Robyn Peterman

When Astrid tries to stop smoking she ends up a member of the undead. She had never believed in vampyres before, but now she knows that they do exist no matter what she thought before.

Book One of the Hot Damned Series

Fashionably Dead

Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and life was pretty damned good. But as they say, all good things come to an end. I’d honestly love to know who ’they’ are and rip them a new one. One year later, I’m a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing home, and dead people think my home is some kind of supernatural bed and breakfast. Gluing body parts onto semi-transparent people has become a side job—deceased people I’m not even sure are actually there. I think they need my help, but since I don’t speak dead, we’re having a few issues. To add to the heap of trouble, there’s a new dangerously smokin’ hot lawyer at the firm who won't stop giving me the eye. My BFF is thrilled with her new frozen face, thanks to her plastic surgeon, her alimony check, and the miracle of Botox. And then there’s the little conundrum that I’m becoming way too attached to my ghostly squatters... Like Cher, I'd like to turn back time. Now. No can do. Whatever. I have wine, good friends, and an industrial sized box of superglue. What could possibly go wrong? Everything, apparently. All in all, it’s shaping up to be a wonderful midlife crisis...

A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel

It's a Wonderful Midlife Crisis

Released from the magic pokey and paroled with limited power is enough to make any witch grumpy. However, if you throw in a recently resurrected cat, a lime-green Kia and a sexy egotistical werewolf, it's enough to make a gal fly off the edge. Not to mention a mission...with no freaking directions. So here I sit in Asscrack, West Virginia trying to figure out how to complete my mysterious mission before All Hallows Eve when I'll get turned into a mortal. The animals in the area are convinced I'm the Shifter Whisperer (whatever the hell that is) and the hotter-than- asphalt-in-August werewolf thinks I'm his mate. Now apparently I'm slated to save a bunch of hairy freaks of nature? If they think I'm the right witch for the job, they've swallowed some bad brew.

Magic and Mayhem Book One

Switching Hour

I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever. I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed - a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne - my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I'd left and I'd rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank. Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return. But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I don't have to eat my words and my paw. ***This novella originally appeared in the Three Southern Beaches collection released July of 2014. This is an extended version of that story.

Shift Happens Series Book One

Ready to Were

"Welcome to hell. Literally. The Hell where the Prince of Darkness is hotter than Hades, Hell Hounds smell like brownies and the Seven Deadly Sins are addicted to Facebook...Not to mention the soundtrack in the Underworld is Journey. For real. I should have known no good could come from offing my parents in the space of twenty minutes no matter how psychotic and evil they were... Now I find out my family tree includes almost every deity and mythological being alive while Ethan, the one and only love of my undead life has a limited time down under before he turns to dust. In the land of Sin, you'd think I'd get some nookie time with my man, but no. Baby Demons, cousins and grandparents put the kibosh on that. Blue balls are the new normal. What the hell does a half-Vampyre Half-Demon have to do to catch a break? Apparently find a freakin' sword, calm Mother Nature's unmedicated mood swings and make sure Mister Rogers keeps his sticky fingers to himself during weekly poker with the Devil. And I have three days to do it. By all that's unholy, I thought Ethan's Vampyre family was crazy... Trust me, they have nothing on the Demons,"--back cover.

Book Two of the Hot Damned Series

Fashionably Dead Down Under

The Write Hook

What happens when an accountant decides to grab life by the horns and try something new? Apparently a pirate named Dave, a lot of pastel fleece, and blackmail--just to start with. . . Visualize and succeed, Oprah said. I was sure as hell trying, even if my campaign to score a job as the local weather girl had ended in a restraining order. Okay, TV was not my strength. But a lack of talent has never stopped me before. Which is why I've embarked on a writing career. I mean, how hard can it be to come up with a sexy romance? Leave it to me to wind up in a group of porno writing grannies who discuss sex toys and apple cobbler in the same breath. Also leave it to me to leak an outlandish plot idea to a bestselling author with the morals of a rabid squirrel. And only I could get arrested for a jewelry heist I didn't commit--by a hunky cop whose handcuffs just might tempt me to sign up for a life of crime. Maybe I've found my calling after all. . . "For a good time, read Robyn Peterman!" --Michelle Rowen, national bestselling author "A zany over-the-top rompfest." --Lexi George, author of Demon Hunting in a Dive Bar "Outrageous, profane, hilarious, sexy and all kinds of wacky!" --Michelle Rowen, national bestselling author 91,500 Words

How Hard Can It Be?

