Roxy's got two hammers, a bit of Breaker magic, and the deathbed promise she made to her father. The Seattle Slayers, an elite cadre of fighters dedicated to protecting the city, is having their Trials for new initiates. My dad was a Slayer--one of the best. I thought his legacy might give me an edge in the Trials, but I was wrong. If anything, it made them harder on me. But joining the Slayers is my best chance to save my mom. And, maybe, I need to see if I can fill my dad’s shoes. The only things standing between me and my dreams are all the other elite fighters and magic users who want their spot on the Slayers too. I will battle them all--fae warriors, river demons, and a vicious animage who hates my guts. I've got my hands full but a certain vampire princeling further complicates my life even as he saves it. He’s powerful, handsome, and deadly–a combination I find hard to resist. If you enjoy slow-burn romance and rooting for the underdog, cross over to Twilight Veil, where life is cheap and vampire blood spends the best. Praise for Stakes and Bones : "...the world building is top notch. ... I recommend it to lovers of hard UF, supernatural action, and post apocalyptic themes. This is a winner!" "I can't wait to read the next book on her journey!" "If you love a strong female protagonist, action adventure, political machinations, you are in for a treat." "It didn't take long for me to be immersed in this interesting world." I flipped back the tails of my duster and planted my hands on my hips. Sweeping back the duster revealed the twin hammers riding on my hips, Thor and Loki, with polished heads of cold steel and fire-hardened handles turned and sharpened into ten-inch stakes, perfect for dispatching unruly vamps. Below my hammers, silver-chased daggers rested in sheaths on both thighs. At my back, tucked into my vest and out of sight, more knives, short and perfectly weighted for throwing. I might not be a Slayer yet, but I knew how to kit myself out like one. "Evening, boys. What business do you have with the Slayers tonight?" The vamps laughed, an ugly, grating sound. I clenched my fingers down, willing my hands to stop shaking. Stretch growled. "The lamb thinks she's a Slayer. Don't see no ink. Don't see no bandana." I crossed off Stretch as the leader. Too talkative. Too brash. Down to Ghost or Patch, then. I put my money on Ghost, with Stretch and the third guy shooting him quick glances before turning their hungry gaze back on me. "You think every Slayer needs to wear their ink where you can see it? How have vamps as stupid as you survived this long?" That jab earned me a deadly glare from Ghost. He didn't like being cut down in front of his subordinates. Of course, only the glare was deadly. They weren't planning on killing me. Not under the Pact. No, they were going to enslave me and turn me into cattle. Anything short of killing me inside the bounds of Market was fair game—a truly devious contract worthy of fae approval. It hardly mattered that vampire enslavement turned you into a mindless zombie, the Pact only concerned itself with true deaths. The only exception was for humans, because we were all outmatched so we could stand our ground or save a life. A human life. Today I aimed to save my own. Ghost took a step towards me, pushing aside Stretch roughly. When he spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper. "You might dress like a Slayer but you smell like a blood donor. You're coming with me tonight." That was definitely over the line. At least, it was over the Slayers' line. If a Slayer on patrol were present, they would be instantly adjusting Ghost's attitude. But despite my attempts to stall, no convenient patrols had come within sight of my little drama. While Ghost talked, the other two vamps moved to cut off my escape. My options were disappearing quickly. I dropped my weight into my knees, getting ready to move in any direction. Lessons from my dad buzzed through my head and my eyes darted left and right, scanning for exits. My mouth kept talking, almost on its own. "Do the math guys, this is not going to end well for you." The vamps laughed again, and in the midst of that laugh, Ghost lunged for me, blurring into a pale smear of color. My nerves vanished like mist in a volcano as adrenaline took over. I already had my weight leaned towards Stretch. As the leader of their small peril, I knew they'd give Ghost the first strike, so I only needed to decide which of the other two to eliminate first. When Ghost disappeared I pushed off and launched myself at Stretch, vampire of long limbs and weak knees. Muscle memory led the way and both of my hammers came out. Heads out, sharpened stake side down—I didn't need to attract the attention of Pierce Yang for killing his goons unless I had to. Against vampires, I could go all out with my hammers and see if that discouraged them first. Stretch had half a moment to register a look of utter surprise as I came straight at him. He pr