Um. Um. Um. Are you reading this? If you are, I need your help. I was at a party; I was running; I fell. And get this - this is the part you'll never believe - I fell down a rabbit hole. Like Alice in those old books. Except in those books, there wasn't blood everywhere. In those books, the characters weren't all male, attractive, and interested in me.

Roslyn Blackthorne is dead. Technically. I faked my death to get out of a loveless marriage, but that was only half the battle. To ensure my vampire duke can never find me, I have to run far and fast enough so he can’t catch me. Because if he does, it’s over. Not just my life—for real this time—but my entire family’s.

I'm not all that special, really. I'm sure there are a lot of girls with old gypsy blood who see the dead, have killer cults hunting their family, and turn into something that gets scary when they panic. Yep. I'm just an ordinary girl. I wish people would believe that. I've been labeled as one thing or another for most of my life: Death Girl. Crazy Gypsy Girl. Gothic Chick. Monster. It took my mother's death for me to finally start getting answers about what's really been going on. Unfortunately, most of the answers come from men...who aren't just men.

I rejected my fated mate, and didn’t regret it for a second. Until now. Shipped off to Ravenscroft University, a graduate school for the supernatural elite, I have a lot to live up to. As heir to America’s most powerful pack, I was locked away. Not to be protected, but because I was born broken. A disappointment. A wolf who couldn’t shift. This is supposed to be my fresh start, but my past won’t leave me alone. Not when he’s here.

My name is Arizona Smoke, and I'm the proud owner of a house haunted by my dead Gram, best friend to a cocktail dress loving werewolf, and apparent soul mate to four plumbers who also happen to be elemental dragons. Besides rippling pectorals, tattoos, and … uh, nice, long pipes, the guys also have control of the elements. Supernatural law (whoever heard of such a thing anyway?) dictates that since I stumbled upon the guys in their alternate forms, I have to marry them. All four of them. Oh, and apparently one lousy (okay, awesome) night of sex means that I'm an elemental, too—and no amount of magical penicillin can cure this disease.