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Zusatztext Author Erin Quinn manages to create such a sense of longing in the quiet narrative of the Reaper that I was completely captivated within the first few pages. Quinn's silky narrative has a noir tone that, with the subtlety of a whisper, pulls you into the story and makes the rest of the world fade away. The pull is magnetic, and you CANNOT put the book down. Quinn does a masterful job of revealing bits and pieces of the mystery during the almost non-stop action and tremendous chase scenes that follow. I enthusiastically recommend The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love to readers who enjoy a suspense thriller along with their paranormal romance. Informationen zum Autor Erin Quinn writes dark paranormal romance for the thinking reader. Her books have been called “riveting,” “brilliantly plotted,” and “beautifully written” and have won, placed or showed in the RWA RITA Award, Booksellers Best, WILLA Award for Historical fiction, Readers Crown, Award of Excellence and many more. Go to ErinQuinnBooks.com for more information or follow Erin Quinn Author on social media. Klappentext Love and death make strange bedfellows in this paranormal novel featuring a woman who can cheat death and the Reaper who's charged with ensuring her mortality. Original. Leseprobe The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love The reaper entered the room as Santo Castillo spun the cylinder of the revolver, took a deep swallow of Wild Turkey, then put the muzzle in his mouth. He pulled the trigger without hesitation. The hollow click that followed seemed to mock the shadowed silence. Santo choked back a sob, dropped the gun on the low coffee table in front of him, and reached for his glass again. For a long moment he just sat there, shoulders hunched, silent, dry sobs wracking his body. A tall man, with broad shoulders and a heavy, muscular frame, he looked odd crying his dry tears. The reaper moved closer, perplexed by the duplicity of human emotion. The man wanted to die. He begged for death, yearned for it. And yet he fought it even now, when it was too late. The reaper paused just behind him and blew a soft breath in his ear. Santo stiffened, lifted his head, and looked around uneasily. Yes. I’ve come for you. A shudder went through the human and he took another hasty drink, wincing as the burn of the alcohol slid down his throat. A light hung just above the couch and coffee table where Santo wallowed in his misery. The reaper gave it a gentle nudge, making it sway back and forth, producing cadaverous shadows that slithered across the walls. The chain squeaked ever so slightly in a macabre overture to what would come. Santo’s gaze darted warily around the room. His fear seasoned the air and the reaper breathed it in. Fear always honeyed the reaping. He moved closer, trailing his fingers over Santo’s broad shoulders, admiring the hard strength of him. Yes, he would be perfect. Perfect, he whispered. Santo jumped and spun in his seat, staring right through the reaper, seeing nothing but the queer boogeymen of his imagination. His anxious eyes grew hot with panic as he turned back around. The small hairs on his nape stood on end. Santo reached for his gun and fumbled, sending it in a tailspin across the table, knocking over a framed snapshot he’d propped in front of him—a silent witness to his madness. The gun skated off the smooth surface and hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud. While Santo ducked down to retrieve it, the reaper righted the photo. Visibly shaken, his pulse a staccato beat at his throat, Santo closed his eyes and rubbed the scruff of his beard. He mumbled something the reaper c...
