The Single Undead Moms Club (Half Moon Hollow series Book 4)

“Molly Harper writes characters you can’t help but fall in love with.”

—RT Book Reviews

Praise for the Half-Moon Hollow novels

THE DANGERS OF DATING A REBOUND VAMPIRE

“Harper can always be depended upon for a page-turning story with a lot of frisky, lighthearted humor, and
The Dangers of Dating a Rebound Vampire
is no exception.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Molly Harper continues to be my go-to author when I want a story with a solid plot, lots of snark, romance, and a bit of mystery.”

—
Harlequin Junkie

“There is a compelling romance, lots of humor, and even a couple of mysteries in the latest release to keep your full attention at all times.”

—
Single Titles

A WITCH’S HANDBOOK OF KISSES AND CURSES

“Harper serves up plenty of hilarity . . . [in] this return to the hysterical world of Jane and crew.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“
Clever wit and heart. . . . Fans of the series and readers new to Half-Moon Hollow will enjoy the fun and frivolity.”

—RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars, Top Pick)

“A fun, sexy, fast-paced story.”

—
Fresh Fiction

THE CARE AND FEEDING OF STRAY VAMPIRES

“A perfect combination of smarts and entertainment with a dash of romance.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars, Top Pick)

“Filled with clever humor, snark, silliness, and endearing protagonists.”

—
Booklist

NICE GIRLS DON’T BITE THEIR NEIGHBORS

“Terrific. . . . The stellar supporting characters, laugh-out-loud moments, and outrageous plot twists will leave readers absolutely satisfied.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Molly Harper is the queen of side-splitting quips. . . . Hilariously original with imaginative adventures and one-of-a-kind characters.”

—
Single Titles

NICE GIRLS DON’T LIVE FOREVER

RT Reviewers’ Choice Award winner!

“Hilariously fun.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars, Top Pick)

“The Jane Jameson books are sheer fun and giggle. No, make that chortling, laugh-out-loud till you gasp for breath fun.”

—
Night Owl Reviews

NICE GIRLS DON’T DATE DEAD MEN

“Fast-paced, mysterious, passionate, and hilarious.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars)

“With its quirky characters and the funny situations they get into, whether they be normal or paranormal,
Nice Girls Don’t Date Dead Men
is an amazing novel.”

—
Romance Reviews Today

NICE GIRLS DON’T HAVE FANGS

“Harper’s take on vampire lore will intrigue and entertain. . . . Jane’s snarky first-person narrative is as charming as it is hilarious.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“A chuckle-inducing, southern-fried version of Stephanie Plum.”

—
Booklist

Praise for the Naked Werewolf novels

HOW TO RUN WITH A NAKED WEREWOLF

“Harper is back with her trademark snark, capable heroines, and loping lupines.”

—
Heroes and Heartbreakers

“Alaska is the perfect setting for a protagonist looking to hide out and start over—while encountering some werewolves along the way. . . . The hero and heroine have wonderful and believable instant chemistry and it’s fun to see them learn about each other beyond their powerful attraction.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars, Top Pick)

“Exciting, hysterical, sexy . . . no one writes paranormal romance with as much sarcasm and charm as Molly.”

—
Harlequin Junkie
(5 stars)

THE ART OF SEDUCING A NAKED WEREWOLF

“Harper’s gift for character building and crafting a smart, exciting story is showcased well.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4 stars)

“The characters are appealing and the plot is intriguingly original.”

—
Single Titles

HOW TO FLIRT WITH A NAKED WEREWOLF

“Mo’s wise-cracking, hilarious voice makes this novel such a pleasure to read.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Eloisa James

“A light, fun, easy read, perfect for lazy days.”

—
New York Journal of Books

For Carter and Darcy,
for every time someone asked me when I was going to write a book about my hilarious kids.

A
s usual, I couldn’t get through writing a manuscript without the support of my loving family and ever-patient editorial support. Many thanks to my partner in snark, Jeanette Battista, who held my hand through early-chapter freak-outs. Thank you to Stephany Evans and Abby Zidle, for letting me try something a little outside of my norm.

