Exclusive: Get a Look at the First Two Books of A.L. Brody's Cozy ‘Dating & Dismemberment’ Series

AKA has given us the cozy fantasy romance of our spooky season dreams with the re-release of and with that comes news for what comes next. And yes, there's absolutely more coming which is also a good thing if you're looking for another reason to celebrate all things monster all year round. Not only are we celebrating the first book's big re-release, but we also got your first look at the second book in the series, !

That's right, the sequel is coming just in time for another holiday—Valentine's Day—with it's February 11, 2025 release date. You can check out the cover exclusively below:

Oh, and we have some more goodness to share as well. Not only can you read an excerpt from , but you can also check out an exclusive sneak peek from as well! Just remember to pre-order both books and even check out some of Jason's other work as well!

An Excerpt From Dating and DismembermentBy A.L. Brody

Chapter 1 Darla Drake, aka the Duchess of Death, aka the Creature of Clear Creek, and one of the most feared monsters on the planet, stood over her soon-to-be victim, a cruel camp counselor named Kyle Browning, and prepared to turn him into either a Lego set or paste, depending on what kind of mood she was in.

Darla raised her weapon of choice, the infamous bronze scourge that had been passed down to her from her mother, and right as she was about to render justice unto this unfortunate soul, Darla stopped.

She stood there, arm raised, scourge rattling in the wind, as Kyle covered his eyes as though playing a baby game where if he couldn't see her, she didn't exist.

But Darla did exist. And yet, her hand stayed.

Come on, she thought. This is not the time to have an existential crisis.

This crisis came at a particularly inopportune and frankly embarrassing moment for Darla. Kyle was not walking away from his injuries, which, to be fair, were largely self-inflicted, having tripped on a tree root while attempting to flee, which bent his ankle in a way that defied human anatomy, his toes now able to touch his shin and his dignity evaporating somewhere into the night sky.

And while Kyle moaned, his girlfriend, a counselor named Melanie Wootens, having apparently followed them, screamed as she saw the Duchess of Death preparing to filet her lousy lover. Melanie turned and ran away, screaming like her hair was on fire. Or, far more traumatizing, been subjected to a terrible dye job.

And Darla just watched. And shrugged.

Instead of ending Kyle's suffering and sentencing Melanie to a lifetime of therapy, Darla stood there, unmoving, staring blankly at Kyle. For the first time in her thirty-two years, the last twenty of which she'd spent hunting the very worst counselors at Camp Clear Creek, Darla couldn't finish the job. One word pinged through her skull, topped with its infamous bone crown that had terrified thousands of teens and sold millions of Halloween costumes: Why?

Darla had never asked herself that question during a hunt. Hunts were simple: find the prey. Scout the prey. Know the prey. Then turn their lives—if not their body cavities—inside out. Up until this moment, Darla's hunt of Kyle Browning had gone rather swimmingly.

Kyle, along with two other counselors named Randy Horvath and Lewis Cawthorn, had been given the moniker of the Terrible Trio based on how they would gang up on and terrorize young campers at Clear Creek. Randy and Kyle had returned this summer, while Lewis had been fired. Darla had made it her mission this summer to hunt down Randy and Kyle and let them know they wouldn't escape with a mere slap on the wrist. And possibly not even escape with their wrists at all. Lewis, well...there was always the counselor reunion, and she could only pray he was dimwitted enough to stick his neck out for her to lop it off.

Kyle had been asleep in his cabin when Darla struck. She had been watching Kyle for a week, biding her time, waiting for the perfect moment. She knew everything about him. How he slammed Melanie into cabin walls when nobody was looking. How he bullied and intimidated the younger campers, then threatened to leave them in the woods alone if they reported him. Seeing her bronze scourge around Kyle's thick, abusive neck—then Randy's, then Lewis's—would make Darla's summer. It was time for Kyle Browning to meet his painful destiny. It was time for him to face the wrath of the Duchess of Death and feel the sting of her legendary scourge.

Darla's scourge had belonged to her mother, Dolores Drake, the original Duchess of Death, who had hunted in Clear Creek for decades before passing the baton—or medieval torture weapon, to be precise—to her beloved daughter. The scourge consisted of nine leather tails attached to a thick, wooden grip, each tail studded by heavy bronze ball bearings. The Drake scourge was legendary, iconic. And with the proper windup, angle, and wind resistance, Darla's scourge could cut through stone.

