You'd think that basically being in charge of love would be an epic job, right? Wrong. Sure, I can blow some Lust into people's faces and watch the show, but I can't actually participate. It gets old, trust me. Same goes for love. I can pass it out like sugar-free lollipops at a dentist's office, but I can't get any love for myself. It totally sucks. I used to consider myself a hopeless romantic, so why wouldn't I choose to become a cupid? Sounds like a good idea, right? Wrong again. They don't call us stupid cupids for nothing.

It’s never a good combo to be broke and desperate. You do stupid things. Like accidentally sign your soul over to hell. When I interviewed for a new security job, I didn’t bat an eye that it was for a literal graveyard shift...headstones and all. I mean, at the hourly rate they were offering, who cares? I got this. Turns out, I’m not guarding a graveyard like I thought. It seems I’ve just walked my broke ass into protecting a gate to hell. Yeah...I don’t got this.

Six years ago, I awoke in a cage with no knowledge of who I was or where I’d come from. Six years ago, I was spared the flesh markets and instead thrown in with a group of savages, where I learned it was fight or die. Now, eight Orders of Assassins are converging on the only home I’ve ever known. All in hopes of purchasing new blade slaves for their ranks. I’m for sale, yet all I want is a life far from death and ownership. Then I meet them, the Order of Scorpions. Their allure is a threat to the freedom I crave, but I won’t fall victim to their sting, no matter how tempting it might be.

“Give me a second chance, babe . . . and I’ll blow your mind.” Monroe doesn’t know why she answers the text that’s obviously meant for someone else. Or why she keeps answering. Maybe it’s because she’s all alone in a big city and in desperate need of a lifeline. Or maybe it’s because each exchange leaves her intrigued and more than a little turned on. Still, Monroe never would’ve snarked back if she’d known she was talking to the “Golden Boy” of the Dallas Knights.

The stories were all wrong—Hook was never the villain. For two centuries, all of the Darling women have disappeared on their 18th birthday. Sometimes they’re gone for only a day, some a week or a month. But they always return broken. Now, on the afternoon of my 18th birthday, my mother is running around the house making sure all the windows are barred and the doors locked. But it’s pointless. Because when night falls, he comes for me. And this time, the Never King and the Lost Boys aren’t willing to let me go.