Drop Dead Single (Monstrana Paranormal Romance 1)

“Where are we with that new comedy club hour slot?” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly.

To anyone outside the supernatural haven island of Monstrana Kingdom, he would appear as nothing more than a grumpy, middle-aged blond man with crooked teeth and a sullen attitude. But Stasia knew better. Her boss was of the troll variety, descended from the awful creatures of legend that guarded bridges and preyed on the weak traveler. He loved to lord his superiority over her, even if she was the crown werewolf princess. At the network, he was king, and she was nothing but a peon desperate to get her footing in the entertainment world.

“We’re having trouble getting enough sponsors,” Stasia said, jumping to her feet. She towered over the troll by at least a foot. Her dark, curly brunette hair bounced around her head like it had a mind of its own. She blinked her large, honey-brown eyes at him and grimaced. “The witches’ circle is still sore about that interview we ran with a Salem supporter last month and the vampires aren’t interested in sponsoring late night shows unless it features Jimmy Kimmel. Did you know that dude’s a vampire sympathizer? Who knew?”

Mr. Treckle squinted at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. “What’s the problem, then? In my day, the boys in the office would’ve already tackled the issue and found us three new sponsors. Do your job, Ms. Pavlosky, or I will find a man who can do it for you.”

Stasia tried not to let her smile dim. Behind the cheerful expression, she entertained thoughts that sounded much like the wicked jokes of her best friend and co-ruler of the Monstrana crown — Vampire King Viktor Romanov. Throw him in the castle dungeon for a few nights. See if he’s so big and tough after that. Her coworkers certainly wouldn’t mind.

Instead, she took a cleansing breath and nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on that.”

Mr. Treckle harrumphed and gave her one last disapproving scan, starting at her designer leather boots, up her black satin leather pants, and over her baby pink sweater with bows printed on the front. She managed not to squirm under his scathing gaze.

“And Myra wanted to give you the rogue alpha story?” he grumbled, turning his back on her. “What utter nonsense.”

Myra was the station’s head of editing and a fierce vampire to boot. The only person who didn’t cower under Mr. Treckle, she’d taken quite a liking to Stasia ever since the Vampire Bachelor segment they’d ran last year featuring Prince Viktor and his lady suitors. It had been Stasia’s best idea yet and the most rewarding. The country had fallen in love with Prince Viktor and his wonderful mate, Cate. And Stasia had been able to witness her

closest friend fall in love. She could only wish that someday she’d be just as happy as the two of them.

“What story did Myra want me to have?” She tripped over her boots as she ran after Mr. Treckle and knocked some papers off of a fellow worker’s desk. Her mother had always wondered at her lack of grace, a trait inherent to most of the werewolf kind even in human form. The only time Stasia didn’t feel like a clumsy fool was in wolf form. Mumbling an apology, she shot after the troll again and cut off his retreat. “What story, sir?”

He tugged at his pants and growled. “Nothing for you to concern yourself about.”

“But Myra...”

“Myra doesn’t know what’s best for this network,” he snapped.

“Is that so?” A cool feminine voice replied.

A woman about Stasia’s height stepped out from an office doorway and cocked her hip. She wore a skin-tight black pencil skirt and a satin blouse that fit her torso like a glove. A thin gold band circled her right index finger — the customary magical ring of vampires which allowed them to walk in sunlight without burning. Long, strawberry blonde hair framed her pale face and she blinked long black eyelashes at the reddening troll.

“I don’t...I didn’t...” The words came out of his mouth like the last ditch effort of a dying lawn sprinkler. Blood filled his cheeks and he snarled. “If you hadn’t so rudely interrupted, you would’ve seen that I was just about to give Stasia the job.”

“Good, good.” She approached him with the steadiness of a predator. Her eyes narrowed and her red lips formed a disapproving frown. “Because with Princess Anastasia as the lead on this interview, I believe we’d really see public engagement. And with your falling numbers as of late, I’m sure you’ll take all the help you can get.”

Mr. Treckle’s face went from red to purple in a blink. He sputtered out a few mumbled words that sounded suspiciously like troll curses and then threw a nasty glance Stasia’s way. “Don’t mess this up,” he spat. “Check in with me every day. I want to know your every move.” And then he was gone, off to stalk another poor unsuspecting employee, no doubt.

Stasia turned with wide eyes toward Myra and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Is this what I think it is?”

“A spot on our Nightline show,” she answered with a knowing smile. “An interview by the Werewolf Princess Anastasia Pavlosky with the lone alpha werewolf who abandoned his American pack after a harrowing battle with hunters. According to my sources, he’s just resurfaced in the tiny little Monstranian village of Molodoy. This is perfect for you.”

Stasia swallowed hard and felt the energy drain from her body. It had been years since she’d stepped foot in Molodoy. Back then, she’d been young and foolish. A teenager angry with her family and wanting to run away from it all. She hadn’t even had her first moon yet.

But that’s where she’d met him, the only boy to ever truly understand her. Or, at least that’s what she’d thought at the time. But he’d turned out to be just as big of a phony as the rest. And when her parents had finally hunted her down and brought her back home to the castle, she’d tried to erase him from her past. But memories never truly died. They just slept below the surface, waiting to punch her in the gut at the most inconvenient times.

“Is something wrong?” Myra ran her tongue slowly over her top teeth, revealing a set of razor sharp fangs. “I hope you’re not getting cold feet. I thought you wanted this.”

“I do, I do.” Stasia shook her crown of curls and set her jaw in a determined expression. “There’s nothing wrong. This story sounds perfect. What else do we know?”

Myra smiled approvingly and then pulled a slip of paper from her blouse pocket. “Not much, to be sure. I’m not even confident I have a real name for him. William is all my sources uncovered. But they’re pretty sure this is his address. I’m afraid this one is going to be a tough nut to crack. He likes his privacy.”

She took the piece of paper with an address scrawled in dark ink across the front. “What should I do?”

“Go to Molodoy, spend a few days buttering him up. Use your feminine wiles if you have to.” Myra winked salaciously and Stasia felt her cheeks grow pink. “Then, get the interview. I’m afraid Mr. Treckle has only agreed to spare one camera man for this trip.” She made a face and rolled her hazel eyes. “...the cheapskate. He is unfortunately also in charge of your final product, so try your best to work around his brutish behavior.”

“On it.” She saluted Myra with two fingers, the excitement returning to her rapidly pulsing heart.

This could be her ticket off the ground floor of the Lochness Broadcasting Network. Nail this, and she could have her own segment. Her own show. She’d be the Oprah of the supernatural realm. Already, she pictured herself smiling graciously up at an adoring crowd and giving away shiny new cars. A car for you and a car for you!