Dane Gareis is a wealthy, reclusive young man with a traumatic past, but a spine of steel. When his father is killed in a mysterious plane crash, Dane carries on the family business and continues his passion for the very antiquity that got his father murdered - a golden sarcophagus belonging to an ancient cult known as the Ydrath. Soon, the Ydrath threaten him as well, and Dane seeks to hire a bodyguard he can trust. Someone who can protect him, and someone who will respect his boundaries.

All Dag Gates wants is a place to call home. (And to practice magic freely.) All Stefan Bjorne wants is peace in his adoptive country. (And less paperwork.) All Mikkel Vinters wants is both of them. (No, really, he could do wedding bells.) So why, pray tell, is half the magical community set on denying them all their wishes?

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.

“You are the savior of mankind” are the last words I ever expected to hear while nibbling on fries. The thing is, I’m not mankind saving material. I don’t even have magic (and just found out it exists). I’m the most boring, normal(ish) human ever. Suddenly, I’m being tossed right into the middle of a fight that started years before I was even born, and then I get partnered up with Alastair, a quirky magical Guardian. He is rather attractive and sweet when he’s not into the whole “woe is me, I can’t let myself fall in love with you” nonsense.

Fine, tomorrow is the day the world ends, but is that actually better? My name is Blaze Keyes, and I’m a seer. Since I was a kid, I’ve known that the world was going to end on my 25th birthday.