Look what Dakota shared on Facebook! WooHoo!
Coming In 2012
Books 6 and 7 in the Accidentals
Accidentally Dead Again
The Accidental Genie!
He was just looking for a night of fun.
Accidentally Dead, Again--blurb--
After a wild work-sponsored Halloween party, entomologist Sam McLean wakes up with a spotty memory—and a pointy set of fangs. Sam’s one-night stand wasn’t just dressed as a vampire; she had the bite to match. Somehow, Sam ends up at the OOPS office, where paranormal crisis counselors Nina, Marty and Wanda give him the down-low on accidentally becoming a creature of the night.
What he got was an eternity of trouble.
Sam is speeding through the stages of newbie grief, until a woman named Phoebe Reynolds bursts onto the scene claiming to be Nina’s sister—resulting in a catfight that ends with Phoebe’s luscious behind in the direct path of Sam’s fangs. Now, the OOPS girls have two fledgling vamps on their hands, and their powers—and the attraction building between them—are unlike anything they’ve seen before…
Disclaimer--this is unedited and Dakota's eyeballs are broked-back. If there's a typo/contextual error/whatevs--pretend you didn't see it. LOLLOL
Accidentally Dead… Again
(click Read More to read the first chapter)
(click Read More to read the first chapter)
“Will I sparkle in the sunlight? Because confession. I’m uncomfortable sparkling,” Samuel McLean said.
“Oh, dude, if you go out in the sunlight, I can promise there’ll be no sparkling. Now sparks? Hmmm. Could be. Definitely some fucking flames. For sure a whole lotta screaming, ‘Oh, my God, it burns!’ but no sparkles. Though, I gotta give it to you, dude. With what you’re wearin’, you give sparkly a whole new level of ugly.”
He ignored the crude woman’s crack about his dress. According to the lady in the thrift store, he’d gotten a good deal on it, and it was a hot color this season. So, yeah. “Another pressing thought?”
“Do I have to pick a team? I don’t want to screw with Edward or Jacob’s self-esteem.”
A cackle with a definite hint of devious pleasure threading through it followed Sam’s question. The deep chuckle literally clanged in his ears to the point of painful, leaving him feeling like one full bodied raw nerve. He shifted in his chair at the basement offices of OOPS, pulling uncomfortably at the front of his red sequined dress to create some much needed airflow.
Christ, it was hot. Why was it so damn hot?
From behind him, the lingering presence of the woman who’d plowed into the office like he owed her money was downright imposing. When she leaned over his shoulder, Sam forced himself to forget he was wearing a “hot little number.” He mentally put his man-suit back on and asked, “You are, again?” with as much of an arrogant, “I’m still in charge of this situation” tilt to his penciled in eyebrow as he could muster.
For which the imposing female wasn’t at all fazed. “Nina. Nina Blackman-Statleon. Vampire.The non-sparkly kind.”
The breathtaking brunette in jeans and a sweatshirt clamped a hand on his shoulder and clenched it with fingers of steel that burned clear through his shifting shoulder pads and made his big hoop, clip-on earrings sway. “Man, as soon as I heard you were here, I skipped right over like I was on my way to the flippin’ Ring-Ding factory VIP tour. So. Jazzed. Look.”
She came to stand in front of him, holding out a basket before she unceremoniously plunked it in Sam’s lap. “When Marty called me, I got so fucking excited you weren’t a whiny female this time ‘round, I threw this shit together. We’ve never had a legit dude accidentally bitten before. So call it my Vampire Welcome to the Clan gift.”
She grinned, beautiful and maybe just a little too smug for his liking, quite obviously pleased with her generous contribution to this vampire thing.
Samuel’s eyes trailed down to the wicker basket in his lap and pushed his skirt toward his knees in the effort to keep his man bits properly covered—still too dazed to respond. Though not so dazed he missed the packet labeled “blood” in bold black letters. It glistened, red and delicious, taunting him from its plastic casing.
He clenched his jaw again, grinding his teeth together—which wasn’t easy, considering their recent growth spurt. Fuck. He was actually eyeing the blood like it was a filet. Apparently, a delicacy, as part of Marty’s Welcome to the Night Dwellers Club information packet, he’d never eat again.
“Oh, look,” the aforementioned Marty remarked in dry tones, leaning against a chipped desk with her arms crossed over her chest. “Nina the Sensitive was kind enough to make you a vampire care package, Mr. McLean. Suppose you could’ve waited until he knew everything he was in for before you threw him into the dark overlord deep end of the pool, Nina?”
The brunette turned her middle finger up at the blond with a smirk. “Blow me. He’s a man,Marty. He’d better take it like one. Taking it like one means he needs to get used to the fact that if he goes out in the sunlight without that God damned SPF two trillion, he’ll burn like a Yule log. And he’s got to feed or he’ll shrivel up just like all of his useless organs have.”
Sam fought hard to keep the “man” in his male equation in tact and not flinch when Nina reminded her friend his organs were now persona non grata and his time-share in Aruba was going to be a future Craigslist ad.
He squared his shoulders. Not that it was easy to do in a sequined red dress and heels.
Project his manliness, that is.
