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Moira Rogers
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Firecracker

Last Call, Story Six
Series Info:

Digital

June, 2013

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Phoebe Capello is used to loneliness. Each of her lives lasts only a thousand weeks before her fiery nature flames up and burns her alive. Sure, she rises from the ashes–as a proper phoenix should–but it’s next to impossible to find lovers who can weather the heat of her hunger unscathed. And if she doesn’t get laid soon…

Firecracker: Too hot to handle. Looking for a fireproof lover.

Stunt driver and hellhound Jarrett Chance is no stranger to Last Call. He’s a creature of fire himself, and he’s come to the bar looking for a woman to burn with him. Phoebe is gorgeous and passionate, with an endearing shyness that intoxicates him almost as much her blistering kisses. But is she looking for a single, scorching night…or a lifetime of red-hot rendezvous?

Read an Excerpt


Phoebe stood on the curb and watched another human walk past Last Call without giving it so much as a sideways glance, even when the door pushed open to release two drunk pixies, one of whom glowed independently of the neon sign above her glittery pink hair.

A neat bit of magic, hiding a popular club for supernaturals in the midst of the city. Whatever spells wrapped the building must have extended to the sidewalk in front of it, because passers-by seemed wholly uninterested in the giggling, glowing duo.

The bouncer wasn’t as inattentive. He caught the girl’s arm before she could step off the curb. “Do I need to call someone to sober you up?”

“Oh, whoops.” The pixie in the green dress leaned in to her friend and whispered loudly enough to be heard three blocks away. “You’re glowing.”

“Damn it!” The girl scrunched up her nose, and the pink aura surrounding her vanished.

The bouncer released her, and the two spilled into the street in a sea of giggles. As they melted into the night, the bouncer turned his attention to Phoebe. “You torn, sweetheart?”

Torn—the perfect word. The club wasn’t the sort of place she usually visited. Loud music and grinding dances were diversions of the young, and after one hundred and thirty-seven years on the earth, she hardly considered herself that.

But Last Call had another purpose. “Do you have one of the menus I could see? The specials?”

It must have been a common question, because he reached behind him to produce a glossy menu without comment. Taking it, she found nothing but plain black text on an off-white background, a long list of drinks under headings that marked the most common supernatural species.

Nothing common about her problem. She almost gave up before realizing the back held more drinks, each one assigned a meaning in elegant italics. Halfway down the page, her breath caught as longing and hope set her heart to pounding.

Firecracker. Too hot to handle, looking for a fireproof lover.

As if he’d seen the reaction a hundred times, the bouncer pushed open the door. “Welcome to Last Call.”


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