“Blood meant nothing.
Least of all mine. Especially when it was spilled on the expensive marble floors of my marriage home.
Or the Egyptian cotton sheets of my marriage bed.
Blood-my blood-that was their currency.
And they paid in full.”
Birds of Paradise is like nothing you’ve ever read from me. I’ve gone rogue. Dark. There are triggers in this book and it’s not your traditional HEA. But it’s beautiful, in its own ugly way…
He collected beautiful things.
Rare things.
Ripped them out of their natural environment and preserved them in all of their dead splendor.
The problem was I wasn’t beautiful. I was all of the hideous and ugly realities of the world packaged into one broken human being.
He came to kill me.
That was his business.
Death.
He ripped me out of my natural environment, the prison I’d created, and locked me away with all of his beautiful dead things.
I hated him.
I still hate him.
But if I was given the choice and the ability to leave this cage, come back to life, I’d stay dead.
In all of my hideous splendor.
Because my murderer can only possess dead things.
And I can only be possessed by someone more broken and ugly than me