Crazy good stalker romance anyone?

I'm not sure what shocks me more - that I had so many signups for the ARC of this boxset, or that the reviews came flooding in so quickly! 

This is a dark series. I wouldn't say the darkest (not if you've read Dark Deeds) but it's pretty damn close to the darkest thing I've ever written…and you're EATING. IT. UP. 

Have I underestimated the appetite of dark romance readers everywhere?

Should I keep writing this level of dark? 

If you haven't preordered your copy of Fyre and Ash, the link below will sort you out. It's available pretty much everywhere except Google Play. 

And if you've already read the series and wondering what the hell's in it for you (besides the gorgeous new cover)…then bear in mind that there's a deliciously dark and twisted bonus epilogue included in the boxset that hasn't been published before! (This is over and above the exclusive bonus content already available at the end of Catching Fyre).

And if you can't wait to read that bonus chapter in the boxset, you can join my Patreon and read it NOW, along with the first few chapters of my new WIP, Masked Beast. 

Here's a little teaser of the bonus content for Fyre and Ash, in case you were still on the fence…

Charlotte

I almost walk into the tall figure standing behind me.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be alone so late at night.”

I’ve just entered a darker section of the parking garage, but I guess he’s shy, because he grabs my hair in a fist and drags me around a large, square support beam.

Irises so dark they blend seamlessly with his pupils gaze at me behind a black ski mask. I wrench out my pistol, but he knocks it out of my hand before I can pull the trigger.

“Cute gun. Your boyfriend make you carry that thing around?”

Air leaves my body in a pained grunt when he slams me against the pillar. I open my mouth to scream, but he shoves a wad of fabric between my teeth, and then slaps a length of duct tape across my lips.

I try to knee him, but he sidesteps, grabs my knee, and shoves my legs open so he can wedge his body between my thighs. When I go to punch him, he catches my wrists and shoves my hands into my stomach, winding me even further.

“I don’t want to hurt you, babe.” His voice is calm, but there’s a dark edge to his words that sends a shudder through my body. “I just want to talk.”

I scream at him through the duct tape, and I swear he’s smiling because his eyes crinkle at the corners.

He clucks his tongue at me, black eyes roving over my face, down my neck. “I’ll be doing the talking.”

I’m almost yanked off my feet when he turns and drags me after him. I struggle with all my might, losing my purse, one of my shoes, and almost all of my composure.

When I see the dark panel van up ahead, a jolt of terror paralyzes me.

Thankfully, it’s followed by more adrenalin. I yank on my wrists as hard as I can, somehow breaking free, and kick off my other heel before bolting as fast as I can away from the man in the balaclava.

He catches me before I’ve gone two yards. This time he wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me kicking and screaming into the air as he carries me to his black van.

I’m still screaming through the duct tape when he tosses me into the back. I barely get my hands out in time to stop my face from slamming into the corrugated metal flooring.

I try to flip onto my back so I can kick out, but the man’s weight is on me almost instantly, the van door slamming closed behind us and snuffing out the little light that had been streaming in from the garage.

My screams of anger turn into desperate wails as he fumbles for my wrists, finds them, drags them behind my back. Rough rope singes my skin as he ties my hands behind my back. I wriggle with all my might, bucking my hips to throw him off, but all that does is make him chuckle.

Metal clinks against metal, and I go rigid at the sound of him ripping open his belt with one hand, the other pressed between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the van’s floor.

My eyes are adjusting to the dark, and what I see sends my heart racing even faster in frantic panic.

A bolt of fabric rolled up tight.

Rolls of duct tape.

More rope.

A metal chain.

His knee sinks between my thighs, wedging my legs open. I struggle, screaming, but the duct tape reduces the sound to a whimper.

“No one can help you now, babe. It’s just you and me.”