Autopsy of a Fairytale (Autopsy of a Fairytale, #1)

by Nicole Scarano

He was named Cerberus after the three-headed hellhound of Hades, and that name felt prophetic. The Cerberus of myth guarded the Underworld, and the black pitbull guarded her darkness. Her furry beast with a beautiful soul.

If only all of life’s problems could be solved by cookies.

At six foot one with curly brown hair and hazelnut eyes, thirty-five-year-old Garrett was storybook handsome, strong and soft and sweet around the edges,

“Someone planned this for a long time. They tailored every inch of this to Lumen’s body.” She stood up, gesturing to a slender coil of wood that wrapped around the pale ribs. “The killer knew how tall, how heavy and wide Lumen was. They also encased him in some of the most beautiful furniture I have ever seen, a piece Brett Lumen himself would strive to produce. A furniture designer entombed in the works he loved most.”

“Lumen was well known for his work. People from all over the country paid thousands to own his pieces. His furniture was unique. He refused to create duplicates, so entombing him in a one-of-a-kind piece is almost sickly poetic. But why carve open his chest to show his heart?”

“It’s a rosebush,” Bel said, and Garrett looked at her with raised eyebrows. “The statue is a rosebush, and that’s not his heart. Those are rose petals.”

Death was a cruel and intoxicating master, enslaving not only its victims but also the living caught in its wake.

They had only been partners for a few months, but their vastly different puzzle pieces clicked together to form a whole. She was all darkness, and he was her light. She dwelled among the demons, but his smile was a gift from the angels.

She had never witnessed such perfection. She had never stared at such evil. He was beauty. He was a beast, and every inch of him oozed darkness and power.

Brett Lumen had been carved into a chandelier, turned into the furniture he cherished. Emily had been shaped into a spoon to stir the life-sized mug of coffee, becoming one with the liquid she claimed flowed through her veins instead of blood.

“Detective Emerson?” She should ignore him. She shouldn’t respond, but his orbit was impossible to escape, to resist, and Bel turned to face his hell black eyes. “Be careful.” He smirked, showing off those beautifully sharp teeth. “You never know what kind of predators are out here.”

“But I can assure you, Detective, I may be evil, but I am not the evil you’re hunting.”

It was as if a beast had clawed out its victims’ hearts and drank them dry, but there was no such thing as monsters. Only men who were often more terrifying than the beasts of mythology. Human depravity ran deep and ugly.

“You shouldn’t be here, Detective.” Bel froze as Eamon’s powerful voice echoed through the house, booming off the walls and slicing into her nerves. “You can’t hide from me, Detective. I can smell you.”

“You’re a part of me now, and I will always be able to sense you. I can no more leave you than I could stop the sun from rising. No matter how far you flee, I will feel you. I cannot abandon you to suffer this life’s dangers. You are mine to protect.”