Your Coffin or Mine, page 1
Your Coffin or Mine
THE MONSTER BAE SERIES
BOOK ONE
JACKLYN HYDE
Copyright © 2024 by Jacklyn Hyde
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
jacklynhydeauthor@gmail.com
Cover design by Phantom Dame, https://x.com/PhantomDameSFW
Interior Formatting by MJ Colgan, Beyond the Writing Cave Publishing, www.mjcolgan.com
Contents
Dedication
Your Coffin or Mine Playlist
Trigger Warnings
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
This book is for anyone who ever made gimme hands at any vampire character ever and wished one would come play with their fun buns
This is also your sign to not take this book seriously. Crack on
Your Coffin or Mine Playlist
Shadow – Livingston
Miley Cyrus – Flowers
Adele – Oh My God
Apashe – Lacrimosa
Remo & Selena Gomez – Calm Down
Post Malone & Doja Cat – I Like You
Taylor Swift – Anti Hero
Ed Sheeran – Shivers
Machine Gun Kelly & Travis Barker – Girl Like You
Harry Styles – As It Was
Shawn Mendes – Treat You Better
Zayn & Sia – Dusk Till Dawn
Taylor Swift – Shake it Off
Ed Sheeran – Bad Habits
Sleep Token – Granite
Maneskin – The Loneliest
Teddy Swims – Lose Control
Bobby Pickett – Monster Mash
Ed Sheeran & Justin Beiber – I Don’t Care
Click here to open Spotify Playlist.
Trigger Warnings
Infidelity not between the MC
Self-deprecation and mild body shaming
Mild biting and blood play
Alcohol consumption
Prologue
VLAD
“You won’t even know they’re here.”
I scoff, leaning back in my favorite chair as I point a bony finger at my one and only friend in the world. Although, I can’t say I won’t be reconsidering our relationship after this. “Doyle, it’s a construction crew. I’m going to know they’re here.”
“It is necessary.” Doyle’s brows furrow above his scowl.
“Necessary? You’re turning my ancestral home into some cheap, tawdry hotel,” I grumble. “You know how I hate inns.”
He runs his fingers through his cropped brown hair, pushing it away from his handsome, bearded face. His chiseled features are often twisted into a smirk, though, which ignites in me the desire to punch them.
Doyle glances up to the heavens, muttering to himself, complaining about how much of a righteous ass he believes me to be. The sorry sod should know better. Those pearly gates are forever out of reach for the both of us, damned as we are. Doomed to be alone forever.
“You didn’t like your ancestors when they were still breathing, and it’s not an inn, Vlad.” He waves his hands in a circle before shrugging. “It’s more like a hotel, a bed and breakfast where guests can stay in a real castle and feel better about their mundane existence.”
The House Tepesh has survived centuries of war and famine, and Doyle wants to make it into some pleasant holiday stay for brainless humans. If only I had a smidge less ancestral pride, I would’ve been done with the crumbling heap ages ago and traveled the world—but no. Instead, I’m rotting here, and for what?
It is a question I’ve pondered for centuries and I’m still no closer to an answer.
“Breakfast? You’d turn my ancestral home into some common lodging house?” I grimace, wishing he would leave me in peace. I rub at my head, growing more annoyed by the second as coarse white strands pass through my fingers. How long have I been sitting here?
“The financial advisor says the best way to generate income is to glam up our assets,” he continues, and I blink in horror as I take in each and every dreadful word.
It’s blatantly obvious what is happening to his mental state. Each time Doyle intrudes on my solitude with his ideas, it becomes clear his mind has been defiled and deteriorated by humans. Years of interactions have affected my protégé and made him more like one of them. Brainless.
“Glam?” I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous word.
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say, like an imbecile?” He throws up his hands in despair, as if I have done something inherently wrong. Me.
Three hundred years and he has learned nothing.
“It means make it chic. You know, give it a makeover. Glam it up so people will want to stay here. Apparently, we could rent a room for several thousand pounds a night with just a little investment.”
My gaze slips across the weathered stone walls of my dimly lit bedroom. Then it drifts over the ornate hand-carved wooden wardrobe, the soothing fireplace, and the aged, embroidered curtains that have been here for decades. Suddenly I fear it being covered in gaudy wallpaper, cheap sheets, and commercial soap.
“Chic?” I turn my head back to him, my eyes widening in alarm. “When did we employ a financial advisor? He, who?”
Doyle sighs heavily, rubbing his hand down his tan face. “It’s a human.”
