Julie R

In the beginning, there was Savannah Shaw. Teasing me with a mischievous, merciless grin by day. Crawling through my window with tear-stained cheeks by night. I was ordered to avoid her. Lectured on her misdeeds. Forbidden from seeing her. But my need to protect her was innate. So natural I never questioned it. So visceral I couldn’t fight it.

Since the Final War, I’ve been doing just fine. I have a lovely cave, a darling vegetable patch, forest views . . . and if loneliness sometimes squeezes my aching heart, well, my books have always kept me company. That is, until a pack of hunters chase me from my home and right into the arms of several rather large, rather brutish ex-Army Rangers. And those brutes have the nerve to make me the rudest offer I’ve ever heard. Their protection—for my body.

Sex comes with a price tag. One I’m quite willing to pay. In fact, I prefer it. It’s easier that way, and in my life, I prefer ease. Prefer for most things to be transactional.

Jud Lawson found me stranded in the rain. Broken down on the side of the road in a deserted neighborhood with my piece-of-crap car. I wasn’t looking for a hero, and definitely not one who looks like him. An obscenely hot mountain of a man who screams danger. But I have little choice other than climbing onto the back of his bike.

The night I gave in to Kallum Locke, I sold my soul to the devil. Now that devil has returned for me, a daemon is siphoning off whatever soul I have left. The Harbinger killer has descended on Hollow’s Row amid an active case, where I’ve been hired as a consultant to profile two killers. One offering gruesome sacrifices to obtain an ancient philosophy, and the other a bad omen from my past.

It started out like any other morning on the train - until I became mesmerized by the guy sitting across the aisle. He was barking at someone on his phone like he ruled the world. Who did the stuck-up suit think he was...God? Actually, he looked like a god. That was about it.

Maximo and I, we were definitely a fairy tale. Not the cleaned-up, sanitized ones where life’s problems are solved with a smile and a song. We were the old-school kind. A twisted tales packed with murder, violence, and tragic beginnings. Okay, so maybe we weren’t a traditional fairy tale. After all, Maximo was more villain than prince. He was scarily sexy. Devilishly charming. Controlling, possessive, and dangerous. Especially when it came to me. His little dove. And heaven help anyone who tried to free me from my gilded cage.

I can’t have Elijah Iverson. I can’t have him because he’s my older brother’s best friend. I can’t have him because I broke his heart five years ago; because he’s now engaged to someone else - someone kind and dependable who deserves his whiskey eyes, his soft mouth, his fierce intellect.

I'm not a good man, and I've never pretended to be. I don't believe in goodness or God or any happy ending that isn't paid for in advance. What do I believe in? Money. Sex. Macallan 18. They have words for men like me - playboy. Womanizer. Skirt chaser. My brother used to be a priest, and he only has one word for me: sinner.

There are many rules a priest can't break. A priest cannot marry. A priest cannot abandon his flock. A priest cannot forsake his God. I've always been good at following rules. Until she came. Then I learned new rules.