Dolores had taught her daughter everything: how to hunt, how to scare, and how to traverse (but not how to do laundry, that was one of Dolores's few weaknesses, and good lord did their cave smell after a week's worth of hunts without changing her tunic). Traversal was a method of fast travel, allowing Darla to cover incredible distances in no time at all, her feet barely touching the ground while remaining as quiet as a blade of grass bending in the wind. Prey could run and run and run, thinking they were getting away, only for Darla to magically appear in front of them. Often, the last thing her prey saw was the moonlight glinting off the tips of Darla's bone crown as she swung her scourge.

So, when the day of Kyle's hunt came, Darla waited until the darkest hour of night to traverse to the Clear Creek campgrounds from the cavern where she and Dolores lived, gliding through the dark woods like a blur, scourge strapped to her black leather belt, only the faint humming and bending of grass below her dark green tunic giving away her presence.

When Darla arrived at Kyle's cabin, she rattled the windows and creaked the floorboards, performing classic monster foreplay to let Kyle know he wasn't alone. Then she snuck into the cabin and knocked a lamp off a shelf, turned over a heavy dresser, and finally cut the power (why the camp buildings all kept their breakers easily accessible, Darla would never know).

And once Kyle came bounding out of the cabin, eyes wide in fear, Darla knew she had him. It was time to take down the Terrible Trio one by one.

And now all that planning. All that anticipating. Gone, in one feeling of meh.

"Get back here, you bleached blonde bitch!" Kyle shouted at Melanie, mustering whatever strength he had left to insult his poor, beleaguered girlfriend.

What does Melanie see in this waste of tissue? Darla wondered. She supposed Kyle was blandly handsome for a human. Sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, and cavernous dimples. And he'd look even more handsome with Darla's boot stomped through his cranium. Yet, for some reason, she hesitated. Questioning herself.

Is this all there is? Chasing down and maiming pimply douchebags forever?

Darla concentrated. She could feel thousands of small vibrations in the earth and had become an expert at identifying each one. Which rumblings were animals, which were fallen branches...and which were human. Darla's nine-chambered heart pumped just twelve times per minute, and isolated Melanie's movements in less than one heartbeat. She could sense the girl running through the forest, could feel every footstep, the noise of her feet crunching leaves and twigs, the sound echoing beneath her loud as cannon shots. And even though Melanie was moving fast—maybe she ran track?—Darla's traversal ability could have her waiting next to an oak to greet the girl with any number of sharp objects. But Melanie did not deserve Darla's ire. This pusillanimous young dipshit, however, deserved it and then some.

Under normal circumstances, Darla would have used her scourge to bludgeon Kyle into little pieces of arrogant pulp. Or, if she was feeling feisty, maybe even rip off Kyle's injured leg and use his own limb to finish him off.

A year ago, hell, a week ago, pieces of Kyle would have ended up all over the camp, to be found by his fellow counselors. But now, as Darla stood over her victim, Melanie running through the woods, her screams at a pitch that could shatter half the cabin windows in Camp Clear Creek, Darla felt like her will to do dastardly deeds had simply evaporated. She didn't want to chase Melanie down to scare her. She wanted to chase her down and tell her that she shouldn't lower herself to dating this popped collar troglodyte whose entire purpose in life seemed to be preparing himself to become paste on Darla's boot.

Then Darla heard a scraping noise. She looked down. It was Kyle. He was crawling along the ground and whimpering like his favorite tennis court was occupied.

"Help...me..." Kyle whispered. Darla watched the boy crawl. Kyle reached out for Darla, grasping at the thick, dark blue fabric wrapped around her leg from the knee down, winding its way around her heel and beneath her foot. She wore no shoes. Darla respected Kyle's tenacity, if nothing else about him. "I'm sorry, Duchess. Please. Just let me go."

Kyle was a jerk. Darla had seen him manhandle Melanie. Watched through the trees as he pushed young campers' faces in the mud, or held their heads beneath the surface of Clear Creek Lake while other counselors weren't looking, a sadistic smile on his face that said he enjoyed tormenting those less powerful than he was. Darla usually took such pleasure in ending guys like Kyle. Some people—okay, everyone—called her a monster. But really, she was just de-weeding the human population.

She could end it quickly. One swing of her scourge could cut Kyle's head clean off. But that urge, that desire, that necessity had left her. Instead, she looked down at Kyle and said, "Unlike you, this is the first time I haven't been able to perform."

