The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle
The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle
The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle
The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle
The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle
The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle
The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle

The Ultimate Badass Women and Fantasy Romance Starter Bundle

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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐9925+ 5-Star Reviews


Exclusive to the Kel & Aurelia Book Store - This offer is NOT available anywhere else! Includes NINE full-length eBooks, plus the first book in TWO more series for FREE! That's a HUGE 11 book total!

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ We’ll it’s 1:30 in the morning and I’m starting the next one ….. says everything that’s needed get the book read the book ….you can sleep when you’re dead … happy hunting.”- Amazon Reviewer

TROPES: Demons, Supernaturals, and Maji, Fated and Chosen Mates, Strong Heroines That Grow Emotionally Across the Series, Found Family, Positive Female Friendships, Slow Burn Romance with Plenty of Tension and Adult Scenes Later in Series, Villain Romance, Demon Summonings, Academy Setting, and a Pet Raccoon

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ It had everything from vamps, werewolves, witches, demons, power etc.. it was funny, sexy and kick-ass.. I loved the main character, Piper, I loved her attitude and personality, she's badass definitely my type of girl. I liked getting to know the other characters as well. It was one thing after another never a dull moment.”- Amazon Reviewer

Dark Fantasy with Anti-Heroes, Villains, and Tantalizing Slow-Burn Romance
1. Fortune Favors the Cruel
2. Blessed be the Wicked
3. Twisted is the Crown
4. For King and Corruption
5. Long Live the Soulless

• Magic Wars: Demon's of New Chicago COMPLETE COLLECTION
Post-Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy Romance with Bite
1. Touched by Fire
2. Haunted by Shadows
3. Blood be Damned
4. Forged by Fury

• A Demon's Guide to the Afterlife - BOOK 1

Paranormal Romance with Multiple Love Interests
1. Dark Horse

• Queen of the Damned - BOOK 1
Paranormal Reverse Harem with Dark Humor and Delicious Tension
1. Lucifer's Daughter

Trenton McArthur was the epitome of a fuck boy. Young, mid-twenties in appearance. More than a little cocky. Arrogant. Solid looks. A warlock of moderate status, and rich as hell.

In another life, he would have been a frat boy from Florida State—had magic not become known to humankind and the entire world upended as a result.

There was just one minor problem with Trenton.

He liked to gamble. A lot. Unfortunately for him, he sucked at it, and he didn’t pay his debts. Which is what led us here tonight. Him, to play a few rounds of cards in one of the few places in town that wouldn’t kick him out. Me, to nab his ass.

It was Friday, after all. Payday.

With my feet kicked up on the old, dingy tabletop, I waited for him to make his way through the bar. Leaning back, I flipped my lighter open and closed with the tip of my thumb. It was an old habit. The tiny yellow flame flickered in and out of existence.

Trenton and the bartender made nice, fist bumping and doing some weird handshake thing between them. I knew from his file sitting at home on my desk that he and Egzy Daniels went way back. Egzy was just as deep in shit, if not more so, but the lucky bastard hadn’t pissed off the wrong people, and so he was safe where he was. For now.

He and Trenton talked for a while, swapping stories about selling potions to minors and sharing exaggerated details of girls they’d fucked last week. Some werewolf beta named Lizzy apparently got around. I silently questioned her life choices while I watched them settle into a routine of familiarity. After a few minutes of that, Egzy clapped my target on the back and walked him my way.

They stopped before me, and I smiled.

“Hello, boys . . .” I purred, dragging my feet from the tabletop. They hit the floor with a loud smack, and the bar quieted for a second before resuming its bustling activities.

Trenton’s eyes scanned my form as I scooted down my seat and came to stand before him. The tight black jeans definitely got his attention, but the long-sleeved turtleneck and leather jacket . . . less so.

“Egzy,” he drawled. “Who is this?”

“I’m sorry, man,” the bartender said, blowing the ruse. I rolled my eyes, dropping any pleasantness from my face. Trenton only needed a second to realize what was up. His mouth started moving, and being the smart person I was, I pistol whipped him faster than a two-pump chump could get off.

