A thousand years ago, my great-something uncle founded the Collective, a secret organization dedicated to protecting humanity from demons. The hunter tradition has been passed down over the generations, from parent to child, secure in the knowledge that the Collective is a community of safety and knowledge. But betrayal sucks, and six years ago, it turned my world—and the Collective—upside down. After generations of deception, the hunters left behind are picking up the pieces and trying something we’ve never done before—working side by side with our enemy.

Pixies are supposed to be petite, beautifully lithe creatures with gossamer wings. Sporting luscious, ombre pink hair and fluttering pink wings, Phil meets two out of three of those criteria. At over six feet tall, no one would dare call Phil petite. As a home-and-hearth pixie, Phil yearns to find a home and family he can bond to. When no one's willing to hire a pixie of his stature, Phil is forced to find work elsewhere. Turns out, pixies make terrible bouncers.

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.

Aster didn't put much thought into his escape. All he knew when he ran up that mountain—straight into the lair of a grumpy dragon knight with a huge grudge against his family—was that he couldn't submit to an arranged marriage. It never occurred to him that a snowstorm would strand him there. Or that he'd give in to years of longing and beg for the monster's forbidden touch. But it happened. All of it…

Keats McCulloch opened his florist shop in Sydney two years ago and he’s living his dream. Even though running his own business leaves little room for a personal life, he is very single, sometimes lonely, but otherwise happy.

There wasn’t a time when I didn't know Flynn “Firecracker” Honeycutt. He’s been my childhood friend. My high school rival. The guy I couldn’t stop dreaming about, long after I thought I’d left him and Honeybridge in my rear-view mirror.

With the storm and the holidays leaving Hamish with nowhere else to go, Ren kindly offers a place to stay. Hamish is certain he’s crashed right into a Hallmark Christmas movie, despite more car delays and road closures and the prospect of not seeing his sister for Christmas. And with help from Hamish, Ren is beginning to feel a little Christmas cheer. These two unlikely strangers have more in common than they first realise, and after two days of Christmas decorations, cookies, and non-stop conversation, it looks like Christmas might be saved after all.

Moms are good at one thing: the guilt trip. It’s the only reason I’m at the funeral of a man I’ve never had anything to do with. I’ll show up, make her happy, and get out. At least that’s what I think until I learn daddy dearest has left me a crap load of money and the obligation to learn about the family business. All from his eldest son who looks nothing like the rest of us.

Big City is supposedly the place where dreams come true. As someone just trying to live my life, I can tell you it’s more like a recurring nightmare where dreams get c*ckblocked at every turn. Especially if you’re a supervillain like me. The irony is that I have zero powers, despite coming from purebred villain stock, but try telling that to Big City’s beloved hero, Captain Masculine.

Despite growing up in a family of villains, I’d rather curl up and read than commit crimes. When I get coerced by my brother into helping him rob a bank, I run into August, my childhood crush, also known as Chrono, the city’s greatest superhero. He’s sexy, sweet, and suddenly, he’s asking me to Thanksgiving with his parents. 

I hate Valentine Tye. I’ve hated him since we were ten years old. I hate everything he is, everything he stands for. Even the mention of his name gets my back up. And when I see him? My blood boils. My jaw clenches and my hands curl into fists. That’s how much I hate him. I want to cause him pain. I want to hold him down and actually hurt him. And if that’s not bad enough, that’s exactly what he wants me to do to him.

For nineteen years, I have carved myself into a dutiful son, a courtier of unimpeachable wit, and a genuine delight at a tea party. Now that my success in society has planted me in the path of Mikhail Vasiliev, it's clear I'd have been better off keeping my head down. Prince Mikhail is the second son of a traitor. Third in line to the throne, he has a reputation for violence, debauchery, and being a thorn in the side of his cousin, King Dmitri. That is until the king decides to get him out of the way—by marrying him off. To me.

I’m not anti-relationship, but my life is good right now, and love is not a priority. Too bad my grandmother disagrees. People say she’s scary, and sure, some of her enemies went missing under mysterious circumstances, but she loves me and wants the best for me…which right now, is marriage.

Welcome, welcome, I can only guess you are here to read about my wonderful adventures. Oh, you don’t know who I am? Well, I’m Foxx Honeywell. An adorable, fierce vampire with a kink for violence. Anywho, this marks the beginning of my story. A story of violence, blood, possibly pain, and love. Though the love part is not so apparent at first. So how does this story start you may ask. Well, it starts with a simple… Okay, maybe not so simple, law change, and a new job.

Tristan Everett has always preferred the company of the dead because they usually don't talk back. Being a somewhat awkward introvert working as a pathologist at the Hackney Public Mortuary suits him just fine. That is, until a freak accident with a rogue ice cube and suddenly he can see ghosts. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any weirder, sassy drag queen, Dusty Le Frey, is wheeled in with a toe tag and she's not prepared to go quietly into the light.