Thank you to Darcy and Carter for being an inspiration for brilliantly sarcastic children everywhere. Some people may not understand where you learned to talk like that, but I know that you’re everything Yaya said I deserve and more. To Judy Harper, who taught me everything I know about fierce motherhood and snarking your way through back-to-school nights. (Just once, she would have loved to hear
Molly’s a joy to have in class
without it being followed by
but . . .
) To the employees and my fellow parent-teacher organization members at my kids’ school, who are absolutely nothing like the people described herein, thank you for your understanding and patience. To my mother-in-law, Nancy, and my father-in-law, Russell, who are nothing like Libby’s in-laws. Basically, ninety percent of the people in my life are pretty nice.

Becoming a vampire parent is like going through the infant phase with your firstborn all over again. You will be just as unsure of yourself, just as frightened. And at some point, someone will probably throw up on you when you least expect it.

—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting

I
f you have your choice about how to be turned into a vampire, I strongly suggest that you do not post an ad on the supernatural version of Craigslist offering cash to any creature of the night willing to bite you.

I swear, I had my reasons. Really good ones.

Still, waking up in a paper-thin balsa-wood coffin three feet below the surface of the Half-Moon Hollow Little League Field wasn’t exactly the result of a solid plan.

I remember my very first moment as a vampire with shocking clarity. I was dead, without thought or breath or being, and then, suddenly, I wasn’t. Or I
was
, if you have more philosophical leanings.

And in that first moment of existential limbo, I panicked, thrashing out, crying as my knees and elbows smacked against the wooden walls. I was trapped. I could feel the weight of the earth pressing down on the lid of the coffin, pinning me in, separating me from the world—separating me from my son. I sucked in air by the mouthful, hyperventilating. What if I couldn’t break through to the surface? What if I got stuck down here? I forced myself to suck in a deep breath and hold it, to make the most of what air I had in this little box.

Nothing. No distress. No pressure against my throat or lungs. No need to draw another breath. Because I didn’t need to breathe. I was a freaking vampire. The undead. Nosferatu. A nightwalker. The other members of the PTA were going to be shocked. And then scandalized. And then shocked again.

I’d dreamed of this moment for months, ever since I’d come up with my insane “transition” plan. And yet it was so close to my very worst nightmare, taking the literal dirt nap, that I was almost afraid to move. What if I’d miscalculated? What if it was safer for Danny if I stayed here underground? What if, after all my scheming and planning, it was better if I was dead?

It would be easy enough for people to believe. Everybody in Half-Moon Hollow knew about poor Libby Stratton, suburban Half-Moon Hollow’s cautionary tale of twisted probability. In two years, I’d gone from softball widow and mother of a busy toddler to actual widow and cancer patient.

Six months after losing my husband, Rob, in a car accident, I started feeling nauseated and dizzy at random. I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. I bruised easily and fell asleep before I could even give Danny his bath in the evenings. I thought it was stress—I’d just lost my husband, after all. There were bound to be physiological repercussions.

When my doctor said the words “acute lymphocytic leukemia,” I kept expecting her to follow it with “just kidding.” I kept expecting there to be a second test that said it was just anemia or fibromyalgia or something. But the doctor was not kidding, and I was not lucky enough to be dangerously anemic.

At the ripe old age of thirty, I was dying of cancer. My blood was turning on itself. For months, I went through a constantly shifting combination of chemo, radiation therapy, and drug cocktails as the doctors tried to figure out my atypically belligerent case. (Frankly, I was surprised my vampire sire could tolerate more than a few swallows of my toxic plasma.) All while I watched my mother-in-law, Marge, take over my role as mother to Danny. I was too wiped out for bedtime stories and Sunday-morning waffles. I wasn’t strong enough to walk up the bleachers at his T-ball games. I was like a ghost, watching my life go on without me.