A groan fitting the sound effect for my metaphor slipped from Trenton’s lips, and I wrinkled my nose. That saying no longer appealed in any way, shape, or form.

He crumpled to the ground, unconscious for the moment.

“You suck at this,” I said to Egzy, who stood across from the body looking uncertain about his role to play.

“Trenton’s my boy,” the bartender complained. I glared at him, taking in his short black hair and tan skin. His features were what I would have called Asian, at least what I knew of Asia before the world went to shit. After the Magic Wars, it was hard enough to find out about other cities in America, let alone countries and continents around the globe. I had no idea if Asia was still the same, or even called that anymore. There was not much of a way to know, given the collapse of technology and the rise of magic. “I didn’t wanna rat on him . . .” He pouted.

While Egzy was sort of attractive and low enough on the magic spectrum that he was almost human, he was also dumb as a box of rocks and mostly got by on luck.

“Yeah, well, the deal was that you help me get him out of here without a struggle. My boss isn’t going to be happy,” I said, lying through my teeth. Egzy didn’t know who my boss even was, or that they didn’t give two shits if I captured him or not. They only wanted Trenton for the time being. Dealing with dumb criminals had its benefits.


“You don’t think he’s going to send someone after me, do you?” Egzy asked, panic flaring in his face. I shrugged.

“I don’t know, but maybe you should have thought of that before you tipped off your boy Trenton here,” I said, motioning to the unconscious douchebag sprawled out on the floor.

Egzy looked from his prone friend and back to me, then grimaced. He turned on his heel and bolted through the back door while I stood there shaking my head.

Typical. Fucking typical.

This was exactly why I worked alone nowadays. Trenton just happened to be a high-profile client that needed some semblance of discretion. So much for that. As I bent to grab him by the collar of his shirt, I noticed half the bar behind me had stood up.

Goddamn supernaturals.

Always with the pack mentality.

They could fight among each other like dogs, but when a human entered the mix, it was us versus them.

“What are you doing?” Crouched over, I peered between my legs at the big burly man and cursed. He was probably a shifter, and an alpha, given the assertiveness. Betas were more my style. Omegas didn’t bother with shit unless there was literally no other choice.

I straightened my back and gazed over at him.

“Mind your own business, buddy,” I said. “You don’t want to get involved.”

He stepped forward. “Actually, I think I do.” Yup, my initial guess was right. Definitely an alpha. Standing behind him was probably a group of betas. Not to mention the other supes in the bar. I let out a ragged breath. My heart started to speed up.

I didn’t panic. Not like most humans. 

When confronted with conflict, I got this giddy excitement inside. It was crazy, and extremely self-destructive, but all my life I’d found myself unable to back down from a fight if directly faced with one.

“I got a bone to pick with this guy,” I said, nudging Trenton with my boot.

“Really?” the alpha said, taking another step forward. “Because it looks like you’re a hunter, and I don’t like hunters.”

I lifted both hands in surrender, though one of them was holding a firearm, so I doubted it looked as innocent as I’d hoped. “I’m not with human patrol,” I said, and for once I was telling the truth. What I didn’t say was that I used to be. It was how I got my start. “This isn’t a speciesist thing.” 

“Who’s your boss?” the alpha asked, and I knew this was going to go one of two ways.

I could tell them who I worked for, and there would be good odds everyone would sit the fuck down. But my boss didn’t exactly like being known. He liked it even less when his employees used his name to get out of trouble. Wasn’t good for business.

If I told them who, and he found out—which he would—I’d be fired within twenty-four hours as the best-case scenario. Worst-case, he’d take it personally and my head would come off.

Which meant plan B.

I groaned.

“Why couldn’t Egzy do the one thing,” I complained. Using my foot, I kicked the unconscious dude in the side, and he went sliding under the table I’d been seated at. In a single motion, I cocked my gun and fired.

The bullet landed between the alpha’s eyes. The skin around the edges glowed orange and sizzled. He fell backwards, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

The sound seemed to spur the bar into motion. All at once, half of it tried to flee and the other half decided to stand their ground. I ran, sliding over the bar top and flipping over the other side to land on my ass and hide behind it. I pulled the second pistol from my jacket, turned, and peered over the edge.

