Serial Killer Princess: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)
Warning: This novel contains excessive humor, action, excitement, adventure, magic, romance, and bodies. Proceed with caution.
Why would anyone put a mermaid and a gorgon in the same room together? While Tulip enjoys being alive, her lineage brings her nothing but trouble.
Snakes eat fish, and the mer love tearing apart their serpentine nemeses with their hands and teeth. As for the gorgons… she’d rather not think about them at all.
The last thing Tulip wants is to rule the mer kingdom. First, she can barely swim. Second, she’s packing more than her fair share of her father’s genes. Third, what is a landlocked princess supposed to do with an aquatic kingdom?
If she gets her way, nothing. Add in her dirty little serial killing secret, and she’s an international disaster waiting to happen.
There’s just one small problem: her father’s bodyguard tempts her in ways no one should, and if she isn’t careful, he’ll uncover her secrets, domesticate her, and infect her with a severe case of normality.
What the hell did a girl need to do to catch a break? I’d spent the worst six months of my entire fucking life hunting a limp dick with a complex so I could finally wring the life out of his wretched little body only to discover someone had gotten to him first. To add insult to injury, I could’ve done a better—and more interesting—job with a rusty spoon. Forget a rusty spoon, I could do things with a toothpick capable of making detectives weep.
Where was the art in a slit throat? Matthew Henders hadn’t slit the throats of victims. He was the take them home, lock them in his basement, and rape them kind, and he didn’t give a shit what species or gender his victims were. I would’ve done such a better job of murdering him, and I resented the piss poor albeit effective technique.
Who slit a serial killer’s throat and left his body lying around for anyone to find? What ever happened to the artistry of a good premeditated murder?
I’d spent months planning his death, right down to the day and time, exactly ten years to the minute after his first killing. I scowled at the body, which was sprawled on his front step, and heaved a sigh. Twice. One sigh simply wasn’t sufficient. It had to be two. Three was a bit too dramatic, even for me.