What does a Vampyre do when the woman he's chased for two hundred years is still trying to get away? He plays dirty. Welcome to my own personal Hell. Where life is steamy and the sex is sizzling. Damn it, I thought the chase was difficult ... keeping the girl alive might prove to be my undoing.

Book 6 Hot Damned Series

Fashionably Hotter Than Hell

With my life back to normal—normal being a very relative word—one would think I’d catch a break.One would be very wrong. With an Angel gunning for me and a Demon in my bed, life couldn’t be more complicated. Not to mention, I’m going to have to make a rather large life choice.Do I want to live forever? Does anyone? Forever is a very long time. Whatever. I’ll think about it tomorrow... or next week... or next month. As long as I have my girlfriends, my dogs, a super-sized case of merlot and my deceased squatters, I’m good to go.My midlife crisis. My rules. If it doesn’t kill me dead first, I plan to have a most excellent midlife crisis.

A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis

Hell on Heels

No one in their right freaking mind ever said midlife was magical. Apparently it is.Or at least mine is...Once upon a time there was a paranormal romance author who caught her husband in a compromising position. One divorce later, she's free and ready to start her new life at forty-two. Right? Wrong. Divorced idiot ex: CheckSaved idiot ex from getting murdered by his new nasty gal pal: CheckIdiot ex accused me of trying to kill him: Umm checkStill seeing my fictional characters: Check Teeny tiny crush on my lawyer: Check checkTown under siege by dark forces: Of courseCrazy enough to try and stop it: You bet With the darkness on the horizon, I need to clear my name and get to work. Forming a Goodness Army is on the top of the list. Shockingly, my army consists of my wacky tabacky smoking aunt, my high school counselor who can shift into a house cat, the town gossip who turns invisible after downing five beers and a few fabulous others with nefarious talents. And of course, a cast of fictional characters...who I created and definitely have an opinion on how I should proceed. What could possibly go wrong? I'm going on pure gut instinct at this point, and I can't wait to see how the plot turns out. I may be wrong. I may be write. Either way, I'll just keep turning the pages until I find my happily ever after.

A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: My So-Called Mystical Midlife Book Two

You May Be Write

After a Luke Skywalker/Darth Vader moment, I discovered I do indeed have a father. He comes with a hell of a lot of baggage, but I’ve decided to keep him. Not only do I have a father, I have a kickass new sister, a ghostly family, and super powers to boot. If you add to the mix that I’m dating the Grim Reaper, it’s a freakin’ party. The only thing standing in the way of my happiness is the Angel of Mercy, though Angel of Misery is more appropriate. She’s responsible for almost everyone I have loved, and who has loved me being taken away. With the help of family and friends, I will track her down and show her exactly what a perimenopausal hot flash looks like in action. Job — Death Counselor — Supergluing ghosts back together and solving their issues is rewarding. For real. Mission — Bring the seriously evil Angel of Mercy to justice without dying or getting anyone else killed in the process.Team — A bunch of certifiable Immortals, including one who re-homes vibrators. Yes, you read that correctly. How to do this? — Wing it. Wine, my Demon boyfriend, a houseful of deceased squatters, and good friends by my side will help. Midlife’s a journey. I will enjoy the ride. The crisis is happening whether I’m ready or not.

My Midlife Crisis, My Rules

Never knew that life after death was far more dangerous than real life. Never in my forty years did I think my new normal would be gluing body parts back onto ghosts and hosting a houseful of dead squatters. Thank God for superglue and a strong stomach. Never thought I’d date the Grim Reaper and that I would be the one to blow it. I mean, how idiotic does one have to be to get dumped by a dude who lives in Hell? Going about business as usual is not usual in any way. No one is who they seem to be... and to be honest, neither am I. What I’d known to be true has turned out to be myth. The Angels are frightening and the Demons are hot. Wait. I mean not. Who am I kidding? The Grim Reaper is very hot—like a freaking pre-menopausal hot flash hot. Now I’m in a race against time and all sorts of unsavory supernatural horrors to save my deceased gay husband’s afterlife. And that was a sentence I never thought would leave my lips. Whatever. I’ll yank up my big girl panties, stock up on wine and lean on my girlfriends as needed. As they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get inebriated... or something like that. With everything to lose, I have no choice but to grow some lady balls. That I can do. I just hope balls will be enough.I had planned to live midlife in peace, not in pieces. Good luck to me...

