Nothing unnerves a gaggle of rednecks quite like the silvery laugh from a vampyre that just received 33 bullets in her chest. They generally find it unsettling.
A deep self-satisfied sigh… a single dark eyebrow arched high over a glowing green eye… a coquettish turn of the head.
“Now, now boys,” spoke the voice, soft as a silk coffin lining. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”
A half-dozen pair of eyes stared, transfixed, as a tiny smile played at the corners of those luscious moist soft red lips, two precious emeralds set just above.
The men were dead before their bodies hit the snow, their life forces seeping out, staining the soft white blanket beneath them.
This is an ‘off the top of my head’ example of the bargain-basement vampyre fiction I lovingly call ‘Trashy Fanger Lit!’
Right now, I am making my way through Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake: Vampire Slayer series of novels. And please do not think that Ms. Hamilton’s writing lives down to the dreck I scribbled above. I like her works.
I am not the fastest reader in the world, so it is taking me forever (or so it seems to me) but I enjoy these books. It is a fabulous blend of the film noir, hard-bitten wise-cracking private detective style and modern vampyre ‘out of the coffin’ motif.
If you haven’t read these books, give the first one, ‘Guilty Pleasures’, a try to see if, like me, you get hooked!