~Editor's Pick~
The world is full of monsters.
In the dark heart of New York City, Marion's search for her missing friend leads her to The Gin Room. Secrets lurk in shadows, particularly around the enigmatic Deacona man whose piercing gaze hints at hidden depths and untold truths. When she follows him, she enters a hidden world beneath Central Park, where Deacon becomes a minotaur hosting fight nights in his maze-like lair.
Deacon is both the guardian and the beast, but harmony shatters as a deadly shifter emerges, threatening not only their lives but the fragile balance between worlds.
As danger looms, will Marion’s courage be enough to navigate the twists and turns of this treacherous maze?
“Here you go,” the bartender said as he set the martini down.
She handed over her credit card, then took a sip of her drink while he ran her card. He gave her an impersonal smile when he came back.
“Thanks,” she said, then held up Peter’s photo. “Do you remember this man?”
The bartender studied the picture. “No, sorry. I see too many people to remember a one-time visit.”
After he swiped her card and handed it back, Marion pushed more. “He said he liked this bar a lot.”
“You his wife or something?”
“No,” she replied. “A family friend. He hasn’t been in touch with me or them for a few weeks.”
The bartender took the photo and studied it carefully. Then, for one quick second, his gaze flickered to something behind her before returning to the picture. He shook his head.
“No, sorry.”
Marion had a strong feeling he wasn’t telling the truth. “Are you sure? Please. His family and I are worried.”
The bartender shrugged then moved away to serve customers. Irritation filled her, and she huffed as she looked around the bar. In the corner, a man watched her. Even sitting, Marion could tell he was a large man with broad shoulders. One arm was slung across the back of the booth while the other held a glass of something amber colored.
Was this who the bartender looked at? Maybe he was a regular. If so, he might have seen Peter. Walking over, she maintained eye contact and stopped in front of his table.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Marion.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Hello, Marion. I’m Deacon.”
This close, she could see the silver threading through his dark hair. He looked older than her, maybe fifteen years or so. His olive skin tone held a natural warmth, and his dark eyes had an intensity that caused butterflies to dance through her belly. She’d seen pretty men before, but his intensity was something else.
