Birth rates dropped at an alarming rate, and within years, men across all realms grew restless and aggressive. Their desperation led to women being collected at birth and sold at auction, and humans gradually became sought after. Parents began hiding their daughters, birthing and stowing their females underground in a desperate attempt to keep them safe. Charlotte is one of them.

They tricked me into a dark and unholy union. Three bastards in witch hats, leather pants, and iron masks. These supernatural stalkers have claimed me for their coven. They won't go away. These assholes will. not. leave. All because I fell for an urban legend: touch the Witch's Tree on a moonless night and discover magic. Wholesome magic like: kinky rituals, blood sacrifice, and jizz potions. Oh, and a forest god who eats people—while they're still alive and screaming. Send help, and I'll send cupcakes.

Rebecca doesn't have many demands for life. She wants a good husband, a neverending supply of chocolate cake, and a house full of children. She's polite and well-mannered, but despite her attempts to secure a love match with a man of her choosing, she finds herself in an unwanted marriage with the elusive Lord Elijah. Forced into a marriage she does not want with a man she does not know, Rebecca is determined to make his life just as miserable as he's made hers.

Abby has come up with a brilliant plan. Sneak into the faerie realm, travel to the shifter forest, and collect all the delysum she can get her hands on, and return home before anybody discovers who she is. Simple. At least that’s what she tells herself. The only problem is she’s never actually been to the faerie realm, and once she gets there, it turns out the few stories she’s been told about it have been wildly deceiving. The plant she’s meant to collect is being cultivated into a weapon, and the faeries are on the cusp of war with the shifters.

I’m Vallie, but BookTok knows me as @CurvyandBooked. Dark romance is my jam, peanut butter, and marmalade. Mafia. Bully. Why choose? You name it, and I want to sit in my beanbag with my battery-operated boyfriend and read it. Look, if I don’t need a chöochie ice bath after a romance, was it even a love story? If someone didn’t bleed for looking at her, was the hero really that into her? But it’s just fiction. Until it’s not. So, when I find a masked man in my living room skimming my favorite romance novel, all my dark desires become very real nightmares.