somewhat of a misnomer. The books were nicknamed black books by those who claimed all magick and witchcraft was evil, which of course it isn’t. The name just sort of stuck.

Now witches use all kinds of books, from plain notebooks to fancy diaries to high tech computers and PDA’s. My parents alone have over fifty black books or grimoires in their library from witches throughout history, in addition to other books that are actually the color black.

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