An Inheritance of Curses

 Book #1

Blood witch Rose LeFey spent her life hiding from her magic—until she's forced into a false mate-bond to a werewolf and plunged into a hidden war. Her aunt has unleashed war on the magical Houses—and she is counting on her curse to destroy Rose's hard-earned self control. Can Rose control her own deadly powers and the overwhelming desire to turn this false mate-bond into something real?

Jump to Excerpt…

Check Prices Before You Buy

This site is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to


Rose brushed past a strand of cobweb, stifled a sneeze with the back of her hand. Holy hex. Did her aunt wish to attract any customers at all? The sign hanging in the doorway claimed the store was open, yet the inside screamed “stay away.” 

Rose wished she could take the advice. But she had to do this. If Rose didn’t confirm that Sorcha remained a quiet, non-magic-casting recluse, the Magestracy would send her fiancé to do it. Rose shuddered. Julian might be the local Terra, part of the enclave of witches who protected the Treaty and ensured the Four Houses remained separate, but she’d rather eat expired crawfish than see him deal with Sorcha on an off-day. 

The ink of their marriage contract was barely dry—heck, Rose still couldn’t believe he’d signed it—no way she’d risk reminding him as to why he’d be smarter to run, not walk, from their pending union. She needed that contract to escape her grandmother’s house—to have a future in regular, respectable witch society. 

And Sorcha would try to ruin that future; Rose felt it in her bones.

You’re just like me, niece, a throaty voice whispered from Rose’s memories. You’ll never follow their rules.

“That’s right, Rose. Take the knife, press it to the tip of your finger until you get all three drops. Now the next”. Her raven-haired aunt guided her blade from fingertip to fingertip, then she led their chant. “With the pricking of our thumbs, something wicked this way

Rose slammed the past back into her mental box, labeled ‘Do Not Open.’ 

Her hands clenched, palms sweaty. I will follow the rules. They are for me. I’ll have more in my life than a sad, dusty store

“I’m not like Sorcha,” she whispered. I’m not a curse.