Kyle did not smile or laugh.

"Oh, come on," Darla said. "That was funny. I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

Kyle's lips peeled back, baring his perfect white teeth in a forced, awkward smile, clearly trying to placate Darla in the hopes of getting on her good side and prolonging his potentially very short lifespan.

"Okay. Stop that. It's creepy," Darla said. Kyle closed his mouth. "Listen, Kyle. I'm going to make you an offer. An offer I've never given to anyone in my life. So don't be stupid. Or stupider."

Kyle looked up at Darla, terror in his pallid face, probably assuming her offer would be that he got to choose which of his limbs she removed first.

"I'm going to let you go," Darla said. Kyle looked confused. He probably looked confused quite often. "But if you manage to crawl back to camp without being eaten by animals or insects, you have to stop being such a colossal prick. You touch Melanie again, you so much as look at a camper unless it's to teach them how to do the backstroke or tie a square knot, and I'm coming back for you. I will take you apart piece by piece. And I'll do it slowly. You know who I am. You know what I've done. So you know I'm telling the truth."

Kyle strained his neck to see her. His chin was covered in mud and grass. The color had drained from his face.

"So, what do you say, Kyle? Do we have a deal?"

Kyle nodded, but didn't blink, his eyes fixed on her scourge.

"Good," Darla said. "Now run along back to camp. Or crawl along, since I don't think legs are supposed to bend the way yours is."

Kyle moaned as he rolled onto his side. He then slipped his hand inside his pants pocket, groaning at the exertion, and came out with his cell phone. Darla was impressed. He was going to call 911. Kyle had to know he wasn't getting far on that leg. The young man might be a dick, but he clearly wanted to live.

Then, instead of dialing 911 and putting the phone to his ear, Kyle held the phone out in front of him and turned the camera app on.

"What are you doing?" Darla asked, incredulous.

"Shh," Kyle croaked. "I'm making a Reel."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Darla sighed, strapped her scourge to her belt, and began her traversal back through the Clear Creek woods. Her head swam as she dodged the trees and bushes, trying to understand why she left Kyle not in excruciating pain, but making content for his social media feed. For the first time in her life, Darla Drake, the Duchess of Death, the Creature of Clear Creek, one of the most feared monsters alive, had left a victim before she was finished with him.

Now she just needed to understand why in the name of Cthulhu's butthole she'd done it.

An Excerpt From Weddings and WitchcraftBy A.L. Brody

Chapter 1 The worst idea of Trevor Schaub's life would also be the last idea of Trevor Schaub's life.

Trevor Shaub was a truck driver. Emphasis on the 'was'. Prior to this, he'd worked for a brief spell as an electrician, until a faulty wiring job caused a model home to burn to the ground. Now he hauled goods for billion dollar companies all across the country, and made a decent enough wage to cover his alimony, childcare, and the rent on his one-bedroom apartment. What that wage did not, do, however, was cover Trevor's ever expanding taste for drugs of all shapes, sizes, and potencies. So when Trevor found himself unable to pay back the dealers who had, so generously, fronted Trevor on the promise that he would pay them back double what they were owed, Trevor had to find an alternative way to raise cash.

Trevor, far from the sharpest tool in the shed, had the brilliant idea of tipping off the dealers to his truck routes. The dealers would "hijack" Trevor's truck, take the smart TVs or smart homes or smart refrigerators or smart whatevers, sell them, and and take what Trevor owed them out of the proceeds. The plan was foolproof. At least in the mind of a fool.

So when Trevor pulled his truck over on I-95, a camera at a nearby gas station caught Trevor not only waiting patiently for his hijackers, but wandering into the woods to relieve himself, then ambling over to that very gas station where yet another camera caught him stealing a bag of Funyans and a Red Bull. He then ate his bounty, apparently unbothered by the fact that he had not washed his hands after said woods relief.

Given that Trevor's thievery was as subtle as an angry cow picking out wedding china, the gas station attendant quickly called the police. The cops, led by Officer Dale Kowalski, came right as Trevor's truck was being unloaded. They cuffed Trevor, also unaware that his hands were still covered in his own filth.

Given that Trevor had no prior arrests, he managed to get out on bail. And one night before sentencing Trevor, still not the fastest fish in the school, Googled the cop who arrested him. The officer had a Facebook profile, and Trevor was able to discover that Officer Kowalski had a young son, Nick, who had just left the previous week to spend the summer at a camp called Clear Creek.

