The thing about being seven hundred years old was that you ran out of fucks to give approximately six hundred and fifty years ago.Aldric had been extremely clear about this. He'd made it known in every possible way, through his reclusive lifestyle, his complete lack of interest in human affai...
Read MoreThe email had seemed harmless enough.December Selection: "Midnight Heat" by J.C. Wilde. Please have read by the 15th. Wine and snacks provided. —MargaretWhat none of them knew, what Margaret herself didn't know until she was forty-seven pages in and breathing heavily on the su...
Read MoreThe last thing Rebecca remembered was rain.She'd been walking home from yet another disastrous Tinder date, a man who'd spent two hours explaining why crypto was the future of romance, when the sky opened. She'd taken shelter in a doorway, pulled out her phone to text her best friend ...
Read MoreSophie had always been an early adopter.When smart watches appeared, she wore one. When smart homes became a thing, she named her thermostat. So when she saw an ad for the "PleasurePal 3000" - a vibrator that connected to an app, tracked usage patterns, and offered "personalised pl...
Read MoreBeth had been on Tinder for three years.Three years of carefully curated photos (the one with the puppy, the one that made her look outdoorsy, the one where her arm looked toned). Three years of opening lines that ranged from "hey" to the occasional creative attempt that still somehow e...
Read MoreKevin was a man who believed in systems. His bookshelf was alphabetised. His sock drawer was a marvel of chromatic organisation. His approach to romance, therefore, was necessarily methodical. He had spent the last six months studying the subject with the same rigorous attention he'd applied ...
Read MoreThe rain on the Isle of Skye wasn't weather; it was a character in a gothic novel, and it was overacting. A relentless, misting drizzle that seeped into the stone of the old hunting lodge, making the very air taste of peat, salt, and regret. It pattered against the leaded windows—a soun...
Read MoreThe rain in Forks was a constant, a drumming rhythm against the roof of Bella’s small house. It was a sound that had once felt claustrophobic, but now, it was merely the backdrop to the symphony of her new existence. Since becoming a vampire, the world had sharpened into hyper-reality. Ever...
Read More 