Fashionably Dead and Loving It (Hot Damned #14) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,56

crazy man, entertaining the remaining Zombies and staying out of biting range. “You got a plan?”

“Grab one from behind and fly them high. Keep the arms pinned to the sides,” I instructed, shooting into the air. “We’re gonna do floating surgery.”

“You’re as batshit crazy as I am,” Lizard said with a whoop of laughter as he grabbed a Zombie from behind and flew her up.

“Crazier,” I replied. “Let’s do this shit.”

Lizard had been incorrect about the genders of the Zombies. There were five females including Sarah and five males. Several of the men had longer hair, so the mistake was understandable, since they’d been such a hot mess an hour earlier.

I was covered in blood and guts from the tip of my combat boots to the top of my crown. Lizard was too. Not to mention, we stunk something awful. But I was thrilled. Everyone had made it through the change. And while they were extremely confused, they were alive—in a relative definition of the word.

“So, you’re saying we’re Vampyres?” a woman asked with doubt written all over her rapidly healing face.

“Umm… yes,” I replied, answering the same question for the fifth time.

I knew it was difficult to believe, but I needed them to get with the program fast. Sarah was sound asleep in Anastasia’s arms and Levi stood guard right next to them. When Lizard and I had completed the mission and it was safe, the rest had joined us in the warehouse.

An older gentleman around seventy raised his hand politely.

“Yes?” I asked. “You have a question?”

“I do,” he replied. “Can I shift into a bat? I think that would be rather delightful.”

“No,” I told him, trying not to laugh. “Sorry. Vampyres don’t shift into bats.”

“That’s quite sad,” he replied. “I was hoping to scare the living daylights out of my no-good, cheating ex-wife. She’s terrified of flying rodents.”

I nodded. He was going to be a trip. From here on out, his nickname would be Bat Man.

“Do we have to sleep in coffins?” another man with an enormous mustache asked.

“Not unless that’s your thing,” I explained.

“So, you’re saying it’s not a requirement?” Mustache Man pressed.

“Not a requirement,” I assured him with the smallest eye roll possible.

Mustache Man played with his fangs for a moment, cut his finger and then asked another question. “And if we’d like to sleep in a coffin, will those be provided by management?”

I didn’t know how to answer that one. Martha chimed in while I was still trying to figure out how to field the bizarre request.

“Listen here, hot pants,” Martha said. “Management is very open to weird shit. You wanna be a freak and sleep in a coffin, you do that. However, you’re gonna have a hard time getting laid. I’ll make this shit as plain as I can. Being undead is fucking great. You live forever unless you get decapitated. I’d suggest avoiding that. It would hurt like a mother humper. While you can’t eat food anymore, you do get to drink blood.”

The crowd of newly made Vampyres wrinkled their noses in distaste.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Martha continued. “I was gacked out in the beginning too, but just wait till you taste it. Delicious!”

“The jackass is telling the truth,” Jane said. “And if you like to fornicate, you can do it twenty-four-seven now. For you males out there sporting a salami, you can direct all your blood to your pecker and bang until you forget your name.”

The crowd was impressed by that fact. I was really glad Sarah was sleeping. This was not a chat for children’s ears.

“Darn tootin,” Martha added. “You don’t have a reflection and your anal sphincter is now totally unnecessary.”

“Why?” one of the gals called out.

“Your poop shoot doesn’t work anymore,” she explained. “No more poopin’, peein’ and no more time of the month for the ladies.”

“That’s right,” Jane said. “Think of all the moolah you’re gonna save on toilet paper since you don’t have to make a stinky offering to the porcelain throne anymore. But heed this shit, do not—I repeat, do not—go out in the sun just yet unless you want to look like a raw piece of hamburger meat for a week.”

“Amen to that,” Martha agreed. “Took me a couple years to remember that one.”

“Okay,” I said, cutting them off. “Hold the rest of your questions, please. What I need to know now is if any of you remember anything about being turned into Zombies?”

Two of the women started to cry and were shocked when they realized