And Clear Creek was just a few miles from Trevor's home.

Trevor had heard things about Camp Clear Creek. That some less-than-desirable people kept disappearing from the camp and its surrounding grounds. That dangerous creatures stalked the woods, waiting to water the grounds with the insides of troublemakers. But Trevor wasn't a bad guy, just unlucky. And the rumors were just that: rumors.

So Trevor, having less common sense than an inebriated warthog, decided to get some payback on the family of Officer Dale Kowalski.

So Trevor staked out Clear Creek for several days, showing more dedication than he had at any point in his professional career, and learned that Nick Kowalski's camp troupe, the Brave Beavers (how that name made it through a focus group was anybody's guess) had swim every day from nine to ten a.m. It gave Trevor a perfect opportunity for payback.

So one night Trevor, after drinking enough beer to impair the entire Roman army, went out to the camp dock on Clear Creek Lake to rig an electrical wire onto the metal ladder leading down to the water. Everyone who attempted to climb out up would get fried.

Once he finished his DIY electrical trap, Trevor stood on the dock: proud and defiant and dumb. Even if he went to prison, Trevor should be able to look right into the face of Officer Dale Kowalski as he was led away, knowing that he ruined the man's life. Just as the cop had ruined his.

And so Trevor turned around to head home, when he heard a noise in the water behind him. He turned, expecting to see some electrified fish floating by the ladder. But he saw nothing.

Trevor chalked it up to the wind and turned back around. This time, though, he heard a different sound. A wet thunk. It made Trevor's blood run cold.

There it was again. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Finally, Trevor turned around again. And this time, he screamed.

Halfway up the ladder was...a creature. That was the first word that came to mind. It was tall and broad and had dark hair and severe yellow eyes and wore a long black jacket that dripped with water. The creature looked almost human...except for the massive tentacles curled around the ladder. Trevor could see wisps of smoke curling from the creature's arms, and for a moment, he took a small amount of pride in knowing his electrical hookup had, in fact worked.

It was the last time he would ever feel good about anything. And just a few moments from the last time he would ever feel anything, period.

Trevor ran towards the beachfront, figuring if he could get home he could get to his car and if he got to his car he could get to the 9mm in his glove compartment and if he got to the gun he could shoot that monstrosity right between its eyes.

But Trevor never made it that far. As he neared the end of the dock, he felt a stinging sensation as something wrapped itself around his legs. Trevor fell to the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. He rolled over onto his back, panting, expecting to see the tentacled creature standing over him. But the creature was still submerged in the water. Staring at Trevor with those gleaming yellow eyes.

He looked up. This time, with no air in his chest, there was no scream.

A woman stood over him. Well, she was as much a woman as the octo-dude was a man. She wore a light green tunic with laced up boots and looked like some badass Viking lady transported into the twenty-first century. All except her hair. She had a normal head, normal face, her bright orange eyes like small gemstones in her attractive face. But sprouting out from her scalp in different directions were what appeared to be tree branches. But they were too pale and smooth to be tree branches. Then it dawned on Trevor.

They were bones. She had bones sticking out of her head. It almost looked like...a crown of bone. Trevor's face went white.

"You...you're not real. You're just a myth."

The female creature smiled, as one might with a naïve child. Then she spoke.

"You're going to find out tonight just how real I am," she said. "My name is Darla Drake."

"No. That's impossible. You're...you're Darla Drake, Duchess of Death."

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Darla said. "And I'm, how would I put it, something of the unofficial tour guide to Camp Clear Creek."

Trevor heard a heavy thump. Boots. He saw the man-creature walking towards them. He was far larger than Trevor had guessed, with most of his body being hidden by the dark waters. His boot heel alone was large enough to turn Trevor's face into paste.

"Who the hell are you?" Trevor asked.

The man-creature sighed, almost in annoyance, and said, "My name is Jarko Murkvale. Duke of Death."

"I've never heard of you."

Trevor wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard Darla Drake stifle a laugh.

"I don't care whether or not you've heard of me," Jarko said, learning over Trevor, blotting out the moon with his enormous torso. "But after tonight, you'll be a warning to anyone else who tries to hunt in our territory. Especially children."

"Hey, semi-random question," Darla asked. "Is your name Kyle?"

