Romance Book Bundles Ultimate Starter Pack

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Author J.H. Croix
USA Today Bestselling Author J.H. Croix writes contemporary romance featuring sassy women, alpha men, and charming small-town settings. She lives in the historic farmlands of Maine with her husband and two spoiled dogs.

Author Ophelia Bell
USA Today bestselling author Ophelia Bell writes steamy romance featuring bold, unapologetic women and the bad boys who love them. Originally from rural North Carolina, she now lives in Los Angeles with her tattooed husband and five attention-seeking cats.

Author Nikita Slater
Nikita Slater is a USA Today Bestselling Author who writes dark romance, mafia romance, and post-apocalyptic dystopian romance. Living on the Canadian prairies with her son and dog, she combines her passion for storytelling with advocacy for equal rights and promoting literacy.

Author Kristen Luciani
USA Today bestselling author Kristen Luciani writes steamy, suspenseful mafia romance featuring dark, broken anti-heroes. When she’s not writing, she’s juggling mom life, kickboxing, and spoiling her Boston Terrier puppy.

Author Anna Brooks
Anna’s love for romance began dramatically when she sneaked a peek at her mom’s Harlequin novel—only to set her hair on fire! Now a Texas-based author, she writes happily ever afters while juggling puzzles, rom-coms, and walks with her rescue dogs.

Author Calista Jayne
Calista Jayne adores filthy, smutty romances featuring dominant-yet-tender men.When not writing or reading, she’s falling in love with the heroes in K-dramas or walking along a California beach.

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BOOKS INCLUDED IN BUNDLE:

JH Croix
✔️ Burn for Me
✔️ Slow Burn

Ophelia Bell
✔️ Fates Fools
✔️ Fools Folly

Nikita Slater
✔️ Scarred Queen
✔️ Billionaires Captive Mistress

Kristen Luciani
✔️ Screwing The Mob
✔️ Merciless

Anna Brooks
✔️ Surface
✔️ Hoping for Hunter

Calista Jayne
✔️ Daddies' Girl
✔️ Falling For Them

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~CHAPTER ONE: Burn For Me~

I shoved through the door into the bar, coming to a quick stop as my eyes adjusted to the light. I brushed a wet lock of hair off of my cheek and threaded through the tables to the bar at the back. Once I slipped onto a stool, the bartender spun to face me. He was a jolly looking man with round blue eyes.

“I’m Tank. You look like you could use a drink,” he announced, his wide smile softening his observation.

“A beer will do,” I replied.

“House draft okay?” he asked.

At my nod, he spun around. Within seconds, he’d handed me my beer and silently offered a clean towel. Though it was tiny, seeing as it was a bar towel, I quickly scrubbed it over my dripping wet hair and face before handing it back to him. I settled in to try to forget my shitty day. 

A bit later, I drained my beer and glanced around the bar, savoring the anonymity of being in a crowded bar in Anchorage, Alaska where no one knew me. I was tucked in the corner by the wall, pleased to have a nice view of the crowd and yet go unnoticed by just about everyone there. Tank caught my eyes again, a question held in them. I nodded and held my empty pint glass aloft. He nodded in return while he mixed a drink for someone and pulled another pint for me with his free hand. The extent of my conversation with anyone this evening had been limited to Tank’s earlier introduction.

If he thought anything awry with the fact I was wearing a wedding dress splashed with mud, he didn’t show it. Neither did anyone around me. Anchorage was just large enough of a city people left you alone if you appeared to want to be left as such. That said, people were friendly too. Alaska, despite its sprawling geography, kept its residents close, all bound by the knowledge they lived on the edge of the wild and had the strength and guts for such a life.

I took a drag on what was my third beer and wondered if perhaps I should slow down. I was definitely tipsy and on my way to drunk. I fingered the cream silk of my wedding dress. Or maybe I needed to consider it my not-wedding dress. I’d been all dressed and ready to go when I’d failed in my battle against the knot of tension balled like a vise around my heart. I swallowed against the rush of emotion that rose inside as my eyes traveled down the fitted bodice of my dress and bounced to the muddy splotches all over its swirling skirt. Oh yeah. I hadn’t simply ditched my groom-to-be just before we got to the altar, I’d bolted in the rain. Another swallow of beer, followed with a slow sigh. What stung the most—all I felt was relief. Not regret, not second thoughts. Just pure relief.

I’d walked across the hallway at the back of the church and barged into Earl’s dressing room. There he’d stood, tall and handsome with his dark blonde hair and brown eyes. It was what I never saw in his eyes when he looked at me that pushed me to tell him I couldn’t marry him. When Earl looked at me, I saw a kind regard, a humored attempt to appreciate me for who I was. Yet, there was never anything close to the hot fire I’d known once upon a time with someone else. I’d apologized, but I’d also been flat pissed with him for trying to trick himself and me into thinking he really loved me. 

A dash into the late afternoon rain on a cool summer day in Alaska had felt cleansing. Until I got chilled and finally ducked into this bar. I didn’t even know what it was called. I suddenly recalled I didn’t have a penny on me. It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a purse for my aborted walk up the aisle. Oh well, oh hell. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and bit back a sigh. My amber hair was a damp, tangled mess.

I didn’t think much about how I looked. To be honest, it was more that I tried not to. I was as tall as most men. I ran my own construction business to boot. I tried to never let it show, but when it came to my femininity, seeds of doubt were planted firmly inside. It didn’t help that all but one man treated me pretty much like a man, Earl included. 

I gave my head a hard shake and glanced around the bar again, scanning the collection of people. Businessmen rubbed elbows with fishermen here. Sports reigned supreme on the televisions screens mounted at various points in the bar, and a few pool tables were clustered in the corner. That’s what I’d do. I loved pool and was pretty damn good at it.

A few minutes later, I was paired up in a game with three other guys. They’d thrown a few looks askance at my wedding dress and seemed amused at playing with me. Tipsy and deep into my don’t give a damn mode, I set out to beat them.

Roughly an hour later, I grinned as my last ball rolled neatly into a pocket corner. “Well, boys,” I said, glancing among them.