Whose Midlife Crisis is it Anyway?

Pirate DougWhat in the Chicken of the Sea was I thinking to agree to this half arsed Otherworld Defense Agency mission?I'm the most absurdly good looking Vampire Pirate of the High Seas. Being on the run for my life is very important work... and a freaking full time job. Defending Mermaids from some vicious Sea Hags is going to cut into my pilfering time.Unacceptable.Even though this is a very bad move on my part, I know I'll eventually agree-too many bounties on my arse to refuse, and the thought of a certain Mermaid makes my roger quite jolly.However, Tallulah, the leader of the Mystical Isle Pod of Mermaids, isn't going to be happy to see me... at all. The horrible, sexy, breathtaking woman has been starring in my dreams for too many years to count. Sadly, just when my mind wanders to the really good nookie part, the dream ends with her lopping my Johnson off.I just hope to Hell and back that the Sea Hags have some outstanding booty to steal. If I'm going to have to regrow my tallywhacker, the treasure had better damned well be worth it.Tallulah Running a tourist trap for humans in the Bermuda Triangle had sounded like a fine plan-until it wasn't. With the Sea Hags gunning for our island and ruining our questionably successful business, I did what any desperate Mermaid would do. I called for backup.Of course, getting help from the Otherworld Defense Agency is risky as they don't usually deal with ocean creatures. Whatever. Desperate times call for crappy measures. Chances are they'll send freaking Pirates. I hate Pirates...Well, I hate one Pirate in particular.Hopefully, it won't be the one seafaring jackhole I despise more than any other. Pirate Doug would be an idiot to show his face here after what he'd done. Not only did the dumbass abscond with our treasure, the son-of-a-bitch took my heart with him as well.I'll tear his sorry ass to shreds if he so much as steps even one hairy toe on my island.

Sea Shenanigans Book One

Tallulah's Temptation

Witches and glitches and testicle obsessed cats... Oh my. One dilemma down and approximately 74,876,283 to go. I think being the Shifter Whisperer is hard-or Shifter Wanker as I enjoy referring to my new job-but healing wounded Shifters is easy compared to finding and eliminating the lurking freaking evil. Throw in a ghost, a potentially explosive ex-cellmate, a long lost dad and a smokin' hot werewolf who's convinced he's my mate, and suddenly it's party time-from hell. And this is my mission? Life is getting messy and I don't do messy. With feelings I didn't know I was capable of having, and the word love being thrown around like a football on Super Bowl Sunday, poofing away with a magical twitch of my nose is becoming more appealing by the moment. But to show I'm not a weenie, I'm gonna pull up my big girl panties and hurl some fireballs at Baba Yaga's older than dirt warlock posse if they don't pony up the info I need. If I don't burn the town of Assjacket down while trying to save it, I'm donning my red cape and playing who's the big bad wolf with a for real wolf who's hotter than any fireball. I just pray to the Goddess my heart doesn't get burned in the process...

Magic and Mayhem Book Two

Witch Glitch

Being an undead Princess comes with baggage. And unfortunately, it's not Prada. Getting shredded in the Daily Fang, The Bloody Times and The National Dhampir is par for the course in the life of a royal Vampyre-especially mine. However, that's nothing compared to the sh%tshow unfolding in my life. My nightmares are coming true. Satan is throwing fits about changing diapers.The Baby Demons are full of cryptic messages. Martha and Jane have a sphincter obsession. There's a half-naked Demon in my closet with a mouth as foul as mine. On top of all that, we're hosting Demon-hating royal houseguests. Oh, and did I mention the Vampyre-eating-Zombies on the west coast? With Ethan by my side, along with new friends and a few well-hidden enemies, it's time to adjust my crown, put a few Vampyres in their place, and kick some Zombie butt. I'm dead.Life is still good.I have unconditional love. And on most days, when I'm not covered in Zombie guts, I'm wildly fashionable. Fashionably dead, that is, and loving it.

