Dunvegas 2007 [Anthology]

151 Pages·2016·0.83 MB·English

by  D'Arc Bianca

Dunvegas 2007

This book is made available FREE to our readers and may not be reproduced or resold in whole
or in part without permission.

Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Copyright © 2007 S.J. Willing ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Touch Not The Ungloved Cat, Copyright © 2007 Carolan Ivey, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Never Too Late, Copyright © 2007 Xakara, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
I Dream of Desi, Copyright © 2007 Jenna Leigh, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
NightMare in Dunvegas, Copyright © 2007 Sela Carsen, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Vegas Magic, Copyright © 2007 Ember Case, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
The Big Bad Wolf , Copyright © 2007 Bianca D’Arc, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Dunvegas: Alien Attack!, Copyright © 2007 Jody Wallace, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events
or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imaginations and used
fictitiously. Dunvegas is a FICTITIOUS place, existing purely in the authors’ imaginations.

Cover art by Bianca D’Arc

WARNING: The following material contains graphic sexual content and explicit
language and is meant for ages 18 and over only.
IInnttrroodduuccttiioonn

Welcome to Dunvegas 2007, the brainchild of the paranormal authors of
the Beyond the Veil blog. Offered as a free Samhain gift to our readers, we hope
this anthology will be the first of many return visits to Dunvegas, an out-of-the-
ordinary Las Vegas casino/resort modeled after an ancient Scottish castle.

Dunvegas is unlike any other casino on The Strip. It caters to a decidedly
preternatural crowd and plays host to the annual ParaPleasures Expo, the
largest trade show on Earth dedicated solely to the pampering and pleasuring
of vampires, weres, dragons, Fae, mages, and everything in between.

So pack light (Dunvegas has everything you could ever need) and confirm
your reservation. The concierge desk is just beyond the fangs and hellhounds
that guard the portcullis. Just keep your arms and legs inside as you cross the
moat—the mermaids and the Kracken aren’t just for show. They’re real.

And it’s feeding time.

Enjoy your stay!

Dunvegas 2007 Page 3
TTaabbllee ooff CCoonntteennttss

Introduction....................................................................................................3
Table of Contents............................................................................................4
Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 1 by S.J. Willing.............................5
Touch Not The Ungloved Cat by Carolan Ivey ................................................11
Never Too Late by Xakara..............................................................................24
Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 2 by S.J. Willing...........................35
I Dream of Desi by Jenna Leigh.....................................................................47
NightMare in Dunvegas by Sela Carsen.........................................................77
Vegas Magic by Ember Case..........................................................................87
The Big Bad Wolf by Bianca D’Arc.................................................................99
Dunvegas: Alien Attack! by Jody Wallace.....................................................112
Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 3 by S.J. Willing.........................137
About the Authors.......................................................................................148

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S.J. Willing Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 1

TThhiinnggss AArree PPooppppiinngg UUpp IInn DDuunnvveeggaass,, PPaarrtt 11
By S.J. Willing