"Nuh...no. It's Trevor. Trevor Schaub."

"Dammit," Darla said, stomping the ground with one laced-up sandal.

"Whuh...why?"

"The Duchess and I had a bet going," Jarko said. "Darla bet that your name was Kyle. I bet the field."

"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred their name is Kyle," Darla said. "Jarko took the field but the odds were still in my favor."

"But the field wins," Jarko said. "So that means I win."

"I guess you'll have to claim your prize later," Darla said, gazing at Jarko with, what Trevor believed to be in his limited sexual experience, bedroom eyes.

"Oh, I intend to, Duchess," Jarko replied, a grin on his face. Trevor was confused. Were the monsters...flirting?

"Can I go then?" Trevor asked. "You're obviously looking for a Kyle."

"No," Jarko said. "We were looking for you."

"You were hunting innocent children," Darla said. "Trevor, you silly little rabbit, you should know that we are the only people who hunt here."

Darla unbuckled a weapon from her belt. It looked like a cat-o'-nine-tails, but at the end of each strand was a sharp barb that looked like it could cut through wood as if it was warm butter.

"This is my scourge," Darla said. "My mother passed it down to me. And now I'm going to pass it down to you. In a manner of speaking."

"Please," Trevor said. "Let me go. I swear I won't tell anyone. Nobody will know I ever saw you."

Jarko laughed, his voice deep and sinister and seemingly entertained by Trevor's begging. "You seem to have missed the point entirely," he said. "We want everyone to know that you saw us."

The last thing that went through Trevor Schaub's mind, before Jarko's boot and Darla's scourge, was that he should have taken the job at the post office.

...

The moment they set foot inside their cave, Darla felt Jarko's arm coil around her waist. He drew her to him until their lips were barely an inch apart. She remembered their first face to face meeting, when she wanted nothing more than to cleave his limbs from his body. Now, she wanted nothing more than to have those limbs wrapped around her until her last day. Which, given that it was nearly impossible to kill a monster for good, was a whole hell of a long time.

And she was ok with that.

"Time to claim my prize," Jarko said.

"Stupid Kyles," Darla said, closing her eyes and leaning into him.

Jarko kissed Darla, deep and hard. She felt her heart begin to beat faster, faster, faster. Smoke trailed out of her nostrils as she wrapped her arms around Jarko's muscular neck.

"I could fight back," she said.

"I don't think you want to."

"No," Darla replied. "I don't. So, you're not annoyed at Kyle?"

"His name wasn't Kyle. It was Trevor."

"They're all Kyles, even if they're not."

"Why would I be annoyed at him?"

"He knew who I was but not...well, you."

Jarko kissed her again. "I don't get jealous."

"I think the whole reason we're here right now is because I wanted Clear Creek as my own and you were, in fact, jealous."

"Totally different situation."

"You say tomato, I say Kyle."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither do we, but here we are."

"Yes," Jarko said, gripping Darla tighter. "Here we are."

Darla pushed Jarko backward with tremendous force until they both slammed against the cave wall. Small rocks and dirt tumbled down onto them as they kissed.

"Careful Duchess," Jarko said. "You might break the cave."

"So we'll find another."

Jarko picked Darla up and carried her to the bed, which was a duvet cover filled with rocks and pine needles resting on a pile of headstones. Jarko laid Darla down. She pulled him onto her hard enough to leave a dent in the mattress.

"Watch the bone crown," she said, wisps of smoke drifting up to the ceiling. "Don't need to accidentally gouge your eye out while we do it."

"It'd be worth it," Jarko said. He watched as Darla unbuttoned his coat, then tossed it to the floor. She looked at him, tracing her hands up and down his torso. Then she looked up at him.

"I never needed anyone before," Darla said. "It's not easy for me to admit that."

"I promise to earn your need every single day from now on."

"That's a heavy promise."

"It is."

"You sure you can carry that kind of promise?"

"I have strong shoulders."

"Some promises are heavier than boulders."

"I've carried a lot of boulders," Jarko said. "I know how heavy this promise is."

She kissed him again and within moments they were naked in each other's arms. Darla had never felt as vulnerable with anyone as she did with Jarko. She'd had other monsters in her life before. She'd been intimate before Jarko. And as much as she would rather stick her brain in a blender than think about it, she knew he'd had other women before her.

