Ricci Buchanan

The Sick Boys are hiding something from me. They want to pretend like I didn't kill my rapist and they didn't help. But we're not ordinary college students, that much has become clear to me, and I'm growing tired of all of the lies and secrets. Their masks are cracking, and, finally, I'm starting to see the grotesque reality underneath. It's far darker than I ever expected, and it's not enough. They know everything about me, so now it's my turn. I fear nothing. Not them. Not the man that I killed or the people who set me up.

There are whispers about what lurks in Witch Knell—the forest where sinners go to die. The villagers call it The Eating Woods because what's taken is never given back. Only those who've lost their senses would dare to go near it. Or the banished. Maevyth Bronwick knows better than to breach the misty labyrinth of trees, but a tragic turn of events compels her beyond the archway of bones to a boundary no mortal has crossed before. One that cloaks a dark and fantastical world that's as dangerous as it is alluring. It's there that he dwells, the cursed lord of Eidolon.

One, two, I'm coming for you. She's my obsession. Three, four, kneel on the floor. I want to possess her in every way. Five, six, I'm up to my old tricks. She knows me as The Portland Serial K!ll3r. Seven, eight, lay in wait. Little does she know I'm watching her. Nine, ten, never to be seen again. Welcome to your worst nightmare, Little Lamb. Who am I? Let me introduce myself. I'm Death. And I have found my Queen.

Abducted and taken to a remote cabin in Alaska, Frankie finds herself at the mercy of four feral men, each with his own dark secrets and twisted desires. With nowhere to run, she must rely on her wits to survive the harsh winter trapped with them. As she delves into their mysterious pasts, she uncovers an insidious evil that feeds on loyalty and uses love as a weapon.

Charming, captivating, seductive—and a cold-blooded killer. I married the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva anyway. I had to, it was part of the deal. Now, I’m faking marital bliss as I tremble with fear, and I cannot wait to be out of the clutches of this ruthless man.

According to the FBI, I was considered a serial murderer after three kills. What do they call me after fifty-two? They call me the Silencer. One final bullet would have been all it took to stop me from taking another soul, and I would have been doing Meridian City a service by pulling that trigger. An angel crying for help stopped me, and that night, I took three lives for her. Then three turned into eight. Then eight turned into twenty. Twenty turned into twenty-one. Twenty-one turned into twenty-three.