Sweat sloughed off my forehead like water from Aunt Mabel's cherub
fountain, except the fountain left nothing to the imagination. Once again I
cursed George, my boss, as I pulled the two double-oversized suitcases the last
few yards down The Strip.
Not that I'd been able to get a good look at the glitzy hotels and casinos and
their often half-dressed patronage as I'd walked. I'd spent the last two hundred
yards teetering on the verge of heat exhaustion. Everyone else who was baking
in the Nevada summer along with me wore cool t-shirts with I (cid:60) Vegas on
them, and shorts—or barely existing bikini bottoms—with a great deal of
natural air conditioning. Me? I had to wear the regulation three-piece suit
because “Our Customers like it that way.”
To make matters worse I had to lug everything I could pack for the booth in
two lousy double-oversizers. “Because we don't want to dip into the accounts for
expenses” was George's other favorite expression.
Anyway, I'd made it. Innovative use of the monorail and Shank's Pony had
finally brought me to my destination. This was my first ever trip to Las Vegas
and, if the heat didn't kill me, hopefully not my last. George had sent me here
to represent the Deathly Buzzing's Marital Aids Company at the ParaPleasure
Expo. ParaPleasure was the fifth, ever, expo of its kind and my first, ever,
experience of a convention. So I was suitably nervous. Though I'd been told by
a contact knowledgeable in our industry, with conventions, like men, size did
matter.
It probably explains why D.B.'s sales figures are so low, given we only have
three employees.
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S.J. Willing Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 1
I paused outside the entrance to Dunvegas as a helicopter buzzed overhead
and landed on its roof. A totally black aircraft with black tinted windows—
obviously an important Vamp arriving for the Expo—it dipped, dropped its
cargo and was gone before the public could peek up and say “Oooh!”
Formerly the Mandalay Bay hotel site, the last owners had sold out in a
hostile take-over and left the town running—with some of the new owners
nipping, literally, on their heels. The old 3000+ guest room building had been
torn down and rebuilt as this…
Well, it kind of fitted into Vegas in a gloomy, dismal sort of way. Set back
from the sidewalk by ten feet of dark, eddying water—and, no, I wouldn't
recommend skinny dipping in there. Those eddies came from a variety of
somethings very large, ferocious and hungry. The entrance to the hotel was a
huge gothic effect, complete with a twenty foot tall, arched, gargoyle-mouth
doorway.
Aside from the myriad stone carvings of various mythological creatures
engaging in some form of non-human copulation, the most imposing part of the
gate was the huge white marble fangs. Twelve feet tall, the fangs, marked
through with grey ribbons, had been polished until they reflected images like a
mirror. Well, apart from where the Red Stuff dripped down from them, that is. I
mean, I know it looked like the real thing but surely they wouldn't…
The Red Stuff's journey ended as droplets splashed from the tips of the
fangs into two large shallow basins set beneath them. A host of the local rat
population had come out in force to drink the stuff and ended up stuck in the
sticky rat traps the hotel workers had placed around the bowls. As I watched, a
swarthy, goblin chef carefully selected about thirty or forty of these hapless
creatures and took them into the hotel.
I made a mental note not to try the famous Dunvegas Rats-on-a-Stick
snack from their restaurant. No matter how much they touted it as a health
food.
Out in the 1.5 million gallon aquarium, some early arrivals for the
convention were sporting in the water, making a big splash and entertaining
the tourists. At least I hoped the kraken and mermaid were just playing—the
location being a little too public, really, for them to be making caviar. As usual
I was amazed the public could never see it as more than a clever special effect
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S.J. Willing Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 1
show. Would they ever wise up to the monsters literally tripping past them
every day?
Show over, the kraken reached out and snatched one of the hapless
tourists and bit, crunchily, into the man's head. The crowd cheered. I don't
know why, but Krakens were always ravenous after sex.
Wiping the sweat from my forehead one more time, I pulled the double-
sizers back onto their wheels and trudged the last few steps over the solid oak
drawbridge, noting the razor sharp points of the portcullis as I walked beneath
it. I moved quickly here, as the blades looked deadly enough to cause someone
some real damage should it accidentally fall. Going by the detritus attached to
some of the points, it already had. Two of the infamous Paranormal and
Magical Security guards stood just outside the portcullis.
The PMSers were known throughout the paranormal world as some mean
SOBs. Once past the lethal device and guards, I felt relief as wafts of cool air,
tainted with the odor of undead, washed over me.
The relief lasted only a moment as I remembered my last encounter with a
group of undead. God, I hope my parents didn’t show up this time. They loved
to embarrass me when I met up with a bunch of Paras. The usual bunched up
sensation in the back of my neck grew, only much worse than normal. I always
stressed out at times like these, dreading their return.
Wiping the grisly thought from my mind I stepped into the massive
automated rotating doorway and passed two more PMS guards into the icy
interior of the hotel foyer. Wow, it felt like stepping from the Sahara to the
