“This isn’t making any sense to me,” I said, pulling traces of my blood toward me. It slid and rolled in tiny drops, forming a small puddle on the pavement. I pushed it to the side, solidified it, and stomped on it. It shattered under my foot into inert powder. Blood retained its magic even when separated from the body. For as long as I could remember, I had to guard my blood because if it were examined, it would point to my father like an arrow. There was a time where I had to set any trace of my blood on fire, but now it obeyed me. I couldn’t decide if it made me a better fighter or just a worse abomination. “They seemed desperate. Driven, almost, as if they had some sort of goal to get to.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Curran told me. “It’s almost midnight. I say we go home, get cleaned up, and climb into bed.”

“Sound like a plan.”

“Hey, is there any of that apple pie left?” Curran asked.

“I think so.”

“Oh good. Let’s go home, baby.”

Our home. It still hit me like a punch, even after months of us being together—he was right there, waiting for me. If something attacked me, he’d kill it. If I needed help, he would help me. He loved me and I loved him back. I was no longer alone.

We were walking to my donkey when he said, “Sweet cheeks?”

“I couldn’t help it. Ghastek’s got a stick up his ass the size of a railroad track. Did you see the look on the vampire’s face? He looked constipated.”

Curran laughed. We found Cuddles and went home.

Excerpt from On the Edge

Keep reading for an excerpt from the first in the romantic urban fantasy series of the Edge

ON THE EDGE

Available now from Ace Books

“A fascinating world combined with pulse-pounding action and white-hot romance makes On the Edge a winner!

—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author

“A great, fun romance, an offbeat mix of old-fashioned rural magics, contemporary life (complete with Wal-Mart and comic book shops), and magic sword-wielding warriors.”

—Locus

ONE

“ROSIE!” Grandpa’s bellow shook the foundation of the house.

“Why me?” Rose wiped the dish-soap suds from her hands with a kitchen towel, swiped the crossbow from the hook, and stomped onto the porch.

“Roooosie!”

She kicked the screen door open. He towered in the yard, a huge, shaggy bear of a man, deranged eyes opened wide, tangled beard caked with blood and quivering grayish shreds. She leveled the crossbow at him. Drunk as hell again.

“What is it?”

“I want to go to the pub. I want a pint.” His voice slipped into a whine. “Gimme some money!”

“No.”

He hissed at her, swaying unsteadily on his feet. “Rosie! This is your last chance to give me a dollar!”