The boys in question had been drinking and gotten steadily more sullen as we played. One of them, a hulking sort with dark eyes and hair, glared at me. They’d bet on this game after the first two, and I was due five dollars each from them.

Mr. Hulk, as I’d come to call him in my head, stepped close to me, too close for comfort. “No fiver from any of us. You got that?”

I was just drunk enough not to care. I stretched up to my full five foot eleven inches. He might have more bulk than me, but I was a hair taller. “Ah, I see. You only like to bet if you’re gonna win? What an ass,” I said, my lips curling in a sneer.

I was stretched too thin emotionally with white hot anger, a simmering anger I’d kept buried for the entirety of the two years I’d wasted on Earl, and a tad too drunk to be reasonable right now. When the jerk stepped closer and put his finger on my chest, I didn’t even think. I punched him, right in the nose.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” he shouted as he swiped his sleeve across his face, smearing the blood from his nose on his cheek.

He hauled off and punched me back, his fist bouncing under my eye. He had enough heft to send me tumbling to the floor, an inglorious heap of muddied silk spilling around me. I was just tipsy enough not to care that my face was throbbing. Without the mud, minus the dingy hardwood floor under me and definitely minus the crowd now gathered around, I considered the way the silk of my dress spilled in a near perfect circle would have made a great wedding photo—one of those candid shots people would love.

In a flash, Tank was there, shoving the guy who’d punched me away. Voices above me collided with each other.

“Dude, she hit me first!”

“Self defense…”

“Yeah, but she’s a girl…”

“She’s a fuckin’ giant, and she can hit. She’s no girl!”

I closed my eyes and wished I could crawl into a hole. The buzz that had kept me afloat this afternoon and evening dissolved into mortification. The jerk was right. I was a giant and no one would ever look at me and think girly thoughts.

"Amelia?”

My heartbeat came to a screeching stop and then jumpstarted with a hard kick. I’d know that voice anywhere. Through the jumble around me with Tank leaning over to ask if I was okay, that voice rang like a loud bell inside. One man. Only one man had ever looked at me with heat in his eyes, heat so hot it singed me. That man spoke my name now. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know. I did anyway. Because I couldn’t bear not to see him.

Cade Masters stood at the edge of the circle gathered around me, another man in a bar crowded with men. Shaggy dark brown hair, green eyes, and a body of raw muscle stood before me. My heart felt as if it had been split open. I’d loved Cade in that wild headlong way that only youth allowed. No more than seven years had passed since I’d seen him, but it felt like forever. Cade had broken my heart and walked out of my life when I was twenty-two. He hadn’t just broken my heart, he’d betrayed me.

Anger flashed hot and high inside, yet I couldn’t look away. My eyes ate Cade up. He wore faded jeans, the fabric so worn it hugged his muscled legs like a caress, and a denim jacket over a black t-shirt. He had something of an outdoorsy, biker vibe. Once upon a time, he’d taken me on long rides on his motorcycle through the nearly empty highways in Alaska surrounding our hometown. He stepped through the crowd and knelt at my side, his green gaze coasting over me. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded without really thinking about it. He lifted a hand and ran the backs of his fingers along my cheekbone. Oh right, some guy had just punched me in the face. Cade’s presence had wiped my mind clean of everything else. With barely a brush of his touch, my heart fluttered and heat tightened inside.

“You sure?”

I swallowed, suddenly aware of my throbbing cheek. My entire day flashed through my mind. A gloriously shitty day. I fought against the tears, but they welled up, unbidden and beyond my control. One tear rolled down my cheek and then another and another. Of all the times and places to encounter the one and only man who still held a piece of my heart, this had to be the absolute worst.

Cade’s eyes never left mine. Something flickered deep in the depths of them, but I didn’t know how to interpret it. Without a word, he slipped his arm around my waist and lifted me up, bundling me into his arms as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said and started to stride away.

Tank caught him by the arm, and Cade glanced to him. “Yeah?”

“Just making sure she’s okay,” Tank replied.

All I could do was nod. I was so totally not okay, but I was okay in the sense Tank was asking. 

Tank’s warm gaze held mine, this bartender who barely knew me, but had somehow known I’d had a bad day and just needed to be left in peace while I had a few beers. I should’ve stayed put in my seat at the bar. My raw emotions and crazy day, all of my own making if I was being honest with myself, had gotten me into this mess. 

“You want the police involved?” Tank asked.

I shook my head and finally found my voice. “No. Let’s call it even. I punched him, he punched me.” 

“You know this guy?” Tank asked next, nodding to Cade.

“Uh huh. It’s okay. He’s an old friend of my family’s. No need to worry,” I managed. On its face, my explanation was true. Cade and I had grown up together in Willow Brook, Alaska. Our families had known each other for years. Yet, my explanation left out so much of what Cade meant to me, it was almost laughable.

Cade was quiet as he strode through the bar, the crowd parting around him. I could only imagine how we looked—me in my dirty not-wedding dress and him giving off his usual back the hell off vibes. It was a shock to see him for the first time in years and even more of a shock to be held in his arms. I felt at home in his strong embrace. He held me easily. He always had. I loved that about him. Cade was a good four inches taller than me at six foot three inches and had never cared about how tall I was. He pushed through the door of the bar, stepping out into the late evening. The rain had stopped at some point during the long hours I’d been hiding in the bar.

He paused once we were outside on the sidewalk and glanced down, his gaze catching mine. “Why are you wearing a wedding dress?”

That was Cade, never one to waste time on preliminaries. I’d loved that about him. Oh how I’d loved so many things about Cade, back before he’d left my heart bruised and battered. Right now, I couldn’t seem to recall the pain. All I knew was it felt so good—so, so, so good to be with him.
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~CHAPTER ONE: Fate's Fools~

The ursa claimed that when they went on their pilgrimage as young adults, they did this thing they called “soul searching.” I’d always wondered what this meant. Were their souls vessels that needed to be emptied like old luggage and rifled through to find clues to their true paths? Or were they missing their souls and the pilgrimage was how they found them?

