Eighteen-year-old Alice is unhappy. Her boyfriend is nice and polite, but he's also quick and careless in bed, and doesn't give Alice the attention and variety she craves. But he's not entirely to blame, because Alice herself doesn't understand her own needs. She's heard about what sex is supposed to be like, but has never felt anything remotely close to what she's read about in runaway bestselling books.

Sparrow “Ro” Meadowcroft is about to get the promotion she’s always dreamed of–curator of the museum where she works. She loves old things and the history that surrounds them, so when a patron leaves some items to the museum, Ro is eager to dig in. The sword in the stone that comes with those items is clearly a joke. A well-made but obvious replica meant to be a conversation starter. Why anyone would think that belonged in the museum is beyond her, but she can’t resist taking a crack at it and finding out if she’s the chosen one. And as it turns out...she is.

Um. Um. Um. Are you reading this? If you are, I need your help. I was at a party; I was running; I fell. And get this - this is the part you'll never believe - I fell down a rabbit hole. Like Alice in those old books. Except in those books, there wasn't blood everywhere. In those books, the characters weren't all male, attractive, and interested in me.

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.

I’d been prom queen and cheer captain—high school’s most savage Queen Bee. I could have everything I wanted. Except them. The freaks, the weirdos, the school’s ultimate losers: Manson, Jason, Lucas, and Vincent. Our hatred for each other couldn’t keep us apart, not even when my own mistake got Manson expelled and made me the ultimate villain to the rest of them.

Who am I? I've forgotten the answer to that question long ago. Ever since I ran from that house, so desperate to escape, I left with only the clothes on my back and socks on my feet. After that day, I've only ever walked in stolen shoes.

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His belly full of laughter, his life full of joy. Until one day, something changed; stripped his innocence away. The hole inside making space for the devil to come and play.

All I wanted was to find answers to who I was. No one knew who had abandoned the gray-eyed baby with fiery red hair and a cry loud enough to make a man's nuts retract. I moved to Arbor Falls to find myself. Little did I know I'd be thrown into a world I didn't know existed. A world with wolves at each other's throats and enough pack politics and danger to make my head spin. Then there's the fact that I have more than one mate. Not all of them accept me because there's one gigantic problem: I'm not what they expected.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever done this. Written a racy message and sent it to—oops—the wrong person. Yeah, me too. Except, I sent my latest Tales of a Naughty Virgin column detailing my fantasies about my hot, charming, thoroughly bangable next-door-neighbor to…my entire company. Did I mention I’m a children’s book editor? Well, I was. *Facepalm.* At least the column goes viral, but I’m still the gal who gets fired for her not-safe-for-work thoughts about the so-called “Mister Sexy Pants”.

When you've been told your whole life that something is sinful, you have two options. Avoid it like the plague, like it has the power to destroy all that is good and pure. Or become as fixated upon it as Eve was upon that apple. I'm sick of the push-pull of terror and temptation. It's tearing me apart. I just want a bite of the apple. More than a bite. I want to devour it. Have its juices spill from my lips. And by apple, I, of course, mean sex.