You know you're in trouble when your new vampire-slaying partner walks onto the scene looking like a hot rock-star... And your heart's not available... Because work and romance don't mix at all.... or do they? The forces of darkness take no prisoners. Neither do I. Coincidence? I’m Dred Dixon (call me Mildred, my real name, and find out what happens. I dare you). My marching orders are to protect the hidden world at all costs. That’s fancy-talk for “Neutralize the baddies.” I’m murderously good at my job. But now the Fates are meddling. They want me to stop killing so much. What am I supposed to do? Reason with monsters? Talk down demons? They may as well start digging my grave now. The Fates always make things worse. I think I’ll ignore them. Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t. Damn it. If you enjoy Orlando A. Sanchez, Kimbra Swain, Shayne Silvers, John P. Logsdon, Michael Anderle, or K.F. Breene, you'll dig adventuring with Dred Dixon and her ex-NYC Flameheart, Hank Stone, in this slow-burn romance urban fantasy romp.

I just pulverized a bad-guy who committed crimes against innocent supernaturals (and fashion). But there’s no time to celebrate. The hidden world is a hydra. I chop one baddie down and another one sprouts in his place. Now, as more supernaturals vanish, a powerful female witch has made my shortlist of suspects. I managed to get one step ahead of her, so she just did what every jackass does when they’re in a corner. She made it personal. When things get personal, my trigger finger gets itchy. One of us isn’t coming out of this alive. Place your bets. If you enjoy Orlando A. Sanchez, Kimbra Swain, Shayne Silvers, John P. Logsdon, Michael Anderle, or K.F. Breene, you'll dig adventuring with Dred Dixon and her ex-NYC Flameheart, Hank Stone.

The Hands of Fate just get tighter and tighter. I’ve never been spread so thin in my life. From the slot canyons of southern Utah battling mythological giants to the northern regions where creatures of nightmare go all King Kong on me, I can’t seem to stay ahead of my charismatic arch nemesis as he captures and kills supernaturals for his twisted ritual. As if the usual suspects aren’t enough—monsters, bloodthirsty vampires, and a super-villain—my obnoxiously sexy and secretive partner ditches me for a trial back in NYC. Tackling everything alone while enduring his radio silence puts me through the darkest time I’ve encountered since a marauding pack of demons killed my first partner. I can manage the chaos and heartache, but where’s a little divine intervention when I need it? The Fates toy with me when it suits them, but when Dred Dixon needs a guidebook, the goddesses close up shop. And that’s only half the story. Whatever happens, if I can’t determine where the final ritual will be before it happens, the blood of more supernaturals will be on my hands.

Hellish monsters never before seen, deadly rituals, and the hands of Fate... Dred Dixon knows there's a pattern to the madness, but staying a step ahead of her charming arch-nemesis might require divine intervention. If only the Fates weren't so tight-lipped. Her wits, secretive partner, and evolving powers will have to do. For now. Don't miss the fourth book in the Dred Dixon Chronicles!

The Fates knew what was coming for me, but they kept silent. That’s the kind of thing you expect from a crap friend, not goddesses who (turns out) are sorry excuses for mentors. I know who my real father is, but that came with a huge cost. One that I still haven’t absorbed. My partner, Hank, manages to just get more irresistible, but resist him I must. Fighting side-by-side gets more and more like foreplay or a dance, but now he's playing the field like a sworn bachelor. Oh, and I’m almost an orphan now. Meeting my father for the first time will change that, but how am I supposed to defeat my arch-nemesis while I can’t keep my eyes off Hank? This is like… frustration city. Just one frustration after another. Maybe it's time for me to play the field, the world's about to end anyway. There’s a pretty hot god who can’t keep his eyes off me… is it uncool to say “in your face, Hank”?