Supes mowed over one another to get to me and I opened fire.

Gunshots went off left and right, loud enough to only add to the pandemonium. Bullet casings hit the veneered counter with little tinks. I shot one after another, aiming for the same place each time.

The fun thing about supes was that for a long time they were really fucking hard to kill.

Each of them had different weaknesses, and most of them were nothing like the legends.

Vampires, while they didn’t like sunlight, they didn’t burn alive in it. It just blinded them.

Werewolves weren’t allergic to silver. At all. In fact, no metal really harms them. It’s where you hit them that matters.

Witches and warlocks would be the easiest, were they not such a pain in the ass to get near. A single word or wiggle of their fingers and they could kill you faster than you could kill them.

And that was really just the tip of the iceberg as far as supernatural species went.

The one thing I really had going for me was that I was a near-expert on all of them.

Being human and only a little kid when magic became known in the world had its perks. Largely that I had the time to study them, because in a world where half the people had magic and weren’t afraid to use it—being human was a major disadvantage.

So I embraced the one universal truth I knew: knowledge is power.

And because of that, I knew a single shot between the eyes would either kill or disable everyone in this bar. The best part? They usually woke up with jumbled memories from their brain healing and didn’t remember me shooting them.

The click of my guns trying to fire and failing to release jarred me back to the moment.

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath.

The time it took me to pull a magazine from my jacket cost me. I exhaled harshly as some vampire bitch came flying at me with fangs snapping.

My back hit the concrete floor behind me as she straddled my body. Her pale, sallow cheeks and violet eyes told me she hadn’t fed recently enough. She pinned me as I focused on releasing the empty magazine and shoving the new clip in it. Just as it clicked, she loomed only inches from my face.

“You’re a feisty one,” she purred. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Her jaws stretched wide as her eyes zeroed in on my neck. The thirst had her in its grips, and I used that to my benefit, letting her lunge for a bite—only to find herself with a mouthful of gunmetal.

I shoved the barrel deep enough down her throat that she gagged. Her fangs bit into the side of my hand, and shock permeated her features before her eyes rolled back in her head. Disgust filled me as I pulled the trigger and the backside of her skull exploded.

The body slumped over me, and I twisted, flinging it away. One of her fangs stuck in my hand and I picked it out, flicking it behind my shoulder as I got to my feet.

The bar was silent, everyone in it dead or gone.

Just the way I liked it.

I whistled to myself as I went to grab Trenton.

He was just starting to stir as I dragged him from under the table.

Perfect timing.

“If luck were left to fate, then it would indeed be a cruel thing.” — Quinn Darkova, former slave 

Silver strands whipped around her face as an errant wind brushed over her bare forearms, raising goosebumps in its wake.

Quinn shivered, then paused.

The southern market of Dumas was alight with happy faces and playing children. The sun shined, and the sand drifted in the breeze. It was the same as it always was.

And yet it wasn’t.

The scent of smoked meats and salt water filled her nostrils, but there was something else there too. Something subtler. A shadow in an otherwise peaceful scene. Quinn glanced down the row of brightly lit tents, pausing for only a moment longer before someone bumped into her.

“Sorry,” she breathed as a stranger hustled by with a muttered curse.

Shrugging off the strange feeling, she turned and ducked into the tent to her right.

“Quinn,” the middle-aged woman said in greeting. “Is it that time again already?” The woman stood and the colorful swaths of her patchwork dress fell loosely to her feet. Quinn pressed her lips together in a tight smile as she reached around to the back of her neck and lifted the leather drawstring.

“So it seems, Jada,” Quinn answered. Her fingers brushed over the black opal stone that dangled off the end. It flashed for a brief second, and Jada frowned.

“I renewed the barrier just two weeks ago…” she began, her brown eyes filling with concern and trepidation. Quinn’s fingers tightened around the amulet, her neutral expression going cold as tendrils of fear wafted from the other women’s rust-colored skin. It was cloying, sinking into Quinn’s pores as though attracted to her own power. 

