Monster Brides (series of multiauthor standalones)

Monster Romance

Date Published: 07-15-2024

 

 

Captain Teeth

Orders—giving them, writing them, signing for them, and taking
them—fill a Captain’s life. I miss the days when I climbed under
skirts while on land and climbed the ratlines after we weighed anchor. The
black spot on my pirate heart is due to my failure to find my lady love
despite scouring the Caribbean for years. I’ve watched me hearties
fall in love and drop from the sweet trade like flies, but this voyage to
drop off my Quartermaster with his new bride in Mexico may break
me…

 

Sabrina

Why shouldn’t I partake in the fancies of the human world when I
sprout legs once a month? Swilling rum, dancing on tables, singing bawdy
songs, and sampling every scallywag who catches my eye is harmless fun. I
tell myself my behavior is entertainment…not to forget my soulmate
who abandoned me five years ago at Maude’s Tavern. After a night of
passion, he flipped a doubloon onto the sheets and sailed away. I
can’t believe the scourge of the seven seas mistook his lady love for
a common strumpet! My kind mates for life so if I ever see him again,
I’ll sink him and his ship.

 

Nobody humiliates a Kraken.

 

 

Excerpt

A flirty remark dies on my tongue as the handsome pirate adjusts himself
through the crotch of his leather pants. Nope. Too much. Too uncouth, too
vulgar, too smarmy, too much for a part-time human like me. He’s as
shameless as me but with twice the firepower. Not gracing him with another
second of my attention, I twirl and dance along the table to the opposite
end of the tavern. I’ll find a safer man to bed tonight.

I kick and tap to the beat with my skirts swishing above my knees for
mediocre sailors, stealing furtive glances at the handsome blond pirate and
his table of rowdy friends. I don’t dare approach the pirates of
Patricia’s Wish. I do have some sense of self-preservation. The night
flies by as shots are taken from my cleavage and poured down my throat by
random drunks.

All the while, the pirate watches me from his corner.

The heat in his stare burns away my inhibitions and I find myself
performing for him, using the attention from men closer to me as my props.
Coins jingle in my pockets and shoes as I earn my night’s lodgings
under the pirate’s lustful gaze. It isn’t long before I’m
singing louder than the brothel’s girls on stage.

My peg-legged companion from earlier in the night leaves with his head
shaking in warning. He can’t buss my cheeks. He’s not my father.
My father’s at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean with the other mated
Kraken. I thumb my nose at the swinging doors as the sourpus exits the
bar.

Time to secure a room from Jamal the Barkeep. Looks like I’ll be
sleeping alone tonight, but some nights are slow. I’ve taken two or
three men to my room in succession before selecting the one I will sleep
beside. Nights like tonight balance the scales. I hope the working girls are
luckier and wake up next to stacks of gold.

“Here’s one, two, five gold coins,” I count as I drop
doubloons onto the bar top. Maude’s rate is three coins for rooms not
occupied by her girls, so the two extra coins will go to Jamal’s
savings. I hope he opens the beachside cantina of his dreams someday.
“I’d like a room—the one at the far end of the hallway if
it’s open.”

“Are you sure? Miss Opal has the room next to that one. Maybe take
the first room,” Jamal says, swiping my coins into his hand. He trades
them for a large, iron key. Being a ‘screamer’ is Miss
Opal’s specialty. I’ll wake up with a banging headache if
I’m in the room next to hers.

“Thanks for always looking out for me,” I reply, swiping the
key off the bar top.

“Which room is ours?” I don’t need to turn around to know
it’s the handsome, blond pirate behind me. My body ignites with the
command in his question.

“I’m in room one,” I say, verifying the key is labeled
with the number one. He steps toward me with a palm outstretched for the
key. “You are bunking in the bilge of some ship with the rest of the
sea sludge.”

He takes a predatory step forward. My back hits the bar. I clutch the key
to my chest. It vibrates with the pounding of my heart or maybe that’s
the shaking of my fingers. Blond hair tickles my nose as he leans over me,
one arm resting on the bar to either side of my waist. His scent invades my
nose. Blue eyes bore into me with an intensity that curls my toes in my
boots.

“Tell me you don’t want me in your bed to pleasure you from
head to toe and make your every fantasy come true, and I’ll
disappear,” he whispers against my ear.

 

About the Author

Marilyn Barr lives in the wilds of Kentucky with her husband, son, and
rescue cats. When engaging in the real world, you can find her with the
Kentuckiana Romance Writers, volunteering with her son’s Special
Olympics teams, or dancing around her kitchen. She is a sucker (haha) for
cheesy horror movies, Italian food, punk music, black cats, bad puns, and
all things witchy.

 

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