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While 'researching'* for this I discovered the horrible and tragic affliction that affects so many men of the paranormal world: headlessness. And leglessness. For all that they get around a good deal and bed many lusty wenches. (Only, sadly, the books don't call them lusty wenches, instead they prefer horrific terms like 'lifemates' and 'bonded females.' I think I'd rather be called a lusty wench myself.) And, no, I have no idea why this guy is half blue. I suspect it has something to do with sex. And possibly the plague.

* And by research I mean I clicked through as many book covers as I could take. Which wasn't that many, but Amazon is now convinced that I only read either Latin texts or books about sex-mad vampires.


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Ah, the joys of the tasteful sexual politics of these novels. In this one, a guy who I assume is part leopard or else just far too fond of exotic tattoos to be allowed outside on his own, decides the forest in the middle of a fire is clearly the place where loved ones will be found and possessed. Well done, there.

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Mr. Keeper of the Flame besides being cursed with the worst dye job in the history of humanity was also given giant nipples by an evil witch. The inhumanity of it all! Can Ellora and her cave cure him? Can they quench the flame that grows from his crotch? They can and they will!

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The accidental vampire also had an accidental encounter with a guillotine. Tragic! And yet he overcomes it well. I admire a tryer, I do. I also think 'An Argeneau novel' adds a certain desperate attempt at classiness that I appreciate very much.

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No phallic allusions, here, nope: none at all. I also like that although he can clearly not afford clothes he still manages to had a nice belt and armlet thing.

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I think it is impressive how open the paranormal romance scene is to all sorts of love. In this gripping and revolutionary novel the author tells us of Siamese twins who cannot help but love each other in a cold and forgiving world. In case you want to know, Gideon is the close-minded wanker who comes between them.

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Beyond the highland mist there is a Scotland so warm that you won't die of the cold if you leap around with a naked torso and only a kilt wrapped around your manly loins. Plus, if you fondle the right woman a horse will grow out of your head. Very handy and actually how my clan made all its money. Before the English crushed them and took their lands, that is.

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God, this one terrifies me. Is that a religious experience, an orgasm or just an urgent need to go to the bathroom that is crossing his face? What the hell is the Golden Gate Bridge doing there? What is 'Dragon heat'? I do not want to know the answers to any of these questions, by the way.

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Okay, don't try and convince me that this is erotic at all. If a guy with that tattoo and a pet eagle brooded creepily outside my house I'd be calling the police.

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But at least he's sexier than this greasy haired guy standing outside in a lightning storm. I think Darwin's law may take care of him soon enough, though.

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The undead next door clearly hasn't updated his look for the past 30? 40? years. But the bat shadow is a nifty trick. He uses it to con five year olds out of their lunch money. Yeah, he's that sort of vampire.

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Ah, Dark Desire. A terrifying narrative of the heroine finding out about her boyfriend's freakish collection of cherubs. And his dark, dark desire for their plump, stone bodies.

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Sadly, his boss the 'Dark prince' has a fetish for candles. And their gorgeous, phallic flames. It's the way they waver and dart seductively in the room like sexy will o'the wisps. Oh, yeah. But see how open the paranormal scene is to all sorts of love? See? Now, aren't you ashamed of your small-mindedness? Well, you should be.

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Vampires are forever, indeed. Which means there's always time for a little sniffing of the chest just to make sure he's remembered to wash (they didn't have bathrooms in his day, after all. Now, now, don't be judgmental!). Note the subtle 'yeah, babyyyyy, I'm a vampire,' bat tattoo. And I always love it when my loves fall asleep on top of my head.

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Part man, part wolf, he lives for the night. And for clothes and a wee bit of chest hair to call his own. Wouldn't you think a wolf man would be, well, hairier?

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Cruelly dressed by her evil guardian in jeans so tight she needs a knife to get out of them, all she wanted was a full length shirt to call her own. What she got was a vampire who liked to lounge in hallways and be generally useless. So she killed him. Thus began the legend of the vampire huntresses.

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