My father sold me to a demon prince… but the monsters who rescued me are even deadlier.
For a witch without magic, marrying into a prominent coven was supposed be my greatest honor—and the only way to clear my father’s massive debt. But when my groom turns out to be a demon, I stab him at the altar and flee…
Straight into the lair of New York’s most dangerous mobsters.
Jude, a charming but brutal psychopath aptly dubbed the bone collector. Augustine, a devilishly handsome conman who’s never met a dirty deal he couldn’t close. Rook, a cunning spy whose favorite pastime is blackmail. And Draegan, the fearsome boss who rules his underworld empire with an iron fist.
People call them the men of shadow and stone—untouchable and unbreakable—but I know better.
They’re not men at all.
Ancient. Ruthless. Possessive. Way more seductive than I care to admit.
Now that I’m under their protection, they’ve vowed to take down my enemies.
But they’re taking something else in return.
This many centuries into my cursed immortal existence, only three things have the power to remind me I’m not dead: fucking, fighting, and killing. Give me the full monty on the same night? Stuff of wet dreams, that. Bloody brilliant.
But thanks to the mortal feds crawling up our arses after a botched hit job on a crooked judge—not my botched hit job, mind you—Drae’s got us on a real tight leash. Been a whole twenty-seven days since I broke a bone or spilled so much as a drop of someone else’s blood, and he’s still sore at me over the last bloke I put in the ground.
Human. Bastard abso-fuckin’-lutely deserved it too, but I digress.
As for my favorite way to pass the time?
I flick the lighter and hold the flame to the tip of the joint, sucking in a deep drag of witchweed. Across a pitch-black, dead-end street in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood, a square of golden light spills from a third-story brownstone window. A dozen crows hang out on the eves just above it, flapping and tittering like old codgers fighting over dominoes.
Those fucking birds show up here every night, same as me.
I’m pretty sure the little scarecrow inside knows she has an audience, too. But she’s a nice girl. Too polite to shoo us all away.
Lucky for us.
A shadow moves behind the sheer curtains, and I keep a close watch in anticipation of what’s to come.
She’s undressing for bed—my favorite part of the show.
Stripped down to her bra and panties, she saunters past the window, shaking out that gorgeous mane. Dark waves spill over her shoulders, covering her perfect, oh-so-suckable tits.
It’s the color of crow feathers, that hair. Shot through with a few silver locks that set off the brightest blue-green eyes you ever saw.
Unfortunately, I only ever got to see them up close the one time. I was heading back to the office from a late-night coffee run when I caught her feeding her crows in Madison Square Park. Some pervert was harassing her, but I chased him off real quick. After that, I chatted her up a bit. Offered her the fancy-arse almond joy latte I’d bought for Rook and made her laugh enough times to get the sound of it stuck in my head forever.
Before I knew it, I was half the fuck in love with her.
So a bit later, when she thanked me for the coffee and said she had to get home, I did what any self-respecting half-lovesick arsehole would do.
I followed her.
Never did get her name, but I’ve been showing up here like a stalker every night since, hiding out in the shadows across the way and hoping for a peek.
Yeah, I know. Who’s the pervert now, right? Fuck it.
As for the shitbag who messed with her in the park… Would you believe it’s been exactly twenty-seven days since anyone’s heard from him? Poor chap. Although, there’s a human skull on my desk presently serving as a paperweight that bears a striking resemblance. Coincidence?
The curtains flutter and her silhouette glides past once more. Every graceful movement makes my dick hard as stone, aching to sink inside her wet little cunt and make her beg for all the filthy things she never even knew she wanted. Needed.
And oh, I will make her beg.
In the end, they always do.
Her light flicks off. I hold my breath, heart slamming against my ribs.
Please come back, darling. I’ve got so many naughty, delicious plans for us…
Seconds later, the gauzy curtains part and I try not to squeal like a tween boy who’s just discovered the dark side of the internet. I take another hit of the witchweed, then flick the butt into the gutter, my attention lasering in on that window. Her face fills the glass, blue-green eyes luminescent in the dark.
Searching. Always searching.
Perhaps she’s looking for her white knight from the park, wondering if I’ve finally come to claim her.
Fearing it, as she damn well should.
The thought of making her tremble sends a dark thrill straight to my balls, and my human glamour ripples with the ancient magic holding it together. The real me is eager to come out and play.
Her neighborhood is quiet at this hour, all the happy little babies tucked into bed by their happy mums and dads, so fuck it. Keeping to the shadows, I give my surroundings a quick scan, then drop the glamour and let my true form stretch to fill the darkness.
If my little scarecrow saw me like this… I nearly bust a gut at the idea. If the seven feet of muscle and massive leathery wings didn’t scare her the fuck off, the horns and tail would certainly get the job done proper.
Gargoyles? We’re not supposed to exist. Problem is, we do. What’s left of us, anyway.
But my girl doesn’t need to know that yet. All in due time…
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