Antarctic. It felt wonderful. Later on, when I was stuck at the Expo booth, I'd
been advised to wear thermal undies, but right now I wouldn't change the
temperature setting for the world. My contact, Andre, who was a rather
impetuous and knowledgeable satyr, explained to me once why the hotels for
the undead cool the rooms to just above refrigeration level. Without wanting to
seem rude let's say it helps, uhm, keep the body odor down—after all some of
the undead, like zombies, are still rotting, you know.
“Oh, chuppypoo what a lovely place! Have they made you an executive or
did you come to meet a lovely girl?”
Dear Lord, no…
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“Nice place son. How did you get in here? Break a window?” Dad, as usual,
laughed at his lame joke which highlighted, again, the failure he perceives in
me.
“Hi Mom, Dad,” I mumbled softly, struggling to make my way to the distant
reception desk. Hoping I could get there before Mom tried to set me up with yet
another date with a stranger. God, I hope she didn't see Amanda Bast. Mom
would be matchmaking within nanoseconds. Why on Earth did my folks always
appear at these things?
I don't understand the laws of paraphysics enough to explain it but Mom
and Dad invariably coalesce when I meet with a bunch of paranormals like
this. It's as if a gathering of magical entities generated a different sort of energy
which dragged their little ectoplasmic goo blobs down from the spirit pot in the
sky. Indeed, with this amount of paranormals around they looked almost solid
for a change. Well, except for the wispy bit around their feet. Mom always
lamented the fact that being a ghost and having no feet meant she couldn't
wear the fancy shoes she liked.
“I'm here for work, Mom,” I explained, hurrying to the reception area as fast
as I could. Once in my room maybe I could persuade my parents to stay there.
“Well, that's a shame, chuppypoo.” She gave my cheek her 'affectionate
pinch.' “Because there's a lovely girl over there, who’s just waiting for you to
ask her out.”
“Mooom!”
Geesh, parents! I did get a good look at the woman, though, as she was
heading in my direction. Blonde hair frizzed out in an attractive look that
hinted at a kind of halo. Her lips had that tender look of someone dying to be
kissed and her blue eyes wandered around the place as if she owned it. Given
that she was snapping out orders, ten to the dozen, to the other staff present
probably meant she was a manager or something. She was literally spinning on
the spot now and then to talk to something I couldn't see.
She was human as well. Going by the hints of thermal underwear I could
glimpse beneath the cream blouse—nicely filled, but no more than a C-cup—
and the burgundy silk pants, which incidentally matched perfectly with her
lipstick.
She looked so perfect and kissable my own little cock robin was standing
up to take a looksee. This, of course, made my tight pants just that little more
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uncomfortable. Not to mention my mom could probably see it. Man, why can't I
just die and get it over with?
“So, which painting you going to steal?” Dad asked, looking at the paintings
scattered around the foyer. “I think that Van Gogh, there, should sell for quite
a bit.”
Exasperated, I dropped the suitcases and turned to face him.
“Dad! Will you quit—oof!”
Somehow the manager I'd seen earlier collided with me, leaving me in the
now, perhaps enviable, position of lying on top of her on the floor. She'd
somehow, instinctively I hope, wrapped her legs around my waist.
Her eyes were glazed over with a dreamy look and her kissable mouth
pouted in an even more kissable “O.” Even more disturbing, she was rubbing
her crotch against my old cock robin as if she were trying to decide if I kept an
iron bar down the front of my pants.
“My, oh my!” My mom stood beside us fanning her face with her hand.
Embarrassed? As if!
Geesh, I wouldn't put it past her to have arranged this little “accident” from
the start.
“That's my boy!” Dad chuffed proudly, patting me on the shoulder.
While the young lady beneath me continued her dazed explorations of my
South, the sharp click of official heels came to a stop on the marble floor—
roughly five inches from my head.
Straining my head back, to look up, I could see a sour-faced man in a
concierge uniform.
“Are you Roger Ing?” he asked.
From around the foyer I heard a series of titters and chuckles. I ignored my
dad's guffaw.
“Regardless to what it appears,” I said, “I am Roger K. Ing.”
The concierge acknowledged my answer with a sharp incline of his head.
“Very good, sir. If you would be so kind as to follow me. Mr. Fritz, the
owner, would like a word with you.”
Damn, I hadn't even started the convention and already the world's most
evil wizard wanted a word with me. I was dead already, I just didn't know it.
“Okay, let me just…”
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S.J. Willing Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 1
Let me tell you, it's pretty hard to finish a sentence when a very attractive
young lady is lying beneath you and suddenly decides to kiss the socks off you.
I mean, this wasn't an ordinary sort of kiss, this kiss made my toes and, er,
other things curl. This was a kiss that drew me soul and heart into a place
where I didn't want to even dream of being. A kiss like this could almost make
a guy fall in l, lo, lo, lo, lo, llllllove.
All right, I said it! Phew!
I may be a dead man, but wow, at least I died happy.
“Mr. Ing,” the concierge said sharply. “Mr. Fritz is waiting.”

To be continued…

Click here to find out more about S.J. Willing.

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