How the hell did women keep these skimpy dresses in place? For that matter, how did they keep their legs closed, their nylons from ripping, their bra straps from digging a hole in their skin, and walk in heels all at the same damn time?
Suffice it to say, Sam did not enjoy being a girl. He looked down at his chest in disgust, adjusting his half deflated gel bra with impatience when the third woman in the trio spoke.
“Did you say manly?” a chestnut-haired brunette remarked with a snort at Nina’s comment. “You mean like the way you took it, Nina? All manly?” she taunted with a raised eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with laughter.
Nina made a face, distorting her beauty, and plopped down in a chair behind a duplicate of the desk Marty stood in front of. “Shut the hell up, Wanda. I did not either cry.”
Wanda. Yes. Sam remembered now. The elegantly dressed, gracious lady was Wanda Jefferson—the were-vamp. At least that’s what he recalled her saying when he’d woken up in their office to find himself being hurled into a chair with the declaration that he had the ugliest pumps ever. Though, they’d assured him, his color something or other was spot on.
That had been Marty’s contribution to his condition.
Marty Flaherty… the woman. Who’d lifted all six-foot-five and two hundred and thirty pounds of him like he was nothing more than a curling iron. Marty the werewolf-woman, that is.
So. Much. Crazy.
Wanda clucked her tongue. “No. You didn’t cry, badass. You pissed and moaned and carried on for days. That’s what you did.” She snapped her fingers together to shush Nina who was quite obviously ready to react. With venom, if Sam was accurately reading her vibe. “Now, before things get out of control like they always do, shut up, Nina. Yes, you’re the expert on vampires here. Yes, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to add to Mr. McLean’s misery because that’s all part of the Nina genius. But you’re not going to do it for the pathetic glee the shock value brings you. Not today, Elvira. I refuse to have one more accidentally turned client fill out that infernal comment form Casey insisted we put on our site with another negative review about your skills as a paranormal crisis intervention counselor. Refuse.”
Nina brushed imaginary lint from her sweatshirt that had a thumb’s up sign and read,Vampire Sex. 24 people Like this. “Oh, please. We all know that dude was a total dick. Of course we weren’t helpful or whatever the fuck he said. He wasn’t really accidentally anything—except maybe a moron. For sure, that wasn’t an accident. He was no more accidentally turned into a dragon than I am the new Miss Fucking Universe. He had eczema—not scales. Bet he’d take that shit off the OOPS site if he knew his ass was in for a poundin’ from me. Shoulda just killed him when I had the little douche in the trunk of the car.”
Wanda took a deep breath, her hands gripping the edge of her desk. “The point being, he should have never been in the trunk of your car, Nina! For the love of—you can’t just throw someone who makes you angry in the trunk of your car and threaten to make them a pair of cement Louboutin’s—even when they send us on a wild goose chase! We are professionals. Now, false report or not, Chester wasn’t the only one who left a comment that was less than favorable about you, Mistress of the Dark. So knock it off! This is someone’s life—not a game where the poor, accidentally turned is the hunted and you’re the hunter. So stay seated, quiet your ever unhelpful mouth and let us assist Mr. McLean.”
Nina’s lips formed a thin line, but upon Wanda’s order, she leaned back in her chair, letting her ankle rest on her knee.
Watching their interaction, one that had a certain rhythm to it, Sam was capable of only one assessment. It was damn obvious these women were experienced in this sort of thing. So had it just been luck that he’d landed here? Or was it a calculated stop, drop and roll on the doorstep of three women who just happened to claim they were supernatural? His usually sharp as a tack mind couldn’t process much farther than the scenario before him.
Maybe he was being punked by his new poker buddies? How did he know these women were telling the truth about all these accidents they lay claim to? Seriously, who thinks a werewolf looks like a dog and did vampires really have dental plans?
If you listened to Wanda and Marty and the tales they’d told him about their accidental events, apparently, they did.
How did he know they could really help him? Sure, they claimed they knew what was happening to him and that they could assist, but how did he know he had what they had?
How did he know they had anything to begin with? Maybe what they’d shown him had David Copperfield properties to it and he’d fallen for it because let’s face it; he’d lost a day of his life—somewhere—somehow in a bizarre comatose-like state. He’d have called drunk for all the ensuing craziness, but the fuck of it was, he hadn’t had a drop to drink the night this had all begun. He never drank on the job…
Maybe he was just tired and all that snarling, shedding and showing of the fangs they’d given him as “proof” was his eyes playing tricks on him.
Sam, Sam, Sam. Don’t be an asshat. Did you not bear witness to what that Marty called the shift? You’ll be picking fur out of your teeth for days for all the open-mouthed horror you displayed.
Okay. There was no denying what he’d seen whether he was recovering from a bender he didn’t know he’d even had or not. This was real. Marty had turned into a werewolf right in front of him and Wanda had lifted not one, but both desks with a mere two fingers from each hand.
He’d seen. Fuck. It had been like that crazy show his ex-girlfriend used to watch. Super-something with men she’d called lickable that were always fighting not only with each other but with Lucifer and his demons because they were vessels. Shit. Was he a vessel, too?
Damn. It would suck to be a vessel in a dress and these big hoopy earrings.
How could this all really be true?
OMG! OMG! How will I make it till June? I love these books!