"What do you want?" Silas asked in a low voice. His blue eyes raked over my frame causing me to lose my breath momentarily. "You," I breathed, my eyes darting between the two men in front of me. "I want both of you." Aries smirked, a smug look on his face. "And who are we to stop you?" ⋙ Twenty three year old Natalia Maruo moves into a new apartment unaware that her two roommates are incubi fresh out of hell.

It was gentle at first, tender little pecks, before Fionn embedded his fingers into Dante's hair. The vampire tugged Fionn flush against his body as they explored one another's mouths. Fionn was a little fearful of Dante's fangs but every time they grazed over his lips or tongue he let out a soft moan. Admittedly, Fionn had never kissed a vampire, had never even considered it. Yet, with Dante, he never wanted to stop. He had responded so quickly, giving in to every shameful little urge he had ever had for the vampire, immediately becoming a breathless, groaning mess. "Think of me instead," Dante murmured when Fionn had to break off the kiss, he had been getting a little light headed. Dante brushed his thumb over Fionn's cheek but the wolf just stared on in disbelief. "Come on, Fi, don't act like you didn't know my feelings for you." "I-I didn't," Fionn stammered, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. "Fi, I flirted with you mercilessly," Dante was beginning to look a little self-conscious, his brows drawn together in a soft frown. "Yeah, but that was just teasing and stuff. This is like a whole world different," Dante was silent for an entire agonising minute, merely staring into Fionn's eyes, before sitting up and running his hand through his hair. "You're right," he muttered, scowling down at his lap, "it was stupid of me to assume you felt the same way. It wouldn't work anyway, we'd end up killing each other," Dante rose from the bed and walked toward the bathroom. "Wait," Fionn gripped Dante's wrist, though the vampire kept his eyes on the bathroom door, "maybe it would work... Maybe I really want it to work," Fionn spoke quietly but he knew Dante would hear every word clear as day. "You can't lie to me, Fionn, I can read your thoughts," Dante muttered, still refusing to look at the wolf... {Book Two of the Inamorate Series}

Book 1 of Rewritten: The Inamorate Saga. The great reveal had been beneficial for some. Elves, particularly, with their beauty and grace and quiet manipulation of the world around them. They thrived in the light, able to infiltrate human structure with ease, carving out a place for their kind at the most crucial of times. Their leaders set down territory lines, segregating cities and even states for themselves, for the growth of their people. They flourished, building their empire on the backs of those withered beneath. Fae, however, didn't find such a foothold. They remained in the darkness, hidden away in the tangles of forest untouched by humans, trapped within their clans. The dark ages reigned through those woodlands, void of modern technology and any shade of defiance. Monarchs ruled, surrounded by warriors, enforcing their law upon the common people. Outside, there was talk of abuse, of forced subjugation, whispers from those fae that had made it, that had escaped. Salem had chosen to remain silent. Five years had passed, not a soul knew of the clan he had fled. He had a family, three brothers who had taken him in, who had chosen to house him rather than barter money for the purity he still held. There was a normality to the world, to the life that Salem had forged. There was no reason for change, nothing to draw him back into that inky abyss he had clawed out of. Nothing but a tree flowering ivory petals housed in the estate of one of the most influential elves in their city...

Book 2 of Rewritten: The Inamorate Saga. In the wake of war, with the lands still ravaged and generations still reeling; peace lay in the balance. Peace brought upon through exile and the threat of genocide, peace holding only at the very edges of society. History was told through tales of woe, and spoken in words of victory, both true in their own right. There had been a stillness that had fallen, a silence that had created the foundations of what some might call the future. Through that stillness, one creed had flourished, whilst the other had rebuilt what little they could from the ashes they had. Kija could wait no longer. He had given the wolves their time, had waited with bated breath until the moment he hoped for had arisen. Now was the time to accept that that moment would never come, choke down the bitter pill that was their reality. There would be no mercy, no sympathy. And who was to expect as such? It was Kija's people, Kija's blood, that had brought about such conflict, and their people were to suffer the consequences. Regardless, Kija wouldn't act with hope. He couldn't wish for anything other than the bare minimum. He had one goal, one aim, and then he, too, could move on with those around him. Kija would confront the wolves, meet with the Crown Prince of his sworn enemy. He would beg, plead, drop to his knees. Whatever was necessary. Kija would bow to those that opposed him not for himself, not for his own future, but for that of his King. Kija would bring Rammone home, and Kija would reunite him with his love.

"Our universe grants every soul a twin - a reflection of themselves - the kindred spirit. And no matter where they are or how far away they are from each other - even if they are in different dimensions, they will always find one another. This is destiny; this is love." -Julie Dillon. Dove had been plagued with vivid dreams all his life, about a thousand different lives with a mysterious blur of a man. He had never thought too deeply about it, more concerned with getting out of his dreary town and away from the ghosts of his past. In a last chance bid at a life elsewhere, Dove travelled to San Franciso for a job interview to be the personal assistant of prestigious businessman and billionaire, Eryll Beherit. Little did he know, that man was no man, and he would be the final piece of the puzzle that Dove needed to fill in all the cracks in his fractured mind...

