My entire life I've felt like an outcast...

Blood Magic is FINALLY here! I cannot believe it's finally time to share Bronwyn and Tarnley with the world! It definitely feels like it's been a long time coming. To celebrate, I'll be eating salted caramel chocolates, drinking coffee, and working through edits of Blood Union, the final book in their trilogy.


Oh! And I almost forgot to mention the giveaway! In addition to eating the chocolates, drinking the coffee, and writing the words, I'm also giving away a signed paperback of Blood Hunt, AND a brand-new, wireless Bose headset! Details for that are on Instagram! Click here and check out how to enter!


Now, without further ado, here is your sneak peek!


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Tarnley


Shards of glass embedded in my wrists sting as I pat them dry. Sadistic as fuck to leave them in? Absolutely. But when I lost control and broke through a double-paned glass window so I could eat the woman sleeping on her couch, the pain brought me back.

So, there they stay, embedded in me as a constant reminder that I’m barely clinging to a shred of sanity at this point. Anger is a consistent emotion in this new lifestyle of mine, and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from driving a steel blade through my own heart.

Doing that would make things easy on Bronywyn, and I’m in no mood for anything to be fucking easy for her. Not when she’s put me through hell these last two months.

I wrap the towel around my waist and inhale the essential oils diffusing in the corner. Lavender and teakwood, two things that should be calming to me, and honestly, they probably are. Barely leashed is my new specialty, but it’s a hell of a lot better than out of control.

I’ve been to thirteen different states in the past three weeks, and four different countries before then. I’ve checked Ireland, Scotland, Prague…the list goes on. Still, no sign of the one person I would kill to see.

My back stiffens, while the hair on my arms stands on edge, as I breathe in the faint scent of tobacco and flowers. Someone’s here. Rolling my neck and preparing for a fight, I blur into the hall. “You picked the wrong fucking—” The words disappear as the air in my lungs vanishes.

Standing less than three yards away from me is the very woman I’ve been searching the world for. Dressed in black jeans, tall heels, and a black leather jacket, she looks nothing like the witch I remember, and every bit a powerful hunter.

Bronywyn’s blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her green eyes are harder now—angry almost—as she stands before me, clutching the suit jacket I abandoned at my pub after killing that vampire. And damn, doesn’t that feel like fucking forever ago.

Not giving her the chance to leave, I blur toward her, grabbing her shoulders and pinning her against the wall. She brings a knee up to hit me in the groin, but I block her with one of my own.

“Let me go,” she growls.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I seethe through clenched teeth.

Her pulse thunders, and sensing the need for her blood, my body reacts. Canines sliding down, I’m forced to retreat or risk ripping her throat out.

As soon as I’m across the room, Bronywyn tosses my jacket to the side then crosses both arms in front of her chest. “Around.”

“Around? That’s your bloody answer? Are you kidding me, Bronywyn?”

Her eyes flicker down to my bare chest then back up to my face. “I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation.”

“You sure as hell do,” I counter, rage pushing through my relief that she’s here. She left me, abandoned our bond and her friends, in pursuit of shadow magic she should never have had to begin with. “You just fucking took off without so much as a single word.”

“I was no longer needed. Lucy was dead.”

Unable to do anything else, I gape at her as her words run through my mind on repeat. No longer needed? Is she fucking joking? Who the hell is this woman? Because she sure as fuck isn’t Bronywyn Walsh.

Uncomfortable in the silence, she clears her throat. “Look. I’m here because of the blood. So, drink from me, let me drink from you, and then we can go our separate ways until next time.” She rolls up her sleeve and holds out her wrist like I’m a fucking dog she can bait with a bone.

Too damn bad she’s about seven weeks too late.


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