Fashionably Dead Down Under

Book 2 of the Hot Damned Series

by

Robyn Peterman

* * * *

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2014 Robyn Peterman

Cover by Rebecca Poole of
dreams2media

Edited by Mary Yakovets

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author's work.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales
is coincidental.

This book contains content that may not be suitable
for young readers 17 and under.

“Uproariously witty, deliciously provocative, and
just plain fun! No one delivers side-splitting humor and
mouth-watering sensuality like Robyn Peterman.

This is entertainment at its absolute
finest!” 

~
Darynda Jones

NY Times Bestselling Author of the 
Charley Davidson
Series

Writing may be a solitary sport, but putting a book
out is not. I am grateful and blessed to have many amazing people
in my life.
The Hot Damned Series
is the series of my heart
and writing it is a joy.

Mary Yakovets, I will never write a book unless you
edit it. I will also try to avoid
further
and
farther
for the rest of my natural life. Thank you, you rock! Donna
McDonald, without you I am lost . . . literally. Your patience and
support mean the world to me.

My beta readers, Candace, Donna, Kris, Christi,
Jowanna, Jim, Kim and Jennifer are the bomb. I adore all of you and
thank you for the time you give me.

Rebecca Poole, my cover is everything I ever wanted
and more. We are a warped team and I am so grateful for your
creativity and your friendship. To many, many more!

My Pimpettes are amazing! You delight me and I write
for you!

My critique partners, JM Madden and Donna McDonald,
you ladies are brilliant and when I grow up, I want to write like
you.

And my girl-crush, Darynda Jones . . . your cover
quote humbled me and made me cry. You are an amazing writer and a
beautiful friend.

Last but not least, I want to thank my family. Hot
Hubby, you are my real life hero and you are hotter than Satan’s
underpants. My kids, I love you. You are my finest accomplishment.
None of this would be any fun without you guys.

This dedication is twofold. First, for my Mom and
Dad—everything that is good and right about me came from
you—learned and inherited. Everything that is profane and nutty is
completely my own fault! I love you both till the end of time.

And second, for Donna McDonald—you are my Siamese
twin from a past life. You calm my panic and you feed my brain. As
long as you laugh, I know I haven’t taken the non-stop train to
Crazytown and bought property. Thank you for being you.

Pain—then ice—then intolerable heat. A second
took years, yet time stood still. The claws of those that trapped
me were razor sharp. They tore through my flesh as the ones who
owned them grunted and screamed with delight. I struggled for
balance, but realized I was standing on air. Violet and silver dust
engulfed me as I choked on smells of burning flesh and anger. How
was this happening? I was supposed to be planning my wedding to my
hotter than Satan’s underpants Vampyre Prince . . . not taking a
ride to Hell with smelly and disgusting Demons.
Shitshitdamnitshit.

***

Journey
? The soundtrack in Hell was
Journey? I would have thought Nine Inch Nails or AC/DC, but
certainly not Journey . . . Don’t get me wrong, I loved Journey,
but
Don’t Stop Believing
just didn’t seem like an
appropriate anthem for the Underworld. Was I even in Hell? Maybe
this was Purgatory or some other random plane of existence?
Although I would expect Barry Manilow, John Tesh or Kenny G if I
was stuck in Purgatory.

“Where in God’s name am I?” I muttered as I
gingerly pried my dry eyes open.

One thing I was absolutely sure of—I
definitely wasn’t on Earth. The ride to wherever the hell I was
with the stinky Demons had sucked the big one. It was violent,
smelly and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Easing my body to a sitting position was
difficult but doable. Now, to figure out where I was . . .

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moaned, both
from the pain shooting through my limbs and the simple fact that
Faithfully
was blasting from invisible speakers hidden
somewhere in my cell.

Wait. Was this a cell? A trap? A bedroom?

A bedroom? I was in a bedroom?

This couldn’t be Hell. It had to be some kind
of holding area. The Underworld was supposed to smell like sulfur
and look like post-Armageddon. This place looked more like some
douchenoggle with big bucks and debatable taste had shopped at all
the most expensive home stores on Fifth Avenue . . .while they were
drunk.

My body ached like I’d been beaten and I
checked myself for wounds. Surprisingly I was fine. Maybe all that
flesh tearing had been an illusion. Being a Vampyre I healed
quickly, but the trip to Hell, or wherever I was, had been rather
turbulent. Turning my head took effort, but I needed to figure out
my location and how to get out.

Interesting. I was on a large bed draped in
cheesy and predictable slippery black silk. The walls of what I
decided to assume was a massive bedroom were all done in burnished
gold leafing. Thick and ornate crown molding framed the walls. The
shades of the molding were more muted and depicted horrific scenes
of mutilation and decapitations of some kind of animal-looking
thing. Okay, this was more like the Hell I expected. The artwork
added to the ambience—frescos of orgies and graphic depictions of
group sex and death graced what had to be twenty foot high walls.
The floor was so highly waxed it literally sparkled—the uninviting
cold black marble stretched from one end of the huge room to the
other.