Book One of the Haunted Lover's Duo "People in the real world always say, when something terrible happens, that the sadness and loss and aching pain of the heart will 'lessen as time passes', but it isn't true. Sorrow and loss are constant, but if we all had to go through our whole lives carrying them the whole time, we wouldn't be able to stand it. The sadness would paralyze us. So in the end we just pack it into bags and find somewhere to leave it." - Fredrik Backman, My Grandmother asked me to tell you she's Sorry. Still wrought with grief from the loss of his older brother, Eden Moir seeks out Malcolm Reed, the best SN lawyer currently working in the surface world. His intentions are mere justice for his brother, who was wrongfully murdered by hunters. Eden has been juggling work and home life, or more like drowning in it, and is in a constant struggle with the tight budget that is being washed away by his mother's drinking problem. Yet, Eden yearns for more as he gets to know Malcolm. He desires for the witch to be more than his lawyer, despite how detrimental it could be for his brother's case. Love is worth the risk, after all, right? Sadly, Malcolm might not see things the same way, looking at the bigger picture, not wanting to cost those around him the career he has built all for his own selfish wishes. But, in the end, there is something far worse at play, lurking beneath the shadows, waiting for the right moment to pounce... waiting for the right opportunity to dredge up the agony within Eden's heart once again.

Book Two of the Haunted Lover's Duo. "The paradox of vengefulness is that it makes men dependent upon those who have harmed them, believing that their release from pain will come only when they make their tormentors suffer. In seeking the Bird's death to free himself, Louie had chained himself, once again, to his tyrant. During the war, the Bird had been unwilling to let go of Louie; after the war, Louie was unable to let go of the Bird." -Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War Two Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption. In the wake of Malcolm's death, Slate attempts a shot at normality. He tries to cope, and hopes staying close to Eden will aid him in retaining his sanity. However, there just doesn't seem to be anything going right, and the hole that Malcolm left in his chest just isn't helping. He's falling, and he knows soon he'll hit the ground. He'll crash. During a raging storm, Slate finds the one light that might actually keep him going. The one light to guide him through the darkness of his life, to bring him back from the brink, and maybe even to finally forge some beauty worth living for. A nymph, half-dead in the middle of the road, so close to the end himself but somehow able to shift Slate's entire world into another dimension. A clearer one. One that he may just survive in.

Growing up in chaos isn't simple for all. Not many could cope. They would struggle and kick, but ultimately drown. However, for Dakota, that was his normality. Torturing. Maiming. Killing. That was his life, the life of a hunter. The Arizona line was elusive, written fame in the lore of hunters, and infamy for their prey. They were the best. No one could ever compare to their skills, their abilities, their ruthlessness. But Dakota was something else. His siblings might have learnt to enjoy the hunt, well most of them anyway, but Dakota didn't. There was always something missing for him, something he was waiting on. Silent and everlasting hope. A promise had been made to him, the day his twin brother was stolen, taken by the enemy, plucked right from the very home the Arizonas had grown up in. A promise of something better, something that he might actually want in his life. Now, almost sixteen years later, something was coming. A change was begging to be found. Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe Dakota would finally find that certain something that had been missing his whole life, something to fill the dark and fractured abyss that ached and wailed within. But nothing was ever that simple. Because, of course, the promise that had been made to Dakota would never be anything plausible for him, anything tangible to have and to hold. He had been promised a new life, by the greatest enemy of them all. It wouldn't be easy. Not with his family still clinging to his heels, the teachings of blood and violence burnt into his mind. No, leaving them behind wouldn't ever be easy. Then again, staying with them would only bring his inevitable death. Why not take the chance to die happy? After all, out of the ashes, a phoenix will rise...

Flames had followed Erin his entire life. It began with the grisly housefire that consumed his father. Henri Maye had been Erin's entire world and in an instant, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Nothing left but ash and char and cloying black smoke. But Henri Maye hadn't just been any man. He wasn't just a doting father and loving husband. He was a well-renowned researcher into creatures beyond human DNA. One box of research survived the fire, placed conveniently outside the door as though it had been plucked from the devastation just for Erin. Within that box, one name repeated over and over. Ross Towler. And so the flames never abated. Ross Towler was infamous, a Shadow, a hellhound, and a convict locked away in the life imprisonment that had begun over three hundred years ago. Henri had interviewed Ross. He had known him. That was all Erin needed, just that one box. He vowed to continue his father's work, enrolling in college to study a degree in Supernatural History and Lore. That was where the obsession began. Erin wasn't his father. He couldn't distance himself, he wasn't interested in all forms of life beyond his own. There was one man he desired, one man he wished to study more than anyone else. It didn't matter. Ross was serving a life sentence, and he refused to see Erin no matter how much the boy tried to make contact. That should have been the end. That should have been where the embers fell...

Shepherd had run all his life. Constant, unabating movement that consumed him. It was relentless, be it the demons within his own mind or external pursuers out of his control, there was always another beast snapping at his heel, urging him forward in the eternal chase. But that was behind him. He was settled now, happy, hidden away from the prying eyes and reaching claws. Until He returned. Reece Greymoore, a name Shepherd so desperately wished to eradicate from his mind. Their meeting had been brief, a lifetime ago, ending on soured notes that Shepherd no longer allowed to disturb his slumber. Reece shouldn't have found him, and yet there he was, speaking of friendship and favours and other pleasantries that had Shepherd's guard firmly bolstered around himself. But Reece never appeared in a shower of sunshine and rose petals. Rather, he spoke of so much worse, of threats to Shepherd's very life. Promises of safety fell upon deaf ears, disbelief a much more comforting blanket to reside within. Reece was not only an alpha but he was a ghost, a figure within Shepherd's past that should have never arisen. He arrived with death and dismay in his wake, sweet words weren't repayment enough. Reece's presence had shattered the fragile cage around Shepherd, allowing the light in, reminding him of the freedom of the chase. The roots he had planted were withering, tearing apart beneath him, leaving nothing but rot and decay where he stood. Maybe running was just how it was meant to be...