Raiden

Simon just wants to run his antique shop in peace. But then he finds a small mysterious box that’s (probably) haunted, and his shop is broken into by the hottest man he’s ever seen who then steals said creepy box. Now demons are after him and his only hope is to trust the tall, muscled, combat-boot-wearing thief who claims to be the son of a fallen angel.

Cary Sutton isn’t surprised when his boyfriend walks out on him during a holiday in Cornwall at Christmas. It’s far from the first time that someone's accused him of being cold—both inside and out. Cary’s spent his whole life feeling like he’s separated from the world by a sheet of glass. Nothing touches him. Nothing moves him. Which is why it’s so strange to find himself drawn to a small Cornish beach and the man he meets there. Sigurd Arvesen is handsome and charming, but he also holds a secret—one that’s big enough to overturn Cary’s whole world.

Angelus Salvatore is the only necromancer in all of Boston, and his name is whispered warily by the undead and fellow sorcerers alike. He and his brother Isaac are the lone survivors of an attack by an army of the undead, in which Angel used a spell so powerful it forever marked his place in history. Now, years later, Angel struggles to balance his career as a teacher of the higher magical arts, his role as big brother, and a tenuous relationship with an Elder vampire from the local clan.

I’m never one to turn down a bet. Especially not when it comes to retaliating against the dean for pulling a dick move before summer break. So when the dean’s golden child arrives at Astor for his freshman year, my fellow troublemakers throw down a wager I can’t resist. The target: the dean’s son, John Thomas Hawthorne, or “JT”. The bet: corruption in any way I choose. It should’ve been easy. With his mess of brown curls, pouty lips, and good-boy reputation, JT is the perfect revenge. And even better? He’s straight.

No, seriously. Talon wants to know what he did to deserve this. What would make a sentient rock decide that he of all people should be the one to save the world from zombies? That’s right. Zombies. Because apparently a higher power decided that teaching magic to teenagers wasn’t enough of a challenge.

This week hasn’t gone the best for me unless you count Casimir, the sexy ancient vampire, bringing me back from the brink of death (and tying my fate to his in the process). Not that it matters if the werewolves and vampires don’t stop their ridiculous feud, because someone is targeting them and widening the divide between our communities with each body they leave in their wake. But as the alpha’s son, I have a plan to fix everything. I’m going to convince Casimir to fake date me to show the others that we can work together. I mean… what could go wrong?

Witch Briar Wyngrave's time is limited. The wasting curse that killed his mother is coming for him too, consuming his magic bit by bit. At least he'll have the chance to make his name as a magical fashion designer with an elite placement in Pentawynn, the country's glittering capital, after graduation. Until, that is, a prophecy sends him to the remote island of Coill Darragh instead, in search of a predestined lover with a mysterious mask.

When the gods come calling, you don’t get to say no. Patrick Collins is three years into a career as a special agent for the Supernatural Operations Agency when the gods come calling to collect a soul debt he owes them. An immortal has gone missing in New York City and bodies are showing up in the wake of demon-led ritual killings that Patrick recognizes all too easily from his nightmares.

The Firm has ruled St. Dismas for generations. To most, they’re just a myth. But in truth, they are the last resort of the desperate. I never understood why anyone would go to The Firm. There’s always a price to pay—a price you won’t discover until your request has been granted. It was a path I swore I’d never walk. Or so I thought. When my brother is gravely injured, everything changes. I have no choice but to go to The Firm. I don’t know what they’ll ask of me, but I’ll give anything to save Jackson. He has his whole life ahead of him, and I’ll make sure he gets to live it.

Maybe I have an overactive imagination, but the hot guy next door totally gives off serial killer vibes. Why else would he know how long it takes to bleed out from a wound? Yeah, ok, so I asked, but it was research. Being an author definitely makes for some odd questions (someone had better clear my browser history when I die, that's all I'm saying). It's not like I'm stalking my hot neighbor or anything—there's nothing wrong with watching him out my window. Although I might have my own stalker (and not the cute harmless kind), which is kind of terrifying.