Petra Hart > Recent Status Updates

I’ve been reading complex, gritty stuff (thank you Jaquel J) and needed something goofy. This may be a little too goofy, but I’m invested.

NOW I WANT TO LIVE THERE TOO.

Bellwether? I didn’t know anyone actually lived there. Isn’t that the place where the cryptids first came out?

Bellwether had made headlines ten years ago, not because of any law passed or historic protest, but because of what locals called the “Bellwether Reveal.” One night, the fog rolled in like it always did. And the next morning, half the city just... stopped pretending.

1% in and she has my full attention.

Some say the building was erected atop the ruins of a forgotten temple. Others say it is balancing on top of a hellmouth sealed with good intentions and bad brickwork.

I love where this is going!

mordacious, adj: 1) biting, or given to biting, or 2) biting or sharp in manner or style. Caustic.

A new word for me! This doesn’t happen often.

“Fuck off, you big zucchini.”
This may be my favorite orc insult yet.

Damn this is good.

Oren, the forest troll character, is wholly original. Wow, what a creature. Swoon.

“When it comes, his touch is so gentle it almost tickles—fingertips brushing across my collarbone and down my arms, leaving trails of light in the moss beneath me and tiny flowers blooming in their wake.”

Give me a sweet, massive forest troll over a skinny fae prince any day! Oren has prepared a