I’d never asked anyone else this question because I kind of already knew the answer—their soul searching was a journey to understand the souls they already possessed. I liked to think my own pilgrimage was the same thing, except I was probably fooling myself.

First of all, I wasn’t really on a pilgrimage. I ran away from home, and my family was probably looking for me.

Secondly, I didn’t have a soul, which was a double-edged sword. It meant I was nearly impossible for my family to find, but it also meant I was missing the one thing that could probably have told me where I belonged in the world, and was fairly certain my quest wasn’t going to lead me to it.

Ever since I left, I’d been going through the motions of this so-called “soul search,” but I hadn’t really learned a whole lot about myself that I didn’t already know. I was an infinitely adaptable creature and a quick study, yet the powers I was born with were still wimpy as fuck. Three weeks into a self-imposed exile from the life I’d known, all I’d really learned were things related to the human world to which I’d fled.

Humanity was both amazingly resilient and heartbreakingly fragile at the same time. I finally understood why the higher races were so drawn to them. Why the dragons used to collect human mates and hoard them like treasure.

That particular instinct wasn’t exactly dormant in me. Thanks to my somewhat unorthodox origins, I was magically linked to a special segment of humanity infused with divine blood. And thanks to that blood, there was something distinctly magical hurting some of the humans of the bloodline.

My deepest instincts urged me to protect them. Whether it was my dragon nature at work, or a trait of one of the other four races in my blood, I kind of wanted to take half the bloodline home with me just to keep them safe. That would have solved a lot of issues, but it wasn’t exactly feasible to show up in the Dragon Glade or one of the other sacred homes of the higher races with a whole pile of humans in tow.

Even if I could go home. One of the few things I’d learned about myself was that I was stubborn as hell. I was part human, so that resilience and tenacity was there, but I was also immortal, and therefore not so fragile, at least not on the outside. I couldn’t leave the human world until I’d figured out what was hurting the people I was linked to and why, even if it meant keeping watch over the one thing they possessed that I didn’t: their souls.

The irony was not lost on me.

I’d spent the bulk of my introduction to the human world within the sterile hallways of hospitals, achingly aware of the suffering of every soul. But that was where the victims of these magical creatures had wound up, each one falling into mysterious comas for days on end. So far I’d only been able to observe events, powerless to do anything but hang around and wait for something to happen. Without a clue as to the reason for the attacks or what these creatures were, I had no way to stop them, so it was a waiting game.

Another thing I’d learned in those three interminable weeks was that human food was disgusting. I peeled the piece of bread back from the sandwich I was about to eat and narrowed my eyes at the blob of . . . something . . . beneath.

“What is this?” I poked at the brownish substance and scrunched my nose. A low chuckle carried from the next table in the hospital’s desolate cafeteria.

“Catch of the night,” my dining companion said. “Canned tuna salad is my guess.”

I darted a glance at the man, heat rising in my cheeks at the realization that I’d spoken out loud. My heart skittered at his striking gray-green eyes, a contrast to the warm brown of his skin, which was no less vibrant for the weariness in his bearing, his unkempt hair, and his scruffy chin. He lifted his own sandwich in a little salute and took a bite, eyes twinkling.

“See? Edible.” He took a second bite, and then his eyes bugged out and with an exaggerated spasm he slumped down with his face on the tray. His muscular forearms bracketed his head, both covered in mesmerizing, colorful designs that stretched from wrists all the way up past the sleeves of his plain, threadbare T-shirt.

I lifted my eyebrows. He opened one eye, narrowed it at me, then sat up and finished chewing.

“No reaction, huh? Tough crowd.”

“You were faking, but nice try?” It was tough to be surprised when his intentions blazed in his aura clear as day—just as clear as the telltale orb of light inside his chest. His soul possessed a particular quality that gave him away as a member of the bloodline I’d taken it upon myself to watch over.

Still, I probably should have laughed. He’d just surprised me, and my interpersonal skills were still . . . well, rough would be an understatement. I knew how to act around family, but my family wasn’t exactly human. This cute, tattooed guy’s humor was new to me.

“I’ve seen you around the last two weeks. Are you a doctor?” he asked, apparently giving up on attempting to make me laugh. I kind of wished he’d try again so I could do it right the second time.

“No,” I said. “I think they eat in a separate cafeteria, anyway.” I waited and hoped he’d follow through on the recognition that always came when a new member of the bloodline finally registered what I was.

This particular man was someone I’d watched for the past two weeks, ever since his arrival with a sick elderly woman. Humans were fragile creatures, but her fragility had very little to do with her humanity or age and everything to do with why I couldn’t go home yet, even if I’d wanted to.

But so far I’d only watched him from a safe distance, protected by the bounds of human social customs—and the hospital's visitation policies. Now that he was talking to me, I was painfully aware of his attention. Until now I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed simple conversation, but more than that, I missed contact so much I ached for it.

He’d stopped eating and was now just staring at me. I took a bite of my sandwich and pretended not to notice. I knew better than to push, despite how giddy the sound of his voice made me. It would be easier if I let him start the conversation.

The bloodline were the only members of humanity who knew about my kind, and they’d only just discovered our existence. Despite the efforts the higher races had taken to clue them in, most of them still seemed pretty damn oblivious, or at least selectively blind. Another thing I’d learned about humanity was that they were incredibly adept at denial, even when they had more than enough evidence of the truth.

“Discovered” was probably a strong word, though; the bloodline had already been on the verge of discovering the higher races when we decided to pre-empt them by carrying out a ritual to send them a message. It basically amounted to, “We mean you no harm, but please keep our secret.” Even after three weeks, they were taking their time catching on.

I barely tasted the questionable food as I chewed and swallowed, hyperaware of the man as he stood up and moved to sit across from me. The quality of his aura had changed from a dim blue signifying weariness to a crackling violet warning of confrontation, yet softened by pink curiosity. My belly clenched and I found it hard to swallow.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?” he said in a low voice. “Or . . . are you one of them?”