“I knew it. What the hell is glamming it up supposed to mean? It’s a castle, not some cheap prostitute you can just throw rouge on. I will have to respectfully decline.”
“You can disrespectfully decline if you like, but it won’t change anything.” Unbuttoning his double-breasted suit, the pompous bastard rolls his eyes and heads to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy.
“He’s very good at what he does, and I trust him. The castle could use some renovations, anyway. The electricity doesn’t always work, and it doesn’t even have proper plumbing. It means updating things. Making them look nice. Maybe returning the castle to its former glory. The crew is already on their way.”
“This is beyond humiliating,” I huff out. “And where did you get your suit made? You look like a fucking peacock.”
He squares his ostentatious tie. “Frank had it made for me, and stop changing the subject. This is important.”
Important to a man who dresses like a peacock. “I wonder how much mercenaries are paid these days?”
Doyle shakes his head, letting out an exasperated sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let me level with you, ancient one. You don’t have a pot to piss in. You’re not eating, sleeping, or even bathing from the smell of it. You’re one step away from a shallow grave except you can’t die. Don’t you see the problem here?”
I straighten as his words sink through the thick walls of my skull and my spine pops into place. I glare at him because that’s the only thing I’m capable of. “I’ll have you know I bathed only last week.”
“Falling into a pond doesn’t count,” he says in an annoying, sing-song voice that makes me want to push him out the window. “We’re not hiring a damn mercenary. Look at yourself, Vlad, you look like the Crypt-Keeper.”
The small amount of blood left in my veins boils. “How dare you!”
I push myself up from the plush cushions of my chair, my arms shaking as I bring myself to my full height. I tower over Doyle for about three seconds before my legs buckle and I swiftly collapse to the floor.
Doyle chuckles, and if I could move a fraction of an inch, I’d destroy him. But he’s right. My body is severely malnourished, and I’ve aged a millennium over the last century—yet I still can’t bring myself to care. I will remain in this castle until it falls to ashes, or it’s turned ghastly pink and full of glam.
The most powerful vampire in existence and, at nearly six hundred years old, I am allowing my ancestral home to be turned into a hotel. It is despicable, distasteful, and everything dreadful.
I sigh against the dusty green carpet, my eyes closing o
“No pink it is. I’ll handle everything, Vlad. Don’t you worry, it’ll be totally fab.”
Stake me now.
Chapter 1
AUBREY
“We’re all going to die.”
I may or may not have said that out loud as my pink manicured nails claw into the armrests of my chair and I stare wide-eyed at the tiny door in front of me. Blonde strands of my hair fall in front of my face until I almost inhale them, but I’m too terrified to swipe them away. Alarms are blaring and the pilots have been shouting for, oh, a good three minutes now.
Me? I’m box breathing like my life depends on it and wishing like hell I hadn’t picked the trash-panda plane. Why did I agree to this?
Hours ago, I gushed over how cute it was. Cute little airplane that was just so adorable, but no, it’s a raccoon. Oh so cute and fluffy, but garbage is its only purpose in life, and now I’m riding in a disaster waiting to happen.
If only I had noticed the duct tape. If only I had noticed a lot of things. I was supposed to be safe on the ground in Tahiti doing a photo shoot with Chad, but of course the little plane I naïvely boarded has smoke billowing out its ass and I am #single.
Mistakes have been made, people.
The engine emits a strange grinding sound and I squeal, letting go of the armrest to grab my phone. Tears well in my eyes, making it hard to see as I type out “I love you” to Grams. I cry out when something smacks me in the eye and my phone drops to the floor. Damn it.
Grunting, I lean down and make a grab for it before I realize there is a freaking oxygen mask dangling above me. I stare at the thing in utter panic. Why have I never paid attention to how to use these properly?
It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.
This is so not okay.
My hands shake as I snatch the mask hanging from the ceiling and pull it roughly over my face. I breathe in the fresh shower-curtain scent and glance out the window. Every part of my body freezes. Is that . . . is that fire? I’m pretty sure that’s not meant to be there. I suck in a hard breath.
Worst day ever.
“Please, please! I just want to get off the plane. I’m not ready to die,” I plead, praying whatever god is listening may be open to negotiations.
Tears leak from my already red and puffy eyes, and for the millionth time in the last twelve hours, I start going over my life choices.
Mistake number one: trusting a man who gets irate with shop attendants when his favorite products are out of stock.
Mistake number two: saying yes to a man who clearly thought it was perfectly acceptable to fuck not one, but two people at the same time, two months before our wedding day.