“It’s not working.”

Jada swallowed for a moment, her eyes moving from the pulsing stone to Quinn’s face.

“If it’s not working then it’s not because the spell weakened,” Jada said, treading cautiously. “That renewal should have lasted at least two more weeks…”

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek as the shadows under Jada’s skin stirred further. Riling her up more, the smell of midnight weeds and damp petals grew stronger. Why was it that they always feared her?

Was it the marks on her skin from all her past masters? Perhaps it was the quiet tone she used; accented, but without emotion. Or maybe, just maybe … it was the look in her ice blue eyes—the crystalline color tinged with darkness.

“The amulet isn’t working and you’re the only apothecarian that will see me.” Quinn took a step forward just as Jada took a step back. The flap of white material behind her shifted as a child came bounding through and ran around the rickety wooden table.

She stopped short at the look on her mother’s face. Jada pulled her to the side and spoke soft warnings under her breath about disturbing her while there were clients about. Quinn pretended not to notice the way she shielded the young girl with her body, or how she sent the child to the back of their shop instead of back out into the streets.

“My apologies,” Jada said. “As I was saying, though, I want to help you, Quinn. I really do.” She opened her mouth to continue, but Quinn looked away, a familiar tingle spreading through her limbs as she clenched her jaw shut to keep herself in check. 

“You’re telling me there’s nothing you can do to make this work properly again?” she asked, wrapping her knuckles in the leather string and holding it up. The colorful veins running through the black opal sparkled as beams of light shined through the cracks in the tent.

“Magic is not easy, Quinn. It’s even difficult for those of us who have ancient scrolls and potions to go by. There’s not much known about your type, and—”

“Can you do anything?” Quinn asked. It was the last time she would. She didn’t come here for excuses. She came here for a fix. A solution for her problem, if only temporary. A barrier.

“No … I—maybe,” Jada said, clasping her hands together. “The best I can do is renew it, but if the current one hasn’t lasted, I don’t know if that will do you much good at all.”

Quinn dropped the stone on the table with a heavy thunk. “Do it.”

“It’ll still be fifteen pieces of silver…”

“I know,” Quinn snapped. It was expensive and would drain most of the small sum she’d saved, but she was at the end of her wits. If she couldn’t keep her magic under control it was only a matter of time until another accident happened, and she couldn’t afford one of those or there would be a noose around her neck before the week was out.

Quinn counted out the fifteen pieces requested, and not a copper more. Jada swept them from the table into a leather pouch and set to work. Her spindly fingers grasped for some herbs that she ground into a fine powder. Quinn stood off to the side, arms crossed and expression pinched as she listened to the bustling market beyond.

“Blood,” Jada said. Quinn pulled the knife she kept sheathed under her oversized burlap shirt and came to stand over the onyx bowl of dark sludge. The slice of the razor edge pressing into her skin only briefly registered before red droplets fell into the waiting solution. The moment it touched the mixture, it molded into a semi-clear fluid, growing more translucent with each passing moment. Quinn pulled away, wiping her bloodied knife on her pant leg before stowing it as Jada murmured an incantation in a foreign tongue under her breath and dipped the black opal thrice.

The lacquer hardened and then broke away, leaving the veins of color glowing.

She held it out and Quinn took the amulet back, frowning slightly when the usual blissful silence of magic didn’t immediately fall over her.

“You did it?” she asked.

“I did,” Jada answered, more tepid than usual. “But I can tell by your face it was not the results you were hoping for.” She went about dumping the odd concoction into an unmarked jar and seated herself again before Quinn. “You’re coming into your full power, and soon even this spell will do nothing for you.”

“How long?” Quinn said quietly. “How long do I have?”

“It’s hard to say,” Jada murmured. “But at this rate I wouldn’t bother coming back to me again. You’re going to have to learn how to control your powers and the”—she paused, a twinge of sympathy in her expression as she said—“side effects.”

Quinn pressed her lips together and looked away as she slipped the string around her neck and stuffed the amulet down her shirt. The black opal sat snuggly between her small breasts, cool against her skin, and not nearly as oppressive as it should have been.

