Mar 17 2017 12:00pm

Vampires Need Love, Too—and Can Find It on V-Date?

Dating the Undead by Juliet Lyons

We love paranormal romance and who hasn't fantasized about finding their own vampire soul mate! Well, thanks to V-Date, a website designed for Juliet Lyons, that fantasy can become reality... sort of! 

In Juliet's upcoming book, Dating the Undead, there's a popular dating site, and none like us mere mortals are used to! It's called V-Date and it's the place where mortals and vamps alike who are struggling to find dates in the real world, can find love in a cyber setting! We got a chance to peruse the V-Date site and man, we're wishing some of these vamps were actually up for grabs! 

Sadly, these aren't real profiles, but they're fun all the same! 

What vampire would you want to get matched up with? Who is your vampire soul mate? 

Tell us about it in the comments! 

And for those of you who are ready to take a step further in this relationship, start reading Dating the Undead below with an exclusive excerpt of a selected scene!

Get a sneak peek at Juliet Lyons' Dating the Undead (available May 2, 2017) with an exclusive excerpt!

His green eyes latch on to mine, tension crackling between us like static, and for the first time since the night we met, I allow myself the luxury of a full-on stare. I trail a gaze over his body, svelte yet masculine, a sharp outline of muscle straining beneath his T-shirt. Not for the first time, I ache to be naked in his arms. I shiver, turning back to Ollie’s singing in an attempt to break the spell. Suddenly, it feels as though it’s just the two of us in the whole bar. Even the thumping music is muted by his presence, people around us paling into the shadows like ghosts.

When I turn around, Logan’s heavy-lidded eyes are still fixed on my face. This time, I don’t look away.

“So, what’s the deal with you and the redhead on stage?” he asks suddenly.

“You mean Ollie, my friend?”

He nods. “Are you just friends?”

I frown. Usually, I’d answer cryptically. I’m not above games when it comes to dating, but something about his furrowed brow, the tight set of his jaw, tells me he’s serious.

“Just friends,” I say. “Since we were nine years old and I rescued him from the school bully.”

Logan chuckles. “I can picture it now—Silver the nine-year-old firecracker. I bet you’ve always had that tiny mark of scorn just above your left eyebrow.”

“It did take two lunchtime supervisors to pull me off,” I say proudly. “What mark?”

He points to a spot above his brow. “Here. It pops up whenever something pisses you off, which in my company, seems to be all the time.”

“You’re not pissing me off now,” I say, sipping my drink. “You didn’t New Year’s Eve either. Mind you, that was before you started stalking me.”

Smiling, he puts his glass down on the table beside us. “It’s only stalking if you don’t want to jump the bones of the man following you.”

“Have you always been a cocky bastard?” I ask. “Or is it just for my benefit?”

The dimples flash. “Not always.”

“What were you like as a kid? I mean, presuming you can remember.”

He frowns. “I was the tortured type—dark, brooding, sensitive.”

“Christ. What happened?”

Laughing, he shakes his head. “Somewhere around the turn of the twentieth century, I got over it.”

“How did you become a vampire?” I ask, instantly wishing I hadn’t. The smile drops from his face, sadness passing across his features like a gray cloud blocking the sun.

Just as he opens his mouth to answer, a smattering of applause breaks out around us, signaling the song has ended. All at once, despite the chatter and noise of the bar, the room feels too quiet. His green eyes flash luminously as he takes the empty glass from my hand and puts it carefully on the table beside his.

With the slow grace of a dancer, he extends an arm toward me, saying in a low, gritty voice, “Let’s get out of here.”

Mesmerized, I take his arm, and he pulls me through crowds of drinkers, out onto the street.

Outside, he fiddles with my jacket, drawing it across my chest and fastening the zipper to keep out the cold. The road is still busy, cars rolling by, headlights strung out like yellow fairy lights. Dozens of workers are heading home, a frantic itch in their hurried strides. He grabs my hands, pulling me into the dark entrance of a closed shop. My breathing is shallow as he leans closer, his clean, soapy scent a balm to the pungent odor of exhaust fumes. My hands move to his chest, tracing the lines of muscle over his flimsy, gray T-shirt.

“Silver,” he whispers.

The sound of my name in his mouth wields a strange, illicit power over my body. I feel soft and hard all at once, like molten steel. “Yes?” I say, the word tight in my throat.

We hang, suspended in time. In the oddest way, looking into his eyes is like staring into a mirror. I see desire but with a cloud of darkness stretched out behind it, a shadow in the midday sun. And then the thread holding us apart snaps, and his lips land on mine, my mouth already opening to let him in.

Our tongues collide, softly this time, stroking in a familiar rhythm, as if we’ve kissed not just twice, but hundreds of times before. His hands move to my face, cupping my jaw, thumbs rubbing circles on my cheekbones. A wild thought pops into my head: This is how it must feel to kiss someone you love. It’s as if time has ceased to exist, and all the city sounds distant sirens, car horns, the heavy drone of double-decker buses as they hurtle along—blur into the background.

I have no idea how long we stay kissing in the shop doorway. It could be seconds or hours, but eventually we break apart, his green eyes dark with indecipherable emotion.

“You’re not bad at kissing, I suppose,” I murmur, watching his eyes as they crinkle around the edges.

“High praise, Silver,” he whispers back. “For the record, you’re not so bad yourself.”

We’re still smiling and staring when a loud voice cuts in, “Get a room, for Christ’s sake.”

We look around to see a street sweeper in a high-visibility jacket, standing with his broom, peering into the doorway. “It’s bad enough having to deal with the druggies,” he says, shaking his head, “without adding love’s young dream into the mix.”

Logan laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the shop. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat in his direction.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The man is still grumbling to himself as we laugh, darting into a side street.

Copyright © 2017 by Juliet Lyons.


Learn more about or pre-order a copy of Dating the Undead by Juliet Lyons, available May 2, 2017:

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Juliet Lyons is a paranormal romance author from the UK. She writes kind-hearted heroes and snarky heroines with sass to spare. Her debut series ‘Undead Dating Service’ revolves around interspecies dating site Expect lots of humour and lashings of steam as humans venture forth into the tight-knit London community of centuries old vampires and discover that dating the undead can be a risky business.






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