Fangs for Nothing (The Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven 1)

by Steffanie Holmes

I expected a stately home – all Regency finery and rambling white roses. But Black Crag is pure medieval grimness. This is a castle that has seen some shit.

If Dracula visited Black Crag, the infamous vampire would step back in disgust and tell the owner; ‘Cool it with the gargoyles, dude. No one’s that goth.’

Honestly, I never found trains particularly interesting until tonight, but Alaric could talk about paint drying in that deep voice of his and I’d listen. Actually, he did talk about paint drying for a bit. It’s surprisingly hot.

I want things no vampire should ever want from a human. I want things that will crumble my whole world to ashes.

“I’ll hex their arse so far into next week that they won’t be able to find it with a freaking Google Alert!”

“I’m sorry, you rescind the tea invitation? That is the sickest burn I’ve heard from a member of the aristocracy.”

Winnie has staged a hostile takeover of my side of the pillow fort. In all my years as a vampire, that is not a sentence I ever expected to think aloud.

I want to love you whether you are a quiet day or a raging hurricane. I want you to fall apart for me so I can love every piece of you.

“I didn’t know that your version of first aid was to go around licking things!”

I’m sure that with an eternity to practice, I’ll be able to stab something. Maybe not my target, but something.