According to the FBI, I was considered a serial murderer after three kills. What do they call me after fifty-two? They call me the Silencer. One final bullet would have been all it took to stop me from taking another soul, and I would have been doing Meridian City a service by pulling that trigger. An angel crying for help stopped me, and that night, I took three lives for her. Then three turned into eight. Then eight turned into twenty. Twenty turned into twenty-one. Twenty-one turned into twenty-three.

When my father passed away, I assumed my grieving would be as simple as closing a book and starting another. Only he had other plans. Leaving me his beloved tattoo shop, I’m stuck to figure out what exactly to do with it, all while being constantly reminded of him.

My reputation at Fairview University preceded me. I was the projected number-one pick in the NHL draft and the fan favorite at the rink. People wanted to be me or be with me. Except for Lyla James Marichal.

When River McAllister escaped from Shallow Hill, she left her innocence behind—and some of her sanity. Now, she's rebuilding her life with her dream man, and life couldn't be better.

I can’t remember anymore if my grandfather’s eyes were blue or green, but I’ll never forget the way they wrinkled at the corners when he laughed at one of his own jokes. Or the way they sparkled with mischief when he told me tales about the magical creatures that dwelled in the forest behind his humble Irish sheep farm. As a child, I believed every fantastical word. But when he warned me about the mute boy who also lurked in those woods, the one the priest had declared to be the spawn of Satan himself, I refused to listen.

I'm addicted to my stalker. He watches me at night, sneaking in through my living room window and making my blood turn to ice. I feel him all around me as chills snake down my spine. Each night he becomes bolder, getting closer and welcoming himself into my bedroom, feeding his addiction.

Clark Griswold was onto something...at least with his annual holiday meltdown. And since the last three weeks of my life have been riddled with humbug—another breakup, a broken toe, an office promotion I deserved and didn’t get—I’m not at all in the mood to celebrate nor have the happ, happ, happiest Christmas EVER.

The average song is three and a half minutes long; those three and a half minutes could lead to a slow blink, a glimpse of the past, or catapult the soul into heart-shattering nostalgia. At the height of my career, I had the life I wanted, the life I’d always envisioned. I’d found my tempo, my rhythm. Then I received a phone call that left me off key. You see, my favorite songs had a way of playing simultaneously. I was in love with one man’s beats and another’s lyrics. But when it came to the soundtrack of a life, how could anyone choose a favorite song?

I see dead people, and not just the men I murdered. I'm in danger of being committed because I can’t tell what’s real from my hallucinations. Everyone thinks I’m crazy when the serial killer I jilted starts haunting my house. He assassinates any man who shows me interest, leaving their body parts under my pillow. During the day, his gaslighting destroys my peace of mind. But at night, he invades my nightmares and makes me crave the depravity.

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His belly full of laughter, his life full of joy. Until one day, something changed; stripped his innocence away. The hole inside making space for the devil to come and play.

There's no one worse for me to want in my bed than Jake Tully. He's hot and grumpy and literally a terrible idea. Terrible. Worse, no one has ever made me feel the way he does—valued. But here I am, thinking about him again. Falling for my sponsor is not my worst idea yet, but it's damn close.

Calista belongs to me... she just doesn't know it. The first time we met, I wanted her. The next time, I was obsessed. I watched her. I followed her. It only deepened my need to possess her. Once she's mine, I'm never letting her go.

The first letter arrived the day my husband was buried. It was postmarked from the state penitentiary, and contained a single sentence: I’ll wait forever if I have to. It was signed by Dante, a man I didn’t know. Out of simple curiosity, I wrote back to ask him what exactly he was waiting for. His reply? You.

Layla Robinson is not crazy. She is suffering from unrequited love. But it's time to move on. No more stalking, no more obsessive calling. What she needs is a distraction. The blue-eyed guy she keeps seeing around campus could be a great one - only he is the new poetry professor - the married poetry professor.

She is my muse, and I am her demon of music. A year ago, I witnessed sweet Scarlett Day’s dark side. She’s been my obsession ever since. I was content with being her secret, content with protecting her from afar… until an enemy from my past sets his sights on her. Our families have a deep history of hatred, and Scarlett is caught in the middle. Meanwhile, her mind plays tricks on her. When a panic attack goes horribly wrong, I emerge from the shadows to save her. Now that she’s mine, I can’t let her go. I’ve mastered the darkness. She tempts me with her light.