My pulse raced as I set down my sandwich and lifted my gaze to meet his. Dark brows curved over his gray-green eyes and his skin was a tawny brown about a shade lighter than my own. His thick black hair fell almost to his shoulders, mussed like he worried his hands through it often. He raked fingers through it, confirming my observation. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and a piece of stone carved in the shape of a musical clef jiggled on its thong.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Am I like you, or like them?”

It wasn’t really a test. I genuinely wanted to know. I was technically human—both my biological parents were human, at any rate—but I’d been ripped from my mother’s womb shortly after conception, then grown in a tank and sustained with ancient nymphaea blood for the first five months of my existence.

Being so acutely conscious of every moment of my life, even from those first glimmers of awareness after conception, should have made it easier for me to understand my own nature . . . to know where I fit in. But it had only made it infinitely harder.

I wasn’t just human—the blood of the higher races that ran in my veins defined me as much as my humanity did—and part of the reason I’d run to begin with was to try to understand what I was. I couldn’t be everything; that was too damn confusing. But at the moment, I didn’t really feel like I belonged anywhere at all. Maybe his observation would help me understand.

He studied me for a moment longer, then shook his head and frowned. “I think you’re something else. But if you aren’t human, you have to be one of them, right? You just look so normal. I mean . . . you’re fucking gorgeous. They’re all beautiful, but, um, you look mostly human.”

I gave him a gentle smile and nodded, barely containing my elation at having this conversation at long last, and with a man as lovely to look at as he was. “I am mostly human. But out of curiosity, what do you see that suggests otherwise?”

His half-eaten sandwich lay forgotten on his tray, though he stared at it blindly for a second before looking at me again. The divine glow that tinged his aura flared, reminding me that though the bloodline was also mostly human, they carried faint genetic mutations that linked them to the higher races. More importantly, they were all carrying blood that linked them to a god. That divine link had been dormant until three weeks ago, the god at the other end of it on the mend after a particularly brutal attack. But he was at full power now, and so the bloodline was now at full awareness of the higher races.

My new friend seemed to struggle for words, and my heart went out to him. None of this could have been easy—first to discover out of the blue that humanity wasn’t the only race with advanced intellect on the planet, and then that whatever traits marked him and the rest of the bloodline as special also made them targets for some invisible threat. But I had to know what it was he saw that identified the higher races.

Over the past three weeks since I’d left home, I’d learned to be cautious when I interacted with the bloodline. We may have been a little heavy-handed with the cautionary aspect of the spell we cast on them to protect our secrets. They avoided talking to anyone about us as a result, even each other, and were downright terrified of any of the higher races they came into contact with. Somehow I managed to fly under the radar. The higher races barely paid any attention to me when I came across them, and the bloodline just gave me odd looks, as if they wanted to say hello but were afraid of looking dumb.

This man was clearly willing to risk looking like an idiot to get it out, and I’d be damned if I was going to discourage him from talking.

“It’s all right,” I finally said, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. His head jerked up as though I’d just shocked him and he stared at me. His hand tightened into a fist beneath my fingers and the intricate design on his forearm flexed. What looked like scales inked into his arm faded from deep red to bright turquoise.

“Fuck, you are one of them,” he breathed. He relaxed his hand and spread his fingers out, then turned it over beneath mine until our palms touched. I got a view of the rest of his tattoo of a huge fish swimming amid stylized blue-green waves. Warmth radiated from his skin along with a spark of something more that made my breath catch.

The increased intimacy made me want to pull away, but he seemed on the verge of a revelation, so I left my hand in his grasp. Taking a deep breath, he said, “It’s like you all resonate at a different frequency than the rest of us. Like the sunlight bounces off your skin differently, and sound waves travel around your bodies differently. But until a few weeks ago, I just didn’t have the senses that could see and hear you properly.”

Glancing up at the abrasive fluorescent lights, he chuckled. “Guess nobody’s immune to crap lighting though, huh? It took me a few minutes to be able to tell after you sat down, but now . . .”

He slid his palm along mine. An electric charge passed through my hand into his skin. I pulled my hand back and rested it under the table on my lap, uncomfortable with the rising need that simple touch had elicited. I didn’t need my dragon or my nymphaea nature waking up with this enticing stranger. Or at all, for that matter. There was too much at stake.

“What’s your name?” he blurted, his eyes now bright with curiosity, the floodgates having opened up after our touch. “What kind are you? The message said there were four . . . ah . . . races? Are you a dra—”

He clamped his mouth shut and glanced around. The parking lot beyond the windows was nearly empty and the cafeteria was dead, aside from one lonely cashier reading a book near the self-serve stations across the room. At this time of night, the place was a graveyard.

“No, I’m not a dragon,” I said. “Not exactly. My name’s Deva Rainsong. I’m sort of an ambassador from all four races.”

That sounded plausible; he didn’t need to know that what I was, while it had a name, wasn’t exactly definable. I was a chimera, a hybrid of not only the four higher races, but human too. And I was the only one of my kind.

He also didn’t need to know that I had effectively run away from home and was absolutely lost when it came to understanding my own nature.

“Day-va,” he said, smiling as he drew out my name. “I’m Bodhi.”

“I’m happy to meet you, Bodhi,” I said, smiling slightly, but too apprehensive to make it stick. Thanks to his rippling aura and a particular quality to his words, I could sense he was about to ask me something and I wasn’t going to have a good answer for him, which killed me.

“You guys have . . . abilities, right? Mystical powers?” He lowered his voice again as he shoved his tray aside and leaned closer to me. The desperation that had lain dormant during our interaction thus far flared to life, crackling though his aura.

I had to suppress a sigh because I knew what was coming.

“We do, to varying degrees,” I said. I was using at least two of them already to interpret his true desires. Not only did my dragon nature give me the ability to read his aura for secrets about his state of mind, but I had the innate ability to hear the truth in people’s spoken words—a trait I’d inherited from my turul side.

“My grandma’s sick. The doctors don’t have a clue what it is, but it started the same day the message came. It has to be linked. There must be something you can do.”

“I can try,” I said with a nod.

