I hunt demons. I don’t work for them. And I promised my mom one thing before she was murdered: Under no circumstances, would I ever go near the high demons. But I’ll break that promise over and over again if it helps me avenge her death. When my only lead turns to ash in the middle of demon territory, I’m suddenly a dead witch walking. Violence in Samael’s club is an automatic death sentence… unless he can use you.

I was kept ignorant and sheltered my whole life. Now that I’m free, I’ll never be coddled again. Even if the smoking hot werewolf king thinks coddling is perfectly acceptable. Because something’s hunting humans in my city. Something that kills like a werewolf, but displays those kills publicly–as if taunting the authorities.

Nico has his own motivations for their union beyond maintaining peace with her family. A serial kidnapper known as The Collector has been ravaging the streets of Remnant Row, stirring up mistrust between natives and descendants. If Milla can help restore safety to his streets, he'll have no need for her or her family's company. Find the Collector, prevent a war between their sides of the city, and pay off the family debt before she turns twenty-one. If Milla can fulfill her end of the bargain, she'll walk away with more freedom than she's ever had before.

Ilona Andrews, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Kate Daniels series, invites you to a fresh start for Kate, Curran and Conlan, in a long novella and a short novel. The places and faces may be different, but they’ve brought some familiar friends and all the special brand of chaos they create!

Welcome to The Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar. I'm Sam Quinn, the werewolf book nerd in charge. I run my business by one simple rule: Everyone needs a good book and a stiff drink, be they vampire, wicche, demon, or fae. No wolves, though. Ever. I serve the supernatural community of San Francisco. We've been having some problems lately. Okay, I'm the one with the problems. The broken body of a female werewolf washed up on my doorstep. What makes sweat pool at the base of my spine, though, is realizing the scars she bears are identical to the ones I conceal.