Okay, I might be seriously under-qualified for the job of Enforcer, I'll admit. The Enforcer is supposed to be a human, for starters. It's usually an ex-special forces guy with big muscles and even bigger balls, and a knack for sorting out petty squabbles between the witches and vampires and shifters in the city. And I'm just a technically dead nail tech—an animated skeleton with a talent for illusion magic and gold gel manicures. But I've recently discovered that I can manifest some pretty big muscles of my own. I've already got the big balls, so I'm halfway there.

Immortality sucks. Just ask Imogen Gray—over two hundred thousand years old and teetering on the edge of total insanity. All throughout history, she's been hunted by an ancient creature who finds her and rips her to pieces every time she dares to access her deepest powers. But Imogen always regenerates. Slowly. Painfully.

The horror of waking up from the best dream ever and remembering you're a monster is indescribable. My soul is screaming for mercy, for forgiveness, for redemption…but I know I'll never get it.

Mary Frances Talbot—Frankie—is a necromancer, probably. Hard to say since she never met her parents. She can see the dead, talk to the dead, and a few other things that aren't strictly legal. It's fine. No worries. As long as she doesn't get caught. The whole not getting caught thing was going well until Samuel Harrow blew back into town wearing a Savannah Police Department uniform. He might be a witch, but he hates magic. He's not a fan of Frankie either. Which explains why he's her ex.

Someone paid the vampire king’s creepy son to turn me into one of the bitey undead. I’m not hanging about to find out who or why. The vampires want me to stay with them for one hundred years of indentured servitude but I have this thing about following orders so I ran from the streets of London to the wilds of Alaska. I have an eidetic memory and a can-do attitude. I can-do anything to get away from the vampire king. So when the Sheriff of Portlock, a hidden paranormal town, invites me to be his assistant, I say sure thing. It beats servitude hands down.

Ellie Gleason has protected the town of Samford, Alabama, for decades. It's not as glamorous as her glory days as the WitchLight Hub, but it keeps her active during her golden years. Life is good. Well, it's okay. It could be bloodier with a smidge more gore, but retirement is meant to be low-key. It's not like her fragile bones could handle the strenuous hunt for monsters anymore, even if her current duties are dull as dishwater. But when her great-nephew shows up on her doorstep in tears, begging for help, Ellie straps on her beloved shotgun, Bam-Bam, and gets the coven back together.

One moment, Susan Moore had a perfect life—a handsome husband, a fabulous career, wonderful friends, and a gorgeous home in Pacific Heights, San Francisco. The next minute, it was all gone. And Susan found herself in a straitjacket, locked in a padded room.

When the deadly werewolf Asil is gifted five blind dates by some anonymous “friends,” his reclusive life will never be the same, in this enthralling novel in stories from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Mercy Thompson series.

Welcome to The Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar. I'm Sam Quinn, the werewolf book nerd in charge. I run my business by one simple rule: Everyone needs a good book and a stiff drink, be they vampire, wicche, demon, or fae. No wolves, though. Ever. I serve the supernatural community of San Francisco. We've been having some problems lately. Okay, I'm the one with the problems. The broken body of a female werewolf washed up on my doorstep. What makes sweat pool at the base of my spine, though, is realizing the scars she bears are identical to the ones I conceal.

Lorelei Clay isn’t like other people. She isn’t even like other supernaturals. Her specialties are the nightmares of the living, communication with the dead, and cooking bacon until it’s golden brown and perfectly crispy—no magic required.

Mercy Thompson's life is not exactly normal. Her next-door neighbor is a werewolf. Her former boss is a gremlin. And she's fixing a VW bus for a vampire. But then, Mercy isn't exactly normal herself.

In the past two years, I leveled up as a kick-ass urban druid and became the leader of the Fianna Warriors my ancestor Fionn mac Cumhaill needed me to be. The thing is—four months ago everything changed. The veil between realms came down. With dormant genes waking, the dominant races jockeying for their place in the hierarchy, and the world around us pulsing out of control with power, my position as the Fae Liaison of Toronto has gotten off to a chaotic start.

Meet Darby. Coffee addict. Homicide detective. Oh, and she can see ghosts, too. There are only three rules in Darby Adler's life. One: Don't talk to the dead in front of the living. Two: Stay off the Arcane Bureau of Investigation's radar. Three: Don't forget rules one and two.

By night, they fight in a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse. By day, they are friendly next-door neighbors. Neither of them know that their alter egos are archenemies. I’ve spent my life training in the family business of slaying vampires, but I’m tired of all the death. I want to prove we slayers can help society, not just break it. I start my new life by joining the Magiford supernatural task force, which exists to protect humans and supernaturals from harmful magic.

For Claire Emerson, there is nothing ordinary about turning sixty. First, there are the crows. Then, a pendant that unlocks a gate to a house in the woods—which comes with a snarky gargoyle, an entirely too-sexy wolf shifter claiming to be Claire's protector, and a legacy that turns her reality upside down. Because divorced, menopausal grandmothers with creaky hips and hot flashes? They don't just randomly discover they're next in a long line of powerful women protecting the world from the dark magick of Mages.