A thousand-year old Viking vampire-werewolf-zombie-angel-sorcerer trained as a samurai-ninja-hacker-curator-Navy S.E.A.L. walks into a bar and says, “I have crossed oceans of time to take you to heaven in a flying DeLorean.”
Wow. Stacking the deck much? Some dude — I’m sure he’s got a twelve pack and a man-bun — who’s just EVERYTHING finds the perfect mate: a surrogate for the reader. When did these paranormal romance books get so extreme? How in the devil can anyone take any of this seriously?
I used to read my mom’s old paperback romance books: Danielle Steel novels. What’s wrong with falling for a renowned heart-transplant surgeon these days? Maybe what I remember are the heroines: “a glamorous, well-to-do young writer,” or “a beautiful young journalist.” Yes, there’s a pattern here — only the young get to fall in love ’cause those are the rules — but when you don’t have to worry about money, you can concentrate on everything else you want out of life without consequence (insert sarcastic laugh here).
Maybe I should pitch my story to her. “An eternal twenty-two year old, tethered to a rest home by an insatiable thirst, tasked to protect those who keep her alive and forever forbidden to walk in the sun. Suddenly (because you have to overuse words like that on back cover blurbs), a tall, dark and handsome immortal from wherever offers to take her someplace-or-another and give her whatever he thinks she actually wants but blah, blah, blah…”
Sorry, Danielle (may I call you that?) I don’t think I’m cut out for your amazing brand of one-woman survivor story with so many paranormal elements in my personal afterlife. That said, I’d probably laugh at a thousand-year old Viking vampire-werewolf-zombie-angel-sorcerer trained as a samurai-ninja-hacker-curator-Navy S.E.A.L., not that I’d be hanging out in a bar to begin with. Oh, and he can teleport and move things with his mind, too… did I mention that?
Keep each other safe.