Swallowing a knot of helplessness, I stood. While I did have some abilities, those I was born with were woefully inadequate to do fuck-all for his grandmother. I hadn’t spent the last three weeks in hospitals for my health, after all, or for the health of the victims I’d observed. Bodhi’s grandma was not the first to fall prey to some mysterious creature that only seemed interested in members of the bloodline, and chances were that Bodhi himself would eventually become a target. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

But I could sure as hell try, and him inviting me to actually see his grandmother was the first break I’d had since this all began.

He grabbed both our trays and dumped the remnants of our midnight lunches in the trash, stacked the trays on top, then held the door open for me to follow.

“It’s this way,” he said, leading the way across a courtyard through another set of doors with an elevator on the other side. I could’ve found the way in my sleep.

When his grandmother had arrived, I was already here, having just watched a man fall into a coma as his soul fell to the beasts that had come for the bloodline. Before him, all the victims had died before I could see what had happened to them, but over the last few weeks they seemed to last longer, though I was beginning to lose hope that I’d be able to figure out how to actually heal them.

The two most recent victims were afflicted by a weakening of spirit that drained their will until they were nothing but feeble husks. The doctors had conducted every test imaginable, but they couldn’t see what I could.

I braced myself when we exited the elevator by the fifth-floor nurses’ station. The beasts were there, lurking in the shadows.

I glared at the creatures I’d taken to calling “soul hounds” as we passed through the door into Bodhi’s grandmother’s room. They were pair of shimmering, violet mirages that vanished when I looked directly at them, and inexplicably perked up whenever I arrived. One had a silver blaze down its face and the other had glowing, booted paws.

Both shadowy heads followed my passage. It was as if they were just biding their time until the woman died, but I’d be damned if I was going to let that happen.

The hounds spent their evenings pacing between the two victims, their foxlike ruffs shimmering with pale cascades of power from the energy they drained. Everything I’d tried to get them to leave only seemed to encourage them.

At least it wasn’t a constant thing. They’d arrive in the dead of night when the hospital was quietest, their dim glows gradually brightening as they absorbed power from the souls of the afflicted, and they’d leave at daybreak. I had no idea where they went. They seemed completely disinterested in the normal humans who staffed the hospital; the only people they cared about were the pair whose life forces reached out with a shimmering magical tether to each of the hounds.

What would happen if and when one of the victims died, I had no idea—I’d only felt the prior deaths, not witnessed them—but I suspected they would move onto someone else in the bloodline, judging from how they sniffed around the family members who came and went, including Bodhi and a woman who I believed was his mother.

Bodhi’s grandmother would be the first I’d actually see in person. I’d tried and failed on several occasions to talk my way in before.

The night nurse eyeballed me as I strolled by, and I gave her an exaggeratedly sweet smile when Bodhi opened his grandmother’s door and motioned for me to enter. Hopefully I could learn something new from actually examining one of the victims.

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~Scarred Queen~

CHAPTER ONE

“Fuck,” Riley grumbled, twisting to make sure she was correct. Nope, she didn’t have the right tool.

It was late at night and all the guys had gone home so she couldn’t call out to one of the other mechanics and ask them to hand it to her. Damn. With a sigh of aggravation, she pushed herself out from under the car. Shoving her long ponytail out of the way, she crawled toward the toolbox and rifled through until she found what she was looking for. Loud, thumping music filled the garage from where her iPhone was plugged into its port on top of one of the tool benches.

Turning back toward the ’69 Camaro, Riley adjusted her lamp and prepared to slide back under. This baby was a thing of beauty. It called to her from the moment it entered her shop, which is why she was still working on it at 2:00 a.m. If she did it up right she’d be able to turn a pretty profit on this little sweetheart and take Cilia on vacation. They desperately needed some bonding time.

The music switched off and a deep voice reverberated through the darkness of the garage. “I’m looking for Mr. Bancroft.”

Riley froze for a few precious seconds before her head snapped up, judging the distance between a shadowed man and the gun in her toolbox. He stepped forward into the circle of her light, closing the distance between them. Riley’s heart slammed against her ribs as his face became visible and she recognized the most ruthless man in the city. Soloman Hart, mafia kingpin, was standing in her garage, staring down at her with cold intent. He now stood directly between her and her gun. Not that she thought it would do any good against a man like him.

Riley felt incredibly small and grimy next to his large, well-dressed frame. She sat crouched on the concrete beneath him, wearing her usual tank top and grimy, oil-stained overalls with the top left to hang down. Her shiny, dark brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wore no make-up.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded, pushing herself up and standing to her full height, which was still several inches shorter than him. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. She had a damn good security system or she wouldn’t have been alone in the shop blaring music in the middle of the night.

He ignored her question and raised a dark, thick brow. “Mr. Bancroft?”

The single question sent a chill down her spine, letting her know that the next words out of her mouth better be an answer, because Soloman Hart was not a man known for patience.

Riley pressed her lips together for a moment and wondered how best to answer him. The truth of ‘Mr. Bancroft’ was complicated. And Riley was starting to suspect she may be in some danger. The likelihood of a man of this caliber showing up in her garage for any reason was slim. Which meant something not good was going down. Soloman had men to deal with his car issues; he didn’t handle things like this himself.

She moistened her lips and then stopped when his sharp eyes followed the movement. Taking a breath, she said, “Mr. Bancroft is dead. He died two years ago.”

His brows drew together in a frown that made Riley shiver from head to toe. Yeah, he didn’t want to play games with her. His next words confirmed this thought.

“Don’t fuck with me, little girl,” he growled. “Everyone knows Alan Bancroft is dead. I’m looking for the owner of this garage. Alan’s son, Riley Bancroft.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Why are you looking for Riley?”

Holy shit, she was going to die! The look on his face suggested that the last person that questioned him instead of instantly giving him the answers he was searching for had died a really extra terrible death.

Surprisingly, he answered, his deep voice clipped as he spoke. “Someone stole one of my vehicles yesterday. It was my favourite and I want it back. Thought it might show up here.”

