Novels by janeperriott

Damian Moretti was exactly like he’d seemed on the news. Cold, handsome, and imperceptible. He had dark hair that was artfully combed and styled. His face was all sharp angles, smooth cheekbones, a harsh jawline, and dark grey eyes that held absolutely no emotion. He was remote, even when he took my hand and finally stared into my eyes. There was a moment where the grey of his gaze shone with a glimmer of gold, but I assumed it had something to do with the reflection of the light and my eyes playing tricks on me. And I wouldn’t get the chance to confirm that since he didn’t look my way the rest of the ceremony. Damian spoke only when it was his turn to say his vows, and his voice was unfeeling, but it rumbled through me, lighting up something deep in my body that didn’t make sense. Attraction. Of course I was attracted to him. He was—like all werewolves—an absurdly handsome man, and I was human. Of course I was feeling… something. Eventually, the vows were said, the rings

Things moved very quickly after that. The wedding was quite literally the next evening, so we had to move fast. I was bundled up and taken to my parents’ house that night and they assured me they’d handle my lease and my job. Not like I’d need either after a year married to Damian, if their promises of security and wealth were true. I let myself daydream about what I’d do with all that money and freedom. I’d move out of that apartment, somewhere remote and away from the messiness of the city. A home with a toilet that flushed immediately and floors that didn’t creak. I’d build myself a nice library. I’d get a couch that wasn’t stolen from an alley next to an old furniture store. I’d pick out wallpaper because I liked it, not because it was on sale. I imagined all of this to avoid imagining what the next year would entail. My parents filled me in on what exactly they’d agreed to with Damian. The marriage was purely political, of course, and like all political or business arrangemen

“No,” that was my response. I didn’t even have to think about it. “There’s no way in hell.” My father’s jaw tightened. My mother inhaled sharply, as if she’d been bracing for the word. “You can’t be serious,” my father said, stepping forward. “Nika, this isn’t—” “I said no.” I didn’t raise my voice, I didn’t need to, surely they didn’t actually expect me to agree. “You sold Daria. I won’t let you sell me too.” My father straightened, shoulders squaring, the way he always did when he was preparing to remind me who held the power. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore and I wouldn’t let them bully me into doing things I didn’t want to do the way they had my entire life. Ballet recitals, language lessons, tutors, dates and even who I’d marry they’d planned my life down to the last second and when I’d had the audacity to rebel against my rigid schedule in a way my sister never dared, I was punished for it. Being estranged from my family was painful, but at least I was freer than I e

Even though we were twins, Daria and I had always been complete opposites. Where I was brash, rowdy, and rebellious, my sister was quiet, demure, and obedient, everything a perfect society girl was meant to be. My parents’ favourite child. If anyone ever had to bet on which of us would go missing, all bets would’ve been on me. Never on Daria. She wasn’t reckless. She didn’t disappear on impulse. Which meant only one thing: whatever had happened to her had been bad enough to force her hand. The shock hit first—sharp and disorienting—followed immediately by a tight, clawing fear that wrapped itself around my ribs. I knew what kind of people my parents were, after all, I’d experienced the height of their cruelty myself. “Missing?” I repeated, my voice betraying my emotions. “How does someone like Daria just go missing?” My father didn’t reply, his face hard as ever, but in his eyes churned a storm of warring emotions and one of them was guilt. I knew the level of surveillance my sis

NIKA. My shift had ended, and yet there were still no calls from my boyfriend. I sighed, packed up my things, and made my way out of the bar, saying goodbye to my coworkers as I left. I hesitated at the door for a moment before sending one more text to Matt, letting him know I was on my way home and that he should stop by when he was through with work. It was our anniversary, after all, and I’d been planning tonight for the past week. The message joined the hundreds of others I’d sent over the past few days, delivered. Anxiety settled like a rock in my stomach, followed by a rush of self-consciousness. Matt and I had been together for two years. He’d been the one to save me from completely ruining myself after Alex had left me. I never fully understood what had brought us together. We belonged to two different worlds, him a successful accountant, me a struggling, alcoholic bartender. We’d met at a party hosted by a mutual friend. He’d stepped in when a handsy guest tried reachin