QSFer Z. Allora has a new paranormal book out:
Forget undead corpses searching for brains. These zombies crave a different kind of head that keeps them young forever. Club Zombie offers safe haven, providing sexy ways to extract what they need from patrons, and the opportunity to find their destined mate.
Alex Waterman is ashamed of his “vile, unnatural desires” and lives a in a desolate world of loneliness and suffering until discovering… it’s not his life. Suddenly he’s swept away to a place where his desires aren’t evil, they’re a mark of the dominant he’s born to be, and appreciative stares and aggressive flirting replace fear and self-loathing. But one night stands aren’t on the menu: Alex seeks “the one” to complete the missing piece of his soul.
Boy-next-door Ulrich calls to Alex, as does the gorgeous but self-destructive Cutter, and an element of irresistible danger clings to bad boy Storm. How can Alex decide between three tempting possibilities?
Maybe he should keep them all…
Club Zombie’s flashing neon lights promised all those in attendance a night of debauchery. Storm pulled his Camry into an almost empty lot and parked right next to the entrance.
His best friend glanced over at him with an expression that screamed, “WTF!” but instead of voicing the obscenity, Cutter asked, “Is this club even open?”
Damn it! This was Storm’s fucked up luck. It was obvious the club wasn’t the place to be on Thursday nights. He shrugged. “They only just started having under twenty-one nights. Maybe it’s slow tonight.”
“Hmmm, okay.” Cutter unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned forward, and checked his liner in the lighted mirror on the sun visor.
“Besides, it’ll be easier to get you laid without all the trolls.” The words were bitter, but Storm needed to fill the silence.
Cut slapped the mirror lid closed, flipped the visor up with a snap, and glared at him. “I don’t need or want your assistance.”
Storm restrained a sigh. Of course Cutter didn’t want help, nor would he need any. Cutter was exquisite in an emo, brooding sort of way, though guys in their small Southern town didn’t appreciate Cut. Unfortunately, Storm was positive Cutter’s charms wouldn’t be ignored in Club Zombie.
“Do you want to die a virgin?” Cutter going off with someone might kill Storm. Fuck, he’d suck it up! There wasn’t a choice. Cutter needed to get over what Storm couldn’t offer, at least not until he got out from under his family’s thumb.
“Shut the hell up!” Cutter jumped out of the car and slammed the door.
Storm caught up with him at the big wooden doors of the club entrance. He fished for his driver’s license and handed the identification to a guy who was probably only a couple years older than him.
Shit! “Yes, that’s my name.” Would his name ease the way or glue the entrance shut? His father’s run for the mayor’s office, and now successful law office, was a mixed bag. Had dear old Dad screwed this guy over, or someone he knew, in his bid for public office?
“I don’t give a shit who your daddy is. You’ll follow the club rules or my boot will introduce itself to your ass,” the guy warned him as though Storm had broken the club’s rules regularly.
Probably not wise to point out the man had on loafers and not boots. Jesus, Storm was sick of paying for things he didn’t do. “I plan to.”
“You both eighteen?” the man asked with a healthy dose of skepticism as he looked them up and down.
“Yeah, we graduated last week.”
“High school?” After a nod from Cutter, the guy continued, “Midnight is the witching hour. We clear everyone out and only twenty-one and older will be allowed back into the club. Do us both a favor and don’t try to sneak past me, ’cause I don’t give a shit whose condom broke…”
Amazon: Click Here
Z. Allora thinks everyone deserves a happy ending, and she makes sure they get one. Her stories are about love and romance and are tied together with erotic sex. She utilizes her time overseas and travels to bring you to places you’ve yet to visit. She introduces you to cultures you’ve yet to explore. But with every word she writes she tries to convey love is love.
E-mail: [email protected]