Shock flickered across her face. Who would be stupid enough to steal one of Soloman Hart’s cars? Well, that explained why he would show up on her doorstep himself at 2:00am looking for answers. She ran the biggest chop shop in the city. Only very few people knew she ran the garage. She had a very good team of mechanics, mostly inherited from her father, that helped keep her safe behind the scenes. Few people even knew the name Riley Bancroft. Except, somehow Soloman did.

“Wh-what kind of car?” she asked hesitantly, hoping like hell it hadn’t gone through her shop. She usually did her homework and found out where the vehicles came from so this kind of shitstorm didn’t come down on her head, but that didn’t mean things didn’t get under her radar once in a while.

“Koenigsegg Regera.” His voice held no inflection as he named one of the most expensive vehicles in the world. A car that would be one of a kind in the United States.

Riley took a few seconds out from her terror to be impressed. Damn. Soloman must like him some nice luxury racing automobiles. Too bad the man was such a cold-hearted, ruthless bastard. Under different circumstances she wouldn’t mind getting under the hoods of his fleet, see what he had going on up in there.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Nope, I definitely would’ve noticed one of those. Never even seen one in person, let alone had one in here.”

He nodded, still studying her carefully as though taking in every minuscule expression that crossed her face. Finally, he said, “I’d still like to have a conversation with Mr. Bancroft.”

Fuck. That was going to be a problem since there was no Mr. Bancroft. Instead, she nodded her head.

“Sure, no problem. I’ll have him call you tomorrow.” She’d get one of the other mechanics to call and reassure him that his car was never there and if it showed up he would be the first person they called.

He reached out and took her hand before she realized what he was about to do. He held her fingers in a grip that told her she shouldn’t pull away from him. He had a brutal looking tattoo on the back of his hand that begged for a closer look. She resisted the urge.

He looked down at the black, chipped nail polish on her fingers and rubbed his broad thumb over the tops of her much smaller nails. She shivered at his touch. Based on his reputation and the few glimpses she’d had of him she’d always considered Soloman Hart cold, but his hand was surprisingly warm.

“What’s your name?” he demanded, his voice deep and compelling.

Riley tried to pull her hand away, but he continued to force his touch on her. She turned her body away and said in a haughty voice, “None of your business.”

He stiffened next to her and she bit her lip, worried that she was about to find out what made this powerful man so feared among their underworld set. He chuckled lightly, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I think you’ll find I can make it my business.”

She shivered and dropped her eyes, still refusing to answer. She did not want this man finding out who she was. For more reasons than the obvious. When he was alive, Alan Bancroft had taught Riley everything he knew, but he’d kept her existence on the down low in case they ever needed to pack up shop and run. There was also the complication of her mother. Cilia Bancroft, shady accountant to the super rich, was a handful and best kept out of the notice of men like Soloman Hart.

“You can fly, little bird,” he said quietly. He looked down at her, capturing her brown eyes with his bottomless dark eyes. “I will let you go for now.”

“F-for now?” Riley asked hesitantly.

He released her hand and stepped closer, towering over her, his chest nearly brushing hers. Riley gasped at his unexpected movement and tried to move back. Her leg bumped against the car she’d been working on and she was forced to stand still next to him. Her head swam as his subtle, masculine scent enveloped her. It made alarm bells go off in her head. He didn’t immediately move away from her.

“For now,” he confirmed, his gaze roaming intently over her. “I think the day will come that we will see… a lot more of each other.”

Her mouth opened and she stared at him. Was that a threat? He was looking down at her with something she couldn’t entirely define. Speculation? Possessiveness? But how was that possible? He didn’t even know her. Though she’d seen him before, they were just meeting officially for the first time.

His eyes brushed over her one last time and she had a keen awareness that she was being granted some kind of reprieve. But it came with a time limit. One that would quickly run out. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

She blinked and then nodded slowly.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

Riley gaped up at him for a moment and then, desperately wanting the dark man to leave, gave him what he wanted. She licked her lips and whispered, “Soloman.”

He turned and strode away from her, resetting the alarm before leaving the garage.

* * *

Soloman slid into the passenger side of his second favourite vehicle. Turning to his friend and bodyguard, he said, “Did you catch that?”

Roman nodded. He had been standing in the shadows near the door where he’d disabled the alarm and unbolted the lock to allow his boss entry to the garage. Though Soloman didn’t need back up, the two rarely worked separately, especially since Soloman’s climb to the top had earned many enemies. Both knew it was better to have a loyal man guarding each other’s backs than to go it alone.

“I want her,” Soloman said quietly, not taking his eyes off the passing street lights.

Roman grunted, but didn’t say anything. He already knew. The boss rarely pursued women, beyond having them brought in for a quick fuck. That he even asked for this one’s name was surprising. “I’ll find out who she is.”

Soloman nodded. “I want to know everything. There’s something about her… I think I might keep her for a while.”

Roman grunted. He’d get their information guy out of bed and working on the problem of the chick immediately. Find out who she was so the boss could get laid. Soloman Hart wasn’t used to being denied. No one needed to be around the man when he wasn’t happy. Much better to just bring him the woman’s information and then the woman herself all wrapped up and tied in a bow. Fewer people would die that way.

“And find out where the fuck Riley Bancroft is,” he snapped, drumming his fingers restlessly on his leg. “I want my goddamned car back.”
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CHAPTER ONE: SCREWING THE MOB

"You have a lot of responsibilities now, Nico, but I know you can handle things for the family. And I'll be right there next to you, making sure you don’t screw anything up."

My chest tightens as the distinctive scent of lilies fills my lungs. Tears spring to my eyes as I force back the sneeze fighting its way out. I look around at the overflowing baskets and standing arrangements that almost outnumber the mourners packed into this massive viewing room. I can barely see the taupe-colored walls, just cascading leaves and countless flowers whose pollen has declared war on my eyes, nose, and throat.

I suppose to some, it might make me appear more vulnerable... almost human... but I prefer my signature, stoic façade. Nobody has access to the inside. Not anymore. Not since—

I grit my teeth, battling the name bubbling up from a place where it’s long since been buried.

Nobody.

People dressed head to toe in black are lined up for what seems like miles, spilling out the door of the viewing room, snaking around the corridor, and beyond the entrance to the funeral home.