Book Fourteen, The Hot Damned Series

Fashionably Dead and Loving It

The love of my dastardly immortal life is eating everything that isn’t nailed down and tried to behead me over a chocolate croissant. While I take chocolate croissants very seriously, I do believe decapitation is somewhat harsh. My daughters, the Seven Deadly Sins, are driving me to drink. Getting them mated off and the hell out of Hell is at the top on my agenda. The one thing that is keeping me sane—sane being a relative word—is my upcoming special day. After living a millennium and never knowing the date I came to be, I have sussed out the information from my certifiably insane, pole-dancing mother. She’s swears on her empty head that my birthday is April 1st. Soon, April 1st will mean something. I’m no fool. I plan to make my birthday far more famous than my do-gooder nephew’s. That day in December will be forgotten when I get done making my womb eviction day the most important in the history of the Universe. I shall simply go about business as usual. Punishments must be doled out and chaos must be encouraged. A vacation would be lovely, but there is no rest for the weary... or the evil. Luckily I know how to have an outstanding time doing outrageously bad things. Thank Hades, I’m a handsome bastard. Oh, and Happy Birthday to me.

Fashionably Fooled

It’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature. Really, it’s not. This is simply not my week. Finding out I can’t cook is appalling. My luncheon with the big-boned Immortal socialites went to Hell in a handbasket. I’ve been hoping to join the Fearsome Five and make it the Psycho Six. However, the chances of that happening now are looking slim. Of course, I could force my way in since I’m Mother freakin’ Nature, but I want to be accepted for being me and—because I’m fabulous. It’s bad enough my two sons, God and Satan, are driving me to crazy town while my best friend, Mr. Rogers, is riding in the backseat having a breakdown. It’s definitely not a beautiful day in the neighborhood of Purgatory... God has taken up softball and is impossible to get ahold of just when I need to chat with him about the impending end of the world. And Satan. Satan has agreed to grocery shop with me so I don’t show up at his next poker game in Hell and pole dance. See I’m certain if I find the famous chef Betsy Cocker and learn to cook I can halt the end times. According to the Internet, she resides in aisle three. What I really want is to be left alone with Bill—the love of my Immortal life. And for the world to not come to a cataclysmic and fiery end because that is unacceptable. God tells me the end times aren’t on his schedule, but the strange days afoot and the physical changes in Bill tell me otherwise. And I would know. Normally, I create all the strange days. There is no storm strong enough to defeat me. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Mother Nature. I am the mother humpin’ storm. And it’s not over until I say it’s over.

A Fashionable Fiasco

Fashionably Fabulous

A movie deal for the Devil's autobiography slash romance? Priceless. Maybe I should choose George Clooney to play me in the movie... No. Too gray. As much as I can't see anyone playing me but me, I have far more important issues on my agenda-like finding the woman who stole my soul. Well, not exactly stole... I might have made the switch and taken hers, but the Siren, Elle Rinoa, has my soul nonetheless. Maybe Brad Pitt would be a good Lucifer... No. Too blond. Fate and I are on a crash course with destiny looking for the one woman who can change both of our lives-mine for the better-Fate's for the worse. Never in my wildest imaginings did I think the Devil could have a happily ever after, but now I have hope. Maybe Jamie Dornan would do me justice... No. Fifty shades of wrong. Armed with a tremendously bad attitude and my two grumpy nieces in tow, I will find my woman and make her stay-even if I have to cuff her to me for the rest of eternity. Elle Rinoa is mine and as soon as she sees everything my way we will be fine. Maybe Dwayne Johnson would be an excellent Satan... No. Too bald. Whatever. With my insane mother proposing a disturbingly psychotic plan to find my girl and my father breaking every appliance in Heaven and Hell, I feel I have no choice but to go with my mother's half baked scheme. I've done crazy, but this one will take the cake or put me six feet under-for real. How about Joe Manganiello playing me... No. I'm prettier. My Siren doesn't know what's about to hit her. I play for keeps and I play to win. Of course I cheat, but that's neither here nor there. It's showtime folks.

Robyn Peterman

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