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.

I am a latent wolf shifter. Or so I thought. Then, life as I knew it changed in a flash - or more accurately, an electrocution. I’ve woken up in a strange place, surrounded by strange people who hate me. They’re in the middle of a war, and I look like I belong on the wrong side of it. If that’s not enough to qualify as a really bad day, I now have wings and a strange animal to figure out because it turns out that there’s not a damn latent thing about me.

My name is Vinna, and I've been keeping a lot of secrets. You would too if you'd experienced some of the weird shit I have: red-eyed monsters chasing me, markings on my body appearing out of nowhere, a strange power that crackles colorfully over my skin from time to time, and don't get me started on the weapons I can conjure up almost out of nowhere.

I never thought in a million years that the bones would choose me. The power, the magic, was supposed to go to someone else in the family. I was counting on it. But now my Grammy Ruby is gone, and here the bones sit on my kitchen table. I thought bitter relatives would be my biggest problem. But I’ve barely had time to find a familiar before trouble comes a-knocking. The kind that possesses smoldering green eyes and a smile that can turn any woman dumb. His name is Rogan Kendrick, and he’s certain that someone is hunting down and taking my kind. According to him, I’m next.

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.