“Thank you,” Quinn whispered. “It may not save me from the gallows…” She swallowed and looked to the top of the tent. “But you’ve bought me time these last few months.” She didn’t look back at Jada as she departed, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes. Quinn simply lowered her head and swept out her arm, stepping through the gap. The flap fell shut behind her and she was alone once more in a crowd of people.

The sun sat high in the sky, its fever bearing down on the bustling marketplace. Fresh flowers wilted in the scorching heat of Dumas as a mirage danced on the horizon. Quinn pulled her gaze away from the enticing illusion and turned down the nearest alley. Her worn boots were near silent as she stuck to the shadows, but not all was quiet.

The sharp sound of a whip meeting flesh rang in her ears like an echo from the past.

Quinn stopped in her tracks. Her hands limp at her sides as she blankly stared straight ahead. A second crack split the air, and Quinn shuddered.

A woman screamed. A baby began bawling. All the while the muffled grunts of a man and harsh bite of the whip flooded Quinn’s senses.

Her hands balled at her sides as she tried to resist the call. Tried to defy the compulsion.

Tried to do something—anything—other than what she knew she could not resist.

Without realizing that her choice was already made, Quinn turned on her heel and began tearing through the marketplace, following the sounds of disparity. Another wayward wind slammed into her, blowing the long strands away from her face. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip, biting down when the sound of the whip rang out again. The scent of copper and tang of metal in her mouth made Quinn pause before the courtyard. She reached up and pressed a finger to her lips.

It came away red.


She looked beyond that bloodied finger to the man in the street. He wore a tattered burlap shirt not all that different from her own. Dark brown hair hung from his head in sweaty locks, and on his cheek—smudged, but visible—was the brand of a slave.

Quinn’s heart began to pound so loud it was all she could hear as the slave master’s whip came down again. Tendrils of black that only Quinn could see snaked up the slave’s arms as he used them to attempt to cover his face from the brutal assault.

“Stupid. Pathetic. Weak.” The master spat one-worded insults with every blow as a woman in a slave shift stood behind him, screaming with silvery streaks of tears running in rivers down her face. The baby in her arms, swaddled in dirty rags, bellowed its own outrage.

Quinn didn’t think as her feet moved towards the man. She didn’t register what she was doing as cold calming clarity settled deep within her bones. She hadn’t known how much the man’s fear—the woman’s fear—the baby’s fear—all called to her.

All she knew was a whip and blood and silence.

The master struck once more, turning his head to look at the crowd, the end of the thin leathery weapon falling into the sandy streets in front of her. Quinn’s boot came down on top of it, holding it in place as he yanked his arm again. He turned when he realized it would not budge. Sweat slicked his skin, cheeks red from anger and exertion, tan skin rough and darkened in uneven patches. He had a finely trimmed beard and black eyes, but these things were all trivial to Quinn as she followed the path from the whip being jerked about beneath her boot to the handle that he gripped tightly.

“I detest whips,” she said quietly. Her voice was abnormally distant, the roaring in her head louder than her words. The sound so consuming that it blocked her from hearing or feeling or thinking about anything else. It stopped her from seeing the shadowed figure in her periphery. 

“Who do you think you—” the slave master started.

“It doesn’t matter,” Quinn answered softly. She knelt down, her fingers reaching for the smooth leather vice. She picked up the thin end of the whip, trailing her nails along its bloodied exterior.

Without any warning, her left-hand wrapped around it.

Her right reached for her dagger. The one she always kept on her, its sheath resting over the brand of a master from long ago. A master that had the same detestable urge as this man. To beat her to the edge of death. She never went anywhere unarmed after that. Even when she became as much a weapon as the sharpened bit of metal that she kept on her person. 

With a flick of her wrist, the dagger soared true. A crunch of tendons snapping and bones splintering. An anguished scream as he dropped the whip’s handle. 

The dagger protruded from his hand, sticking out the other side. Red smeared the open wound, dripping down the gleaming steel and into the sandy streets.

