After being fired from her fashion internship in New York City, Mina Wilde decides it's time to reevaluate her life. She returns to the quaint English village where she grew up to take a job at the local bookshop, hoping that being surrounded by great literature will help her heal from a devastating blow. But Mina soon discovers her life is stranger than fiction - a mysterious curse on the bookshop brings fictional characters to life in lust-worthy bodies.

I'm Bree, and I see dead people. Not all dead people. Only those with unfinished business. They're everywhere—I'll be eating my breakfast, and a poisoned heiress glares over my Cheerios. I've returned to my hometown of Grimdale to cat-sit for my parents while I plan my next move. I'm looking forward to raiding their fridge, hanging out with their two kittens, and staying far, far away from anything supernatural. But I forgot that I'm never alone in Grimdale. The three ghosts I used to play with as a kid are back in my life again. Only now I'm their age, and they're infuriatingly attractive.

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.

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.

What’s a broke tea witch to do when she’s about to lose her beloved café? No idea, but chugging magic mojitos and drunk-summoning the Devil was definitely the wrong call. Now, I’m stuck with the house guest from Hell—literally—and we couldn’t be more opposite: a homebody who brews healing teas and reads romance novels to her cats versus a sexy-as-sin playboy with a pitchfork tattoo on his butt and a fondness for public day-drinking. In the nude. Ergo, the pitchfork discovery.

I died for Hostess cupcakes. I know. Tragic, right? Even worse, after I came back, I still didn't get any cupcakes. What I did get, however, is a six-foot-something reaper with eyes like blue fire to guide me into the world of the supernatural. Which, as it turned out, wasn't quite like the fairy tales little girls are told growing up. Not only is magic real, more importantly, so are monsters. And apparently, I'm one of them.

For a decade, I’ve hated the supernaturals who owned my world. I hunted them. I killed them. And now, in the most grand twist of fate - I am bonded to one of them. Oh, the irony. Being a supernatural bounty hunter isn’t exactly a popular job. But after the magic wars, there aren’t many things a human can do that will put food on the table. Thankfully, anything my right hook can’t handle, my guns can. Or so I thought.

Three strikes and you're out? If only. In my world, it's more of a one-and-done situation, even if you get that one strike trying to do something good. I've been on the run for years, never staying anywhere too long, never getting attached to anything or anyone because he will always find me. Bane. He's the best bounty hunter in existence, and I'm the one that got away, well, keeps getting away. If he wasn't so sexy I would hate him for it.

After years of putting it off, I find myself ready for a pack. I'm not much of a social person—books and writing are my whole life—so meeting a pack organically is out of the question. So, when my best friend finds an ad for a Valentine's Day speed dating event, I take the leap and sign up. I only had hope for a date for the holidays, but I ended up leaving with a lot more.

Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and life was pretty damned good. But as they say, all good things come to an end. One year later, I’m a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing home, and dead people think my home is some kind of supernatural bed-and-breakfast. Gluing body parts onto semi-transparent people has become a side job - deceased people I’m not even sure are actually there.

Remember that old line about how the only way out of the organization is in a pine box? Well, Rue Hollis spent 10 years thinking she had escaped the Black Hat Bureau, no coffin required. Then her former partner had to go and shatter the illusion by showing up on her doorstep with grim tidings.

For my forty-fifth birthday, I planned to treat myself to a spa day with my bestie. But instead, my late husband's insurance broker drops by to let me know that not only am I still widowed but my husband's insurance policies are being paid to his other wife-and his other family. The next thing I know, I'm being romanced by an Indiana Jones wannabe who arrives like a dervish to sweep me off my feet. One thing leads to another, but before anything happens, Indy goes missing, the place is trashed, and I've got myself a glowing snake tattoo that seems to be talking to me about magic.

"Happy birthday, Raven. Welcome to Noir Reformatory." Not what every girl wants to hear on her 18th birthday, but I accepted my fate long ago. I was born with black wings, earning me a permanent jail sentence from day one. A noir angel for life. That's fine. I'll own this prison just like I did back home. Even if it's ruled by two hot kings.

An unexpected inheritance has gifted me with the dream of a lifetime—owning a charming bookshop in small-town Scotland. Little did I know this gift comes with a surprise—Highland Hearts bookshop has been running an underground magical matchmaking service—and as new owner of the shop, I am expected to deliver on these matches. As Christmas looms, and lonely hearts beg for love, I’m tossed into the world of magic and romance, aided by a meddling book club who seems more interested in romance than reading. The problem is—I just don’t believe in love. Or so I thought.