Trying to block out Steven Perry singing
Lovin, Touchin, Squeezin’
was almost impossible. I had a
bizarre urge to sing along . . .

Wait a fucking minute . . . were the walls
breathing?

Stop. Pull yourself together—walls didn’t
breathe. I needed to deal with the situation at hand. I would not
let Steven Perry or walls with a heartbeat derail me from getting
the hell out of Hell.

First things first—I needed to get up. I
wasn’t chained to the bed. I was able to move as freely as my
battered body would allow. I suppose the most unnerving part was
that no one was around . . . or were they? I hadn’t seen anyone or
anything since my forced arrival. Could Demons cloak themselves
like I could?

“Astrid,” a disembodied voice hissed from out
of nowhere.

“Holy Hell,” I screamed and dove under the
bed, slamming the side of my head on the metal frame and bending
back all the fingers on my left hand. “Who’s here?” I shouted,
nursing my painfully throbbing fingers and head, not to mention the
rest of my body.

“Al Pacino.”

“Al Pacino lives in Hell? I didn’t even know
he died.” Plus, he seemed more like a Purgatory guy to me.
“Bullshit,” I muttered, cautiously peeking out from under the bed.
There was no one in the room but me. Maybe the walls were alive.
“You are not Al Pacino. You don’t even sound like Al Pacino. Who in
the hell are you?”

“I’m part of you,” the wall whispered.

“I’m a fucking wall?”

The wall laughed heartily. So heartily it
pissed me off. “So, did you enjoy your trip, Astrid?”

“Are you kidding me? It sucked,” I snapped
and scanned the room for a hidden Demon. There had to be someone in
here. Walls did not talk.

“What on earth did you expect, my dear? You’d
just killed their leader who happened to be your father,” the voice
informed me. “Not to mention you offed your psychotic bitch of a
somewhat human mother not even ten minutes before your father
arrived.”

“My father was no prize either. He was a
gross, stinky, disgusting and evil Demon and wasn’t even upset that
I snuffed out my mother,” I shot back. Fine. I’d lost it. I was
talking to a wall . . .

“Darling girl, if you were able to kill both
your parents, why didn’t you stop the Demons from taking you to
Hell?”

“Well, Wall, you seem to know quite a bit
already. I’m sure you know exactly why I couldn’t stop the
Demons.”

“Couldn’t or didn’t?” the wall inquired
politely.

I’d had enough of the wall. “What does it
matter? I was a bit tired from offing my parents and I had, um . .
. other reasons.” Damnit, this was impossible. Was I really talking
to a wall? Yes. Yes, I was.

“Ah yes,” the wall said lovingly. “Your
unborn child. That child will also be part of me.”

“Look, no offense, but you’re a freakin’
talking wall. I don’t really see the connection between you, me and
my baby.”

“If you’re not going to be pleasant, I’ll
leave,” the wall huffed and the heartbeat disappeared. WTF?

Fucking. Awesome. The wall was gone because I
pissed it off. Not only had I made myself an orphan earlier and
earned a lovely unplanned trip to the Land of Damnation, but I’d
made a talking wall in Hell angry with me. What did a girl have to
do to catch a freakin’ break? I’d done everything that was expected
of me and still I got the shaft . . . I’d fulfilled the crazy
Vampyre Prophecy. I’d saved the Vampyre King and proved I was
indeed their Chosen One. Although I might have reconsidered the job
had I known ending up in the Abyss of Darkness was part of the
description.

“Are you screwing with me?” I shouted at the
wall as
Open Arms
surrounded me on all sides. The incredible
urge to sway and sing along was almost debilitating. There had to
be something subliminal going on here . . . Was Journey part of
some evil plan? Was it laced with hidden references to Hell and
debauchery? Was Steven Perry a succubus? Either someone down under
was obsessed with 80s pop music or I wasn’t in Hell at all.

“Oh my God,” I gasped as crawled out from
under the bed. I very slowly stretched out my cramped legs and
arms. “I clearly fucked someone over in a former life to have to
deal with this.”

“Why would you think that?” the disembodied
wall voice hissed.

“Motherfucker,” I screeched, grabbing a
pillow off the bed and hurling it at the wall. “Do not scare me
like that. I’ve had enough surprises today.”

The wall chuckled in reply.

The Demons had unceremoniously dragged my ass
through the portal to Hell insisting I was their new queen—
like
that was ever going to happen
. If they hadn’t arrived in such
large numbers, I might not be sitting in Hell right now talking to
a wall and trying to make my body work, but I was . . . and I was
furious.

However, as unhappy as I was about my new
address, I would hazard a guess that my beautiful mate Ethan had
gone ballistic. He would have arrived at the caves by now where my
deadly family reunion had taken place and would know that I’d been
abducted. My gut clenched at the thought of what he would do. His
father, the King of the Vampyres, would have clued him in to the
somewhat unbelievable story of my pregnancy and Ethan would . . .
Shit, I didn’t know what he’d do, but I needed to get out of here
quickly before he attempted to come to Hell and rescue me.