When the going gets tough, the tough get their hands dirty.
Join NY Times bestselling authors Faith Hunter and Jennifer Estep along with USA Today bestselling authors R.J. Blain, Diana Pharaoh Francis, and Devon Monk on a brand-new romp through magical worlds where the damsels bring the distress, what can go wrong will go wrong, and nothing is as it seems.
Adventure with Eli Younger, Liz Everhart, and Brute in the thrilling world of Jane Yellowrock. Face off against old gods and lost souls at a magical crossroads on Route 66. Become entangled in Ashland’s dark, deadly web with side characters from the Elemental Assassin series. Return to the irreverent world of Beck Wyatt, where disaster waits around every corner and cheesecake makes it all worthwhile. And finally, meet up with the Quinns and friends in the zany world of the Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count) series.
In this collection of all-new urban fantasy and paranormal stories, the gloves are off and simply surviving might just be the dirtiest, most difficult deed of all.
Fate was coming. The roar of her motorcycle rumbled at the edge of my hearing and rattled through the magic in the ground beneath me, shaking that damn pecan tree I was scowling at.
I set my hammer and bucket of nails on the sawhorse and wiped my arm over my forehead, mopping sweat even though it was barely dawn.
“You hear that?” I asked the ghost. Valentine was lounging on the pile of wood I wanted to turn into a shop, even though the damn tree was in the way of the roofline.
“Did I hear some woman cussing about not having any help, and for reasons unknown to me, angry at a pecan tree? No, Ricky. I haven’t heard a thing you’ve said.”
Val had been a werewolf in life and was a smart-ass in death.
Built lean and rangy with a bit of hungry-wolf to him, he was too skinny to be my type. But with his scruff and wicked dark eyes, he pulled off the good-looking bad-boy vibe.
Me? I was a mountain. Over six-feet tall, with broad shoulders, wide hips, and thick everywhere else, I knew my size could intimidate. Counted on it, really.
Val claimed he had a tattoo on his body somewhere, which I wasn’t about to ask him to show me. I, however, couldn’t hide my ink and was absolutely painted from collarbone to fingertips, back, butt, legs and feet.
Every one of my tattoos carried magic that allowed me to access and look after the magic in the Crossroads.
“The engines,” I said. “Can you hear them?”
He tipped his head. The ghost wolf, who was always with him, lifted its head, too, ears pricked up.
“No?” he said.
“Well, I can. It’s Fate.”
“The god? How concerned should I be?”
“Depends. Did you do something to piss off the gods?”
“Not lately.” He grinned. “Have you, Ricky?”
The Crossroads wasn’t exactly a sentient building, but all the magic stored in it had somehow merged together to create a joined spirit.
The old house was my friend, and I was its guardian and the keeper of its magic.
Even if that magic was dangerous.
Especially when it was dangerous.
In return, the Crossroads did its best to help me. Lately, I’d been having the same dream on repeat, which I knew the Crossroads had something to do with.
I was floating in tropical water, the taste of sugar on my lips. A handsome man, a familiar man, with green, green eyes placed a flower in my hair, his fingers drawing down the curve of my cheek. “I’ve missed you, Ricks.”
That’s where the dream always ended, because that’s always when I’d recognized the man.
Cardamom Oak. That dryad-wizard fink.
I’d dismissed the dream every day for a week, but the Crossroads just kept putting it in my brain.
I knew it was an omen.
Trouble was coming.
And that trouble was somehow connected to my jerk ex-lover.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/