Grandpa Vito was loved. Feared. Hated.

But above all? Respected.

That kind of respect didn’t happen overnight. He had earned it a long time ago, back when he lived in Hoboken with his mother and two older brothers. After his dad died, there wasn’t much money to go around, and his brothers did their best to make ends meet. They opened a restaurant that became one of the most popular for miles.

That kind of success attracted attention from the neighborhood "boss," Don Cicero, who wanted a piece of their action. Cicero was a greedy, sick bastard, and he sent his crew to terrorize those who refused to pay—raping wives and daughters as punishment. When Cicero’s men came after Grandpa’s mother, Grandpa massacred the lot of them.

He didn’t stop there. He went after Cicero himself and made him pay.

Grandpa never wanted his family to be vulnerable again, and he knew the only way to protect them was to inspire fear and build his own organization. With the help of the men in the neighborhood who pledged their devotion after Cicero’s fall, he hunted down anyone who tried to claim control of the area and took them out. Nobody messed with Grandpa after that.

"Life ain’t easy, Nico. You may get scared sometimes, you may not know the right decision to make. But if you believe in yourself, everyone else will believe in you, too."

My eyes fall to his face. He lies still in the ornate casket my father picked out—a casket Grandpa would have hated because it was a frivolous expense. He’d have much preferred a pine box, as I told my father. But more importantly, I know he’s finally reunited with Grandma Lou. That brings me some peace. Not a lot, but some.

A hand grazes my arm, and the awful scent of funeral flowers is replaced with something equally atrocious. I can’t place it, but it makes my stomach roll. I sniff once and turn away from the casket.

Huge breasts press against my suit jacket as Adria Moreno slips closer, her breath hot on my neck as she whispers her condolences—along with some other things I’m sure have Grandpa cheering from beyond the Pearly Gates.

Thank God my parents have Lily and are mingling, not paying attention to Adria’s wandering hands. Jesus, the woman is relentless. A complete sex addict, no matter the circumstances. If I so much as said the word, I could have her bent over in the coat closet right now.

"I’ve never seen you so devastated, babe," Adria purrs, her hand slipping behind me, under my jacket, settling over my ass. Thankfully, my back is to the wall, hiding her advances from the crowd. "Do you want me to come over later? I can make you feel better."

Angel, her twin sister, sidles up to my other side, whispering in my ear. "I’m so sorry, sweetie. Tell us what you need. Let us help you through this."

Okay, Grandpa is definitely having a laugh up there. This must be his way of diffusing the situation. He was always a little unorthodox, but this is extreme—standing next to my dead grandfather while being propositioned for a threesome? It’s twisted. Not that threesomes are unusual for me. Hell, I’ve been with three-quarters of the women in this room, often two at a time.

My eyes absently scour the crowd, and I suppress a groan.

Why am I always searching for her? I had her, and I let her go. So why do I—?

My throat tightens when she walks through the doors. Her blue eyes are filled with tears, her pouty pink lips quivering. As hard as I try to focus on her sun-kissed face, my eyes rake over her tight body.

She’s back.

I forced her away like the asshole I am, regretting my decision every day since. It was my way of protecting us both, but at what cost? And now she’s here, just like I knew she would be, and I have no idea what to do about it.

I swallow, fighting against the memory of her lips on mine, but I fail. I can still feel her, her eager tongue coiling with mine with such hope—hope I shattered.

My cock twitches, and I repress a sigh.

Just add it to the list of things I never thought I’d experience in a situation like this. The twins are still draped over me, and my gaze catches hers for the briefest moment before she redirects her glare to Adria and Angel.

Then Rocco Lucchese steps out of the corner of the room and slides an arm around her waist, dropping a kiss onto her cheek. An icy sensation snakes around my heart.

Son of a bitch.

He’s back, too.
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~CHAPTER ONE: SURFACE~

He’s not even trying to hide. I think he likes to know he's making me nervous. I mean, come on, he stands out so much. He’s obviously older than all the other guys here. Taller. Bigger. Hotter. My back is to him, but I’ve felt his gaze on me all night, and right now I can see his reflection in the sliding glass door.

Ugh. I walk out of the house party to get some fresh air. I always feel so… so short of breath when he's around. The long pebbled driveway circles in front of the white brick house, and when I reach the small rocks, I stop and turn around, knowing he's right behind me. Sensing him near like always. "What are you doing here?"

Royce holds his hands out. "What? I can't come to a party? You know I love a good kegger."

"I don't need a guard dog, Royce. Besides, you're too busy flirting with all the girls to even notice what I'm doing."

He does that thing that makes my stomach all tingly, smiling just enough for his dimples to make an appearance. "I'm twenty-three years old, precious, got no inclination to go to jail over a little girl." I can't help the hurt that clogs my throat, and I cross my arms like it'll somehow guard my heart. When his green eyes dart to my chest, I'm the one smirking now. But just as fast as they were there, they go back to glaring at me, and I go back to feeling like a child under his inspection.

"You can go report back to Derik that I'm fine, then you can leave me alone." Waving him off, I turn to head back into the house.

"Sorry, no can do."

Abruptly, my momentum stops, and he runs into me from behind. His hands, his strong hands, grip my arms above my elbows. I'm wearing four-inch heels, so his lips rest just at the top of my head, and the warmth of his muscular body saturates mine. One hand releases me, and the tip of his finger slides all the way down my arm. He's probably used to women who don't shiver from a single touch, but I'm not one of them.

I'm a sixteen-year-old girl who has never even been kissed.

"I've had eyes on you all night, and ain't nothin' gonna change that, precious. This dress…" His fingertip slides across my bare belly, and I sway. "It shows so much skin, and all these horny little fuckers are just waiting to make their play for you. Nobody's gonna touch this body while I'm around."

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J.H. Croix Steam Level

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 4/5 Peppers – High Heat

Spice plays a big role alongside the strong emotional romance plot, with multiple explicit scenes and passionate encounters. Language is seductive and steamy, leaving little to the imagination.

