So in the sweltering heat of a July night, I sang a Christmas carol to a room full of fae, who had been driven out of their homelands by Christians and their cold-iron swords.

New rules. If you are smart enough to live, you won’t hit Charles’s mate in front of his father.

Asil has appointed himself my guardian?" asked Charles softly. Asil was overstepping himself. "He was bored, he told me," said his father. He gave Charles a small smile. "I have given him a job so he doesn’t get bored again.

Bran was stripping her futon down to the bare mattress when she entered her apartment. It was sort of like watching the president mowing the White House lawn or taking out the trash.

It Wasn't Hard To Follow The Scent Of Blood To The Living Room Where The Fae Had Been Killed. It Had Been A Violent Death, Perfect For Creating Ghosts.

What do you mean?” Leslie’s voice was cool, as if she questioned witches who were flat on their backs being threatened by werewolves every day.

Do they always flirt with biblical quotes?" Asil asked Tad. In long-suffering tones, Tad said, "They can flirt with the periodic table or a restaurant menu. We've learned to live with it. Get a room you guys."