You'd think that basically being in charge of love would be an epic job, right? Wrong. Sure, I can blow some Lust into people's faces and watch the show, but I can't actually participate. It gets old, trust me. Same goes for love. I can pass it out like sugar-free lollipops at a dentist's office, but I can't get any love for myself. It totally sucks. I used to consider myself a hopeless romantic, so why wouldn't I choose to become a cupid? Sounds like a good idea, right? Wrong again. They don't call us stupid cupids for nothing.

Here’s what I know. Being a cupid is hard work. Love Matches, Lust Breath, Flirt Touches, not to mention having to meet my quotas every month. And hitting your target with arrows? That shit is not easy. But all of that I could handle. Gladly. If only my cupid powers would actually work. The clock is ticking, but I have the perfect candidate to start with. Warren Knight. Smart, hot as hell, rich, bachelor-dud extraordinaire. Of course, the asshole doesn’t want to fall in love, so I have my work cut out for me.

I live with a pack of misfit shifters. We aren't going to be winning any popularity contests, but our hodgepodge bunch is more loyal than even the strongest pred packs. I should know. I grew up in one of them. As soon as they realized I was different, I was despised, even by my own family. So I left, joined Pack Aberrant, and I've steered clear of alpha pred assholes ever since. Until my heatwave hits, and I accidentally jump three coyote shifters in a parking lot. Whoopsie.

It’s never a good combo to be broke and desperate. You do stupid things. Like accidentally sign your soul over to hell. When I interviewed for a new security job, I didn’t bat an eye that it was for a literal graveyard shift...headstones and all. I mean, at the hourly rate they were offering, who cares? I got this. Turns out, I’m not guarding a graveyard like I thought. It seems I’ve just walked my broke ass into protecting a gate to hell. Yeah...I don’t got this.

When a chance encounter sparks an unlikely bond between rival murderers Sloane and Rowan, the two find something elusive—the friendship of a like-minded, pitch-black soul. From small-town West Virginia to upscale California, from downtown Boston to rural Texas, the two hunters collide in an annual game of blood and suffering, one that pits them against the most dangerous monsters in the country.

Nightmare Penitentiary is no joke. The worst of the worst in the paranormal world end up at NP, and I just got sentenced there. For others, this might be cause for freaking the hell out. But for me, it’s a f--king relief. You see, I’ve been sold off to the big bad asshole, Alpha Bowen - thanks Mom and Dad! But if they think I’m going to go quietly, or at all, they haven’t been paying attention to how I roll.

The vampire prince has never claimed a human. Until now. My whole life I’ve been nothing but a means to an end; livestock kept caged for the production of blood. I’ve stared through fences at the promise of freedom countless times, but the only way anyone escapes this hell is in the hands of a bloodsucker.

I'm not so different from most people. Like everyone else, I have life goals. Goal #1: Become a real girl instead of this invisible ghost thing I currently am. Goal #2: Convince the four men I've been haunting for the past five years to pick me to be their new toy after goal one is complete. Goal #3: Figure out who/what I am and why I can't remember anything past the five years I've been haunting this quad. Goal #4: Eat popcorn. See? Perfectly normal. Sort of. Gotta start small, after all. It's not like anyone else is perfect either.

I don’t believe in fate, but I do know this…the King who killed my brother is a dead man walking. And I’m prepared to sacrifice my heart, body and soul to ensure I get my revenge.

After the death of my mother and her Bonded, I was relieved to find my own Bonds. I was sure everything would be okay if I had them. It wasn’t. The fate of our people is in my hands, and I know we’re better off if I’m alone. After five years on the run, I’m caught and dragged back to face the men I ran away from. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now, I’m not so sure.

There were six of us. Caged, turned into monsters, and tormented with brutal tests of our horrific emerging abilities. We had only each other to count on...until our escape attempt ended with one dead, the others recaptured, and me dragged away into a different nightmare.

My name is Vinna, and I've been keeping a lot of secrets. You would too if you'd experienced some of the weird shit I have: red-eyed monsters chasing me, markings on my body appearing out of nowhere, a strange power that crackles colorfully over my skin from time to time, and don't get me started on the weapons I can conjure up almost out of nowhere.

I'm not all that special, really. I'm sure there are a lot of girls with old gypsy blood who see the dead, have killer cults hunting their family, and turn into something that gets scary when they panic. Yep. I'm just an ordinary girl. I wish people would believe that. I've been labeled as one thing or another for most of my life: Death Girl. Crazy Gypsy Girl. Gothic Chick. Monster. It took my mother's death for me to finally start getting answers about what's really been going on. Unfortunately, most of the answers come from men...who aren't just men.

I’m determined to honor the memory of my family by respecting the rabbit shifter community’s traditions. That is right up until I’m slapped in the face with an unexpected betrayal. The Elders are offering me up on a silver platter to the five male rabbit shifters whose favorite pastime is tormenting me.

After surviving childhood at the snooty, stuck-up boarding school for budding omegas, I have everyone convinced I'm a dud. My awakening? Never gonna happen. Heat, mates, and a fairytale pack life? Maybe next reincarnation. All I want is to be left alone. I'm invisible, and headed to a blissful solo future until the Wyvern Pack destroys my dream of independence. But Atlas, Hunter, Finn, Jett, and Orion are poison candy. They don't want an omega, but they need one, even if there will never be a real spot for me in their pack.

You'd think that basically being in charge of love would be an epic job, right? Wrong. Sure, I can blow some Lust into people's faces and watch the show, but I can't actually participate. It gets old, trust me. Same goes for love. I can pass it out like sugar-free lollipops at a dentist's office, but I can't get any love for myself. It totally sucks. I used to consider myself a hopeless romantic, so why wouldn't I choose to become a cupid? Sounds like a good idea, right? Wrong again. They don't call us stupid cupids for nothing.

It’s never a good combo to be broke and desperate. You do stupid things. Like accidentally sign your soul over to hell. When I interviewed for a new security job, I didn’t bat an eye that it was for a literal graveyard shift...headstones and all. I mean, at the hourly rate they were offering, who cares? I got this. Turns out, I’m not guarding a graveyard like I thought. It seems I’ve just walked my broke ass into protecting a gate to hell. Yeah...I don’t got this.

I live with a pack of misfit shifters. We aren't going to be winning any popularity contests, but our hodgepodge bunch is more loyal than even the strongest pred packs. I should know. I grew up in one of them. As soon as they realized I was different, I was despised, even by my own family. So I left, joined Pack Aberrant, and I've steered clear of alpha pred assholes ever since. Until my heatwave hits, and I accidentally jump three coyote shifters in a parking lot. Whoopsie.

Nightmare Penitentiary is no joke. The worst of the worst in the paranormal world end up at NP, and I just got sentenced there. For others, this might be cause for freaking the hell out. But for me, it’s a f--king relief. You see, I’ve been sold off to the big bad asshole, Alpha Bowen - thanks Mom and Dad! But if they think I’m going to go quietly, or at all, they haven’t been paying attention to how I roll.

I'm not so different from most people. Like everyone else, I have life goals. Goal #1: Become a real girl instead of this invisible ghost thing I currently am. Goal #2: Convince the four men I've been haunting for the past five years to pick me to be their new toy after goal one is complete. Goal #3: Figure out who/what I am and why I can't remember anything past the five years I've been haunting this quad. Goal #4: Eat popcorn. See? Perfectly normal. Sort of. Gotta start small, after all. It's not like anyone else is perfect either.