A girls' night out means three things to me: drinking whiskey with my best friend, trying not to kill anyone, and keeping my magic hidden. A fae gladiator like me isn’t supposed to exist anymore. But my Friday night takes a bad turn when a lethally gorgeous fae - Ruadan - tries to assassinate me. He's known as the Wraith, and he's taken a vow of silence until he’s slaughtered the outlaws on his kill list. Outlaws like me. Ruadan lets me live on one condition: I have to earn my place at the Institute of the Shadow Fae.

My heart hasn't beat in a 1,000 years. I haven't uttered a word in prison, and the guards keep their distance. If they get too close, they die - until at last, my magic binds my soul to another. Unfortunately, the person destined to save me is a night elf - the enemy of my kind. And yet, when I see her in the cell across from mine, an ember starts to burn in my chest.

On the worst birthday of my life, I come home to find my boyfriend in bed with another woman. Within hours, I’m drunk, homeless, and pledging to stay single forever. And that is when the dangerously sexy Seelie King rolls through town, looking for fae like me.

I thought this would be a simple profiling case. Just another Jack the Ripper wannabe, prowling London’s streets, searching for easy kills. I was wrong. This killer is fae, and he’s as elusive as smoke on the wind. But I’m an FBI profiler, and it’s my job to track him down. It doesn’t matter that one of the main suspects - a lethally alluring fae - is trying to seduce me...or kill me, I’m not sure which. I won’t be stopped, not even when panic roils through the streets of London or when the police start to suspect me.

Once I was a fae princess with sea-magic at my fingertips. Now? I’m a hunted supernatural in a squalid shop, stripped of my power. My only comforts are stale cookies, Elvis records, and my hula-hoop. Then a lethally sexy fae king arrives and rips even those away. After the brutal king throws me in prison, I strike a bargain with him: my freedom in exchange for helping him find a magic blade. What Lyr doesn’t know is that the blade might restore my stolen magic. But as we journey, the gorgeous jerk starts to make me feel things I’ve never felt.

Ursula can't remember a single thing from before three years ago, so she has to keep her life simple. All she wants is to earn enough money for rent - and maybe a bit left over for a new pair of boots. But on her 18th birthday, all hell breaks loose, quite literally, when a hellhound shifter shows up in her kitchen. Kester's lethally gorgeous, and he's come with a terrifying message: Ursula owes her soul to a demon. No one seems to care that she doesn't remember striking that deal.

Morgan Pendragon has another name now: Morgan Le Fay. As her true heritage slowly emerges from the mists of the past, Morgan renounces one possible future as the new ruler of the fierce Siabra fae and the wife of the Prince of Claws and vanishes through a portal—returning to Camelot and the Rose Court, where her friends and younger brother lie in mortal peril from Arthur's cruel wiles.

Plucked out of the Collector’s Pens, auctioned off to a vampire contingent, and sent across the ocean to the Alpha Territories was not exactly how I planned to spend my week. Actually, scratch that. I had planned the first bit. But I was supposed to be sold to the werewolves so I could save my friend from a fate worse than death. Instead, the bloodsuckers have me and so far? It's not going great. I've been shoved into a corset and made to look like an extra on the cast of Bridgerton, all to take part in the Harvest Games....

Things go from bad to worse when I get a summons to attend the vampire king’s court, where I get my marching orders. I’m given one lousy week to get my affairs in order, and then I’m to present myself to the conclave to commence my hundred years of indentured servitude, where I get to learn Vampire 101.

Lorelei Clay isn’t like other people. She isn’t even like other supernaturals. Her specialties are the nightmares of the living, communication with the dead, and cooking bacon until it’s golden brown and perfectly crispy—no magic required.