But for some reason, it wasn't being stripped of her clothes that made her feel bare to him, it was being stripped of everything else. It wasn't just her body that Darla had revealed to him, but every fiber of her being. It made every embrace, every kiss, feel like fire, and when they connected physically, when they moved in perfect sync, nothing between them but a layer of sweat (and occasional swamp water), Darla's whole body felt as though she'd been dipped in molten lava.

They moved tender at first, then with greater force. She bit into his shoulder and he grimaced at first but didn't ask her to stop. At one point, Darla's bone crown must have torn open the duvet cover, because she saw pine needles stuck to Jarko's arms. She couldn't help but laugh as he moved inside of her, the laugh turning into a moan as he filled her in a way that, until this moment, she'd thought was impossible.

When they finished, a cloud of smoke hanging thick in the air, they lay on the ground in a tangled, sweaty heap. Darla's head on Jarko's torso, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath, his tentacles wrapped around her body.

"I could stay like this forever," he said.

"Too bad there are a lot more Kyles out there in the world. A lot more hunting to do."

"I look forward to every single one." Then Jarko grew quiet. The cave was silent except for the thrumming of their heartbeats. Then Jarko looked at her and said, "Darla?"

His face had grown intensely serious. For a moment, Darla felt scared. She hadn't felt like that since she found her mother's decapitated, angry head. And before that, since the day her father had left them. Intimacy brought fear. Once you loved someone, there was always a fear that they could leave you. That was the side effect of baring yourself to someone. The fear that, one day, it could all go away.

"What is it?"

"I meant what I said."

"About..."

"About forever."

"I'm glad," Darla replied. "I feel the same way."

"Then I need to ask you something."

Darla's brow furrowed. "If you're going to ask me if I still have any Trevor on my scourge, I cleaned it off in the pond before we got back."

"That's not what I was going to ask, but good to know we won't have random skull pieces laying around the cave."

"I don't know. A few skull pieces in a pattern on the wall just might make this place look a little more homey. Actually, I have a few more decorating ideas to run by you. Sorry, my mom has been watching a lot of HGTV and it's rubbing off."

Jarko didn't smile. "Darla?" he said.

"Yes, Jarko?"

"Darla Drake. Duchess of Death."

"You remembered my name. I was worried for a second considering you were just inside of me."

This made Jarko smile, but wistfully, like his mind was somewhere else.

"What is it?" she said.

Jarko got to one knee. The moment he did so, Darla's heart began to beat faster than it ever had before.

"Darla Drake. Duchess of Death. The monster I was meant for."

"Jarko..."

"Will you give me the hideously high honor of being my beastly bride?"

A plume of smoke belched forth from Darla's nostrils and blanketed the air like fog.

"Holy Cthulhu's butthole," Darla said. "Jarko, I..."

"I don't think you'd bring Cthulhu into it if it wasn't a yes."

Darla threw her arms around Jarko and kissed him for what felt like hours. When their lips finally parted, she whispered in his ear. "Yes."

"I didn't want to assume, but..." He gestured at the air, thick with smoke.

"Holy shit. We're going to get married."

"We're going to get married."

"I have to tell my mom. I have to tell Gretl."

"They'll be thrilled for you," he said.

"They'll be thrilled for us."

"For us," she agreed. "I love you, Jarko Murkvale, Duke of Death."

"I love you too, Duchess."

"Can I ask you one favor?"

"You can ask me a thousand favors until the end of days."

"Ok, this favor isn't quite that dramatic," Darla said. "I don't want this to be a big...thing. Nice and simple and quiet."

"Nice and simple and quiet it is. I can do simple and quiet."

"I've seen you demolish an entire housing complex with nothing but an inflatable seahorse and a rubber band," Darla said. "I'll believe you can do simple and quiet when I see it."

"I want this wedding to be exactly what you want, Duchess."

"What we want."

"What we want."

Jarko kissed her again. Nice and simple and quiet. It sounded lovely. Perfect.

And yet deep down, Darla knew somehow that there was no way in the fiery depths of hell their wedding would actually happen that way.

Dating & Dismemberment Copyright © 2024 by Jason Pinter Preview of Weddings & Witchcraft copyright © 2024 by Jason Pinter

Dating & Dismemberment, by A.L. Brody will be released on October 8, 2024. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:

Weddings & Witchcraft, by A.L. Brody will be released on February 11, 2025. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice: