Better Off Dead Novels & Stories

From bestselling author Emily Goodwin comes the epic start to a sexy and exciting paranormal romance series... Never trust a vampire. I might have learned that lesson the hard way. But when I find myself in a vampire-owned bar, I don’t have much of a choice. With vampires still trying to assimilate into mainstream society, I’ve done Lucas King a favor by stopping one of his patrons from draining a human dry in the basement of his bar. A favor he'd prefer to repay in bed than in kind. Vampires and witches have had more than a jaded history, and when witches start showing up dead in surrounding covens, all signs point to something old and powerful. Something that knows the ways of the witches.Something--or someone--like Lucas. What's worse than trusting a vampire? Falling in love with one.Dead of Night a vampire/witch romance and is book one in the Thorne Hill series.

Alpha Darell doesn't want a mate, and neither does he want to settle down as a family man. “Why have a wife when you can have many girlfriends?” He'd normally say. And unsurprisingly Darell's 27th birthday, which is also his Mate Selection day, becomes the happiest day of his life. Why? The Priest says his ordained mate is dead. But this joyous day soon becomes Darell's worst, when he meets his so-called dead mate—A vampire woman who had just woken up from a deep many years ago.

Kate Horton tries to comfort a depressed patient with suicidal tendencies to make herself look good. However, all she does is aggravate the patient so much that he jumps off the building. Kate cries and says, "I only wanted him to know how much his mother loved him…" To help her get away with it, my boyfriend and professor conspire to make me her scapegoat. I'm cyberbullied, fired, and betrayed by everyone I know. In the end, the patient's family even push me off the balcony. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day when Kate tries to save the patient. I'm going to stop her—she's the one who deserves to die, not innocent others!

Grim Marie knows far too much about the wolves of the world, a world where little girls go missing. After all, she had married one before she/he showed his claws, and what that wolf did to her little girl was unforgiveable. Grim Marie isn’t certain if she can ever forgive herself for putting her Little Aleta in harm’s way. When Grandmother becomes ill, Aleta offers to take the bus through the concrete forest to Grandmother’s house to bring her some goodies. She knows the way. What could possibly go wrong? In this modern day retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, the wolf takes to the city streets to capture his prey, but the hunter is close behind him. With Grim Marie on the prowl, the hunter becomes the hunted. ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

My husband cheats on me with a university student when our daughter is two years old. My mother-in-law says I'm unworthy of being a woman. So, I back out, and he marries his mistress. When my former father-in-law cheats on my former mother-in-law, she gets a stroke. My ex-husband ends up behind bars, and his mistress abandons their child to be with another man. I stand before my former mother-in-law's bed. "Ask your new daughter-in-law to care for you!"

After working abroad for several years, I returned home, only to have my parents arrange a blind date for me. He was tall and strikingly handsome, honest in character, steady in demeanor, and came from an excellent family background. In short, the perfect candidate for a husband. I told myself that sooner or later, marriage was inevitable, so I settled on him. The day before the wedding, I went to the church—only to be stunned by the sight before me. The entire place had been transformed into something sinister and grotesque. The walls were plastered with terrifying photos of corpses, the floor littered with wax figures of severed arms and legs, and even the flowers had been dyed black, dripping with blood-red stains. But the most infuriating part was the image hanging right at the center of the church—an AI-generated picture of me, pinned beneath my fiancé, as he whipped me. My whole body trembled with fury. I stormed at the staff still working on the decorations, ordering them to stop immediately. Just then, his best friend, Nina Cullen, walked in. "Don't stop. Yves prefers this wedding style." I froze, staring at her in disbelief. "How is that possible? Who in their right mind would decorate something as joyous as a wedding with gore? This is insane!" Nina only gave a cold, arrogant laugh. "That's the theme. If you want to marry him, you'll have to accept it." Speechless, I immediately called Yves. "Yves, I'm not interested in getting married in a haunted house. You'd better restore the church to normal; otherwise, this wedding is off."

My fiance's precious childhood crush, Amber Sweeney, was in a political union with the infamous Julian Grant, heir to the Grant family empire and a notorious playboy. Unable to stand the thought of Amber being "sacrificed", Ryan Carter barged into her wedding to stop it. They registered their marriage that day, making headlines across the city. The whole of D.C.'s elite waited to watch me and the Grant family become the city's biggest joke. What they didn't expect was that on the very next day, Julian would roll up to my company in his high-key sports car, leaning against the hood like he had all the time in the world. "Your fiance stole my bride. You'll be repaying that debt by marrying me. Fair trade, right?" I stared at his blazing red hair and wild grin, and smiled back coolly. "Sounds fair to me."

When Sylvia Reed postponed our wedding for the fifth time, I found a pregnancy test report in her bag and decided to force the issue. Then I saw a trending local post. A woman rolled up her sleeves, baking cookies. Beside her, a man bent down to tease a child. One look was enough. I recognized the scar on her wrist. It was in the exact same spot as the one Sylvia got years ago when she took a knife for me. The scarf draped over the man's shoulders was one I'd custom-made for Sylvia. Our initials were stitched into it. The sight burned. I thought about how Sylvia had been glued to her phone lately, and how I'd heard a baby crying through it. Ten minutes ago, she'd sent me a voice message. "Luke, something urgent came up at the company. I can't make it back to try on the suit with you. Maybe we should postpone the wedding again? Next year. We'll definitely do it next year." But I'd already waited seven years for this wedding. I took off my groom's suit and cut it to pieces. Then I wiped my eyes, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in seven years. "I'm short a bride for my wedding. Interested?"

Seven years ago, in order to accompany the fake heiress abroad for her recovery, Timothy Gibson casually signed the divorce papers I handed him. Without even turning around, he sneered at me. "Naomi, don't use such underhanded tactics to keep me around. Esther can't live without me abroad." Seven years later, he blocked my path with his car, and he spoke to me with an air of superiority. "Grandpa is critically ill. His only dying wish is to hold his great-grandchild. "Come back with me, behave yourself, and give birth to an heir. You will still be Mrs. Gibson." I looked down at my shoes. I recalled the time I stood in the rain and begged him not to leave. I even collapsed in the rain. In the end, all it got me was a dismissive 'you're making a scene' from him. Timothy still thought my life revolved around him. He had no idea that without the title of Mrs. Gibson, I had lived very well these past seven years. The very day after he signed the divorce papers, I married someone else. Gently touching my stomach, which wasn't even showing yet, I smiled and said, "Mr. Gibson, I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you. I am having a baby, but it isn't yours."