My Secret Vampire by Anna Katmore

Dracula's great-grand-nephew is sent to romania to fend for his own and learn how to be a real vampire.

My secret vampire

For nineteen years, I was just an ordinary Californian guy. Until a car crash almost killed me, and Count Dracula suddenly stuck his teeth into my throat.

As his great-great-grandnephew and rightful heir, he ships me off to freaking Transylvania to learn how to be a vampire the hard way: with no staff to eat, no chance to escape, and no Wi-Fi. It’s just the place to go mental. And starve.

But there’s this girl. Abigail… For some reason, she likes to roam the dark and musty castle. She claims to know nothing about vampires, but I swear she tries to kill me every damn time we meet. I would have invited her to be my dinner last night if she hadn’t fled with something very dear to me. My fang.

Now, I’m waiting for sundown to find her and get my tooth back. And then I’ll kill the werewolf that howls in the forest, because that’s actually the one condition under which Uncle Vlad allows me to return home.

But the wolf problem is harder to solve than expected. And Abigail’s cookie-like scent is making me do really stupid things…

Genre: FICTION / Romance / Paranormal / Vampires

Secondary Genre: FICTION / Romance / Paranormal / Shifters

Language: English

Keywords: vampire, dracula, castle, human girl, teen romance, paranormal, shifters, werewolf

Word Count: 101,000

Sample text:

“If you can light this match, you can stay and show that you’re willing to learn to control the powers given to you.”

“Okaaay…” I’m certainly missing the catch. I search his face for any hint of what he really means, but his features are unreadable. So, I reach out for the match in his fingers.

Uncle Vlad pulls his hand away. “No. With your mind.”

Aaaaand, there it is. My stomach slides to my feet. Vladimir Dracula can burn a city to ashes with only his will. He juggles fireballs while deep in thought, and in the past ten years, he hasn’t used a match to light the fireplace once.

I, on the other hand, believe that pocket lighters are there for a reason. I have never done anything even halfway close to this with my mind. Ever.

“So?” he prompts, brows lifted.

All right. Get your shit together, Quentin. This can’t be so hard. I take a deep breath through my nose, push up the sleeves of my white hoodie, lean forward with my elbows braced on my knees, and concentrate on the tiny, red head of the match. My hands ball into fists, my molars grind against each other, and my eyes may pop out any second, but the damn little stick won’t go up in flames.

I glare at it with more intensity. The muscles in my neck cramp from the effort. Heck, with this much channeled power, I should be shooting lasers from my eyes. Fire! I command. Burn! Burn, you little shit! Burn, burn, burn!

A grim smile creeps across my uncle’s face. “If you do whatever it is you’re doing just a little longer, you’ll likely detonate right there on the spot.”

Letting go of all the tension in my body, I slump back. “Yeah, very funny!”


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Already translated.
Translation in progress. Translated by Valeria Leale
Already translated. Translated by Lissethe Herrera
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