Mistake number three: letting my best friend, Bernadette, talk me into exchanging my ticket to Tahiti for a one-way trip to Romania, when I have never traveled anywhere by myself.
The plane jolts and I scream, the sound muffled inside the mask. I squeeze my eyes shut, my harsh breath the only thing I can hear over the roaring in my ears before the plane jerks to a stop. Blood rushes, thundering in my skull, and one second passes, then two, before adrenaline kicks in, sending me into overdrive. My fingers fumble, but I manage to get the lock undone and stand up.
Off the plane. Off the plane. OFF the fucking plane. The mantra plays in my head on repeat.
Dizziness floods my brain from standing up too quickly. I rub my eyes, shaking my head to clear it just as strong hands catch me around the waist. I scream on instinct.
“Madam! Madam! You are safe,” a male voice shouts in my ear. “Just breathe, madam.”
Opening my eyes, I look down at my hands, currently squeezing one very confused airline attendant, and I can’t stop shaking.
He freezes before giving me an awkward pat on the shoulder and I crack, breaking down with more emotion than I have in months. I grab him into a hug, latching onto him for dear life. “I’m alive.”
“Madam.” The soft but stern voice snaps me out of the breakdown, and my sobs turn to hiccups. I pull away, eyes fixed on his white shirt in alarm. Mascara and tears cover it.
“Oh my god! I am so sorry.” Without thinking, I spring into action, rubbing my hands over his chest to try and get it off. “I am so, so sorry.”
My gaze darts up from the mess I’ve made of his shirt to find his eyes wide in fear, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m touching him or he’s worried I’ll sue for the death-trap plane.
He recovers quickly, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Iz alright, yes? We have a taxi waiting on you to take you wherever you wish for ze inconvenience,” he says, gesturing to the side door leading to the airport tarmac.
I scramble to get off, only to find out minutes later that they’ve lost my luggage! What a nightmare this is turning out to be. All I have is my handbag and carry-on, which contains my pajamas, slippers, makeup, and toothbrush, in case there was a delay. Stupid plane.
An hour later, I’m sinking into the back seat of a taxi and snowflakes are falling outside the window. The Romanian countryside is calm and peaceful—the exact opposite of what I’m feeling. I suck in a hard breath, trying to calm down.
What am I going to do?
For years I’ve put up with Chad’s shit—the frat parties, the pills, bailing him out of jail more times than I could count—all on the promise he was going to get his act together. But he didn’t.
The tears start up again and I wince, rubbing my eyes. Crying is stupid. Men are stupid.
I drop my head back on the headrest and stare into space. How could I have not seen this coming?
My phone vibrates and I take a deep breath in preparation for the infinite questions and total disregard for boundaries I’m about to endure. But there is no hashtag or grand gesture that can help him come back from this.
Suddenly, I wish my phone provider didn’t have international service.
I swipe to answer the call, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice. “Mom. I really can’t deal with much more right now.”
“Aubrey, honey, men sometimes do these things, and it’s best to just look the other way. They eventually come to their senses. Now, your father says he has had a stern talk with Chad and wants you to come home—”
The. Freaking. Audacity.
“Mommm,” I groan.
What would be the point in even telling her? Like, “Hey, Mom. Was almost in a plane crash today.” Her reply would probably be to ask if I want white or cream cards for our wedding invitations. That’s how concerned my parents seem to be with my life at the moment.
“He says he is sorry.”
“Mom, he was screwing Brad up the ass while Ashley was riding his face.”
She sighs heavily, and not because of what Chad did. Nope, not Emma Townsend. My mother would rather I never mention what he’s done because then it makes it real, and we can’t have that. It would ruin the perfect image she tries to portray at all times.
“There’s no need to be crass.” She sighs again. “Just come home and we can sort all this out. We just want—”
“I highly doubt a stern talking to will change anything. I’m done, and I am sorry you won’t be getting what you always wanted.”
“Aubrey Lynn Townsend, what has gotten into you? Now, that is not true. We just want what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me?” I scoff. “You just want me to marry him so you and Daddy can have what you always wanted: a merger.”
My father and his business partner, Ethan Hawkins, have been cooking up a plan for their company for as long as I can remember. The stipulation being that I marry Chad and pop out tiny little heirs to their multimillion-dollar empire.
It’s basically an arranged marriage with all the finesse of a modern-day fairytale. As a result, Chad used me to gain notoriety and fame while my father stands to gain equal shares of the company. Everyone lives happily ever after. Except for me.