Quinn didn’t even blink at the mess she’d made. Violence was in her bones. Brutality in her blood. She swung the whip and the thick end veered straight into the man’s face.

A deafening crack rang, and shadows gathered beneath his skin.

Fear. The very thing that called to her.

She licked the copper taste from her lips and swung again and again and again.

The leathery end pummeling his face into a bruised and broken pulp. The blood vessels in his eyes burst, turning them a grotesque shade of pink. The skin over his cheekbones split, and when he spat, a wad of crimson and mucus came out, two of his teeth landing in the puddle of fluid.

Even still, Quinn didn’t stop.

Not when his breathing grew shallow or the stench of piss ran in the streets.

Not when the thick end of the whip coiled around his neck, choking the life from him.

Not when she ripped the dagger free, only to raise it—


Quinn blinked.

The roaring quieted.

All at once, the bubble of silence around her popped and she heard it: the screaming, the sobbing, the shouting, the chaos. The cracks of the whip had lulled her into a state where there was only rage … only pain.

And the sound of a man’s voice—dark as a shadow, deep as the ocean, powerful enough it reverberated through every bone in her body—was what pulled her out.

Warm fingers stilled the hand where she clutched the dagger.

Quinn paused and raised her eyes, taking in the man that had stopped her.

Backlit by the sun and sky, a creature of savageness and sensuality stared down at her. His eyes, they were unlike anything she’d ever seen. Smoldering coals they were, burning from within, without a speck of color in sight. Her lips parted and her breath caught, but only for a moment.

Those eyes were so … fierce. There was a wildness to him that Quinn had not found in others. Ever. She took a step back and he paused, waiting, before he released his hold on her wrist.

She composed herself, a mask of indifference falling over her as she allowed her eyes to travel the length of him. Long dark hair—the color of black skies—hung in thick strands surrounding a face that had seen more than its fair share of fights. His skin was tanned, but an off-white scar spanned from his left eyebrow to his cheek. Other smaller flecks of old healed wounds dotted his face, making it all the more striking. 

Quinn found it a strange sort of beautiful. 

He wore the fine fabrics of a nobleman that was worth his weight in gold, and two rings adorned his left hand. None graced his right, Quinn noted as she took a step away, slowly coming back to her full senses.

“Who are you?” he asked her. The shouts grew louder as a crowd began to form around them. Quinn didn’t spare the slave master a look. She’d never killed before, though she’d come close. Despite her slipups with that cold impassioned madness that sometimes took hold, the honor of her first kill was reserved for someone who owed her restitution, and therefore she didn’t want or care to know if he was dead or alive.

Quinn took a step away, slowly lowering the dagger to her side. She didn’t put it away. Not yet.

“No one,” came her reply as she moved back towards the crowd. There was a ringing in the square, and the occupants of the market scattered in confusion and fear.

The bells meant only one thing.

Soldiers. City guards, to be exact. She froze.

“No,” the man said. He didn’t move. Neither of them did, even as the people in the streets scattered like rats around them. “You’re someone.” She began to shake her head, and he stopped her with a calculated look. “You’re someone like me.”

That made her pause.

Did he mean…

The streets thinned as the pounding of hooves against mortar thundered through the city. She needed to get out of here. If they caught her with the evidence of her actions bleeding out behind her, she would never even find out if Jada’s latest attempt at keeping her magic under control would work. She’d be hanged before the end of the morrow. 

Quinn turned to leave when something stopped her. It was startling; a whisper of air blew across her face. The cold chill of winter that didn’t belong.

“I’ll find you after I take care of this,” he told her. She didn’t have to ask what this was. Nor did she want to know what he meant. As much as he intrigued her, Quinn just made herself a wanted woman one too many times.

Still, she looked over her shoulder. With a frown, she replied, “Unlikely.”

Then she disappeared into the shadows where people like her belonged.

Where she should have stayed.

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Customer Reviews

Based on 3 reviews

Love it all, great authors and great service

Kaylee Huber
Great bundle!

Got it on sale and loving the series so far. It’s so good


Easy process to purchase and add to my Kindle!