Guess they don't call me Claret "Get F*₵k3d" Moreau for nothing.

After six months on the run, I came home with one goal: avenge my father's murder. Too bad life never sticks to the script.

Abduction? Check. Chained to a werewolf's bed? Double check. Newfound demon powers? ...oh, crap. Revenge needs to take several back seats.

Though I come from a long line of hunters, it turns out I'm not even a Moreau. Although...I maybe spent a decade killing in their name. And there may be a standing fae contract to take my head. Look, even a one-woman killing machine can admit when she needs help, and right now I need all the help I can get.

Demons, werewolves, and witches—I used to hunt them for sport. Now, I'm in bed with them all. Well, enemies can become allies if you squint hard enough...right?