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Ophelia Bell Steam Level

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 5/5 Peppers – Extra Spicy 🔥

Intense, bold, and unfiltered. These romances feature frequent, explicit, and highly detailed love scenes with no fade-to-black moments.

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Nikita Slater Steam Level

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 4/5 Peppers – High Heat

Spice plays a big role alongside the plot, with multiple explicit scenes and passionate encounters. Language is seductive and steamy, leaving little to the imagination.

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Kristen Luciani Steam Level

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 4/5 Peppers – High Heat

Spice plays a big role alongside the plot, with multiple explicit scenes and passionate encounters. Language is seductive and steamy, leaving little to the imagination.

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Anna Brooks Steam Level

🌶️🌶️🌶️ 3/5 Peppers – Moderate Steam

A steamy romance with detailed love scenes woven into the story along with the strong emotional plot. Expect multiple intimate moments with sensual language, though not overly graphic.

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Calista Jayne Steam Level

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 5/5 Peppers – Extra Spicy 🔥

Intense, bold, and unfiltered. These romances feature frequent, explicit, and highly detailed love scenes with no fade-to-black moments.
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J.H. Croix Reviews

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 13,376+ 5-Star Reviews Across All Retailers

“I love these stories where they’ve known each other all their lives, and then they fall in love.” ~Rosanne

“Let me just get this out of the way. I FREAKING LOVE this series!!!” ~Lelim

“I loved this book from the first page to the last with unforgettable characters and a story so beautifully written” ~Pamela 

“There were times that I thought my kindle was going to go up in flames when these two were together before they finally admitted their love for each other.” ~Teresa 

“Ms Croix weaves the best stories. It is very difficult to put the book down.” ~Janine

“I will definitely be reading the next story in this series and whatever else she writes.” ~Reviewer
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Ophelia Bell Reviews

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 1,705+ 5-Star Reviews Across All Retailers

“Love this series so far book is well written and very detailed, easy to follow storyline. fated mates love story with some spicy scenes!” ~Allison R.

“His book was well written easy to follow along could not put it down easily one of my favorites to date!” ~Karen R.

“I got pulled right in and it didn't let me go till I finished. Don't expect to get anything done or get any sleep if you start this book.” ~Denise Z.

“I enjoyed the fluidity of love interests, and there were some pretty hot scenes, including one I didn't expect!!” ~Taryn F.

“What an amazingly unique story. It draws you in and doesn’t let go until you reach the end. It is full of drama, suspense, mystery, and hot romance.” ~Darcy S.

“What a start to this series. I am HOOKED!!” ~Mandy W.
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Nikita Slater Reviews

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 6,033+ 5-Star Reviews Across All Retailers

"There are two things you can count on that Nikita will provide without fail, an amazingly awesome plot driven story and a FLAWLESSLY written story!" ~Expresso

“This is the first time I've had the pleasure of reading this author but it will not be the last! This book is beyond amazing. The feels I experienced while reading this... just wow! I literally could not put this book down for even a moment.” ~Stephanie

“I love the story of two broken souls struggling through life yet became closer while many buried dark secrets and hidden treasures unfolded. An intense and amazing read and I’m looking forward to reading the Queen’s Move.” ~Lin

“This books deserves 5 starts across the board. The characters were amazing, the sex was effin hot, the female lead was fragile but strong, and the Alpha was all things bad n' juicy!” ~Reviewer

“Wow. You can't put this book down once you get started. The way this was written had me hooked from the beginning. I'm so used to a book taking a couple of chapters to reel you in, but that was not the case. The characters were spot on. The twists and turns in this story were so good. And the ending was perfect.” ~Latisha

“I loved the characters, the storyline had a few twist that was surprisingly awesome and unpredictable!
It’s not awesome when a romance writer allow the heroine to not just shine but find her strength and own it!!!” ~Purita
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Kristen Luciani Reviews

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4,188+ 5-Star Reviews Across All Retailers

"Sexy, provocative, and suspenseful...I was hooked from the first page." ~Goodreads Reviewer

"A deliciously addictive forbidden romance between two people drowning in lust and bound by opposing loyalties. Danger, desire, out of control pheromones, and baseball bats - everything you'd want in a steamy mafia romance! Romeo and Juliet, meet Goodfellas." ~USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Kristen Hope Mazzola

"Kristen Luciani weaves a suspense-filled taboo tale so scorching hot that you won't be able to stop flipping pages until you've read the very last word." ~USA Today Bestselling Author HJ Bellus

"A first-time forbidden romance tainted with lies and betrayal and oozing with lust...simply addictive!" ~Reviewer

"My heart! I've suffered many heart palpitations while reading mafia romance, and this book just took YEARS off my life in the best way possible!" ~Reviewer

"My mind is completely blown at this dark, twisted, and sexy as hell rollercoaster ride deep into the underworld! I guess I shouldn't be shocked. The author's name IS Luciani." ~Reviewer
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Anna Brooks Reviews

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 8,078+ 5-Star Reviews Across All Retailers

“Anna is such an awesome writer; if you love happy ever after storylines, then you will absolutely love this book.” ~Tabby J.

“Who doesn’t love a cowboy? How about one that is charming, sexy, funny and filthy at the same time?
If you raised your hand and you answered “Yes” then this series is for you!” ~Marcie L.

“A cow, hot cowboy and love at first sight and some funny moments. A good read. Proposal was the cutest!” ~Lynn V.

“Wow, there is never a dull moment in this book and I absolutely loved it.” ~Bette R.

“I absolutely LOVE this series!!!” ~Laura F.

“So many twists in this series! Absolutely LOVE!!” ~Shannon W.

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Calista Jayne Reviews

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 9,684+ 5-Star Reviews Across All Retailers

“I love the main story, with all of its little paths. I can't wait to start the next book and see which ones end and where others take me.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ ~Tegan

“This was a great quick read that checked all my boxes. I can't wait to finish the series, I know it's going to be amazing!” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ ~Sarah

“I absolutely loved this book and would thoroughly recommend it hoping others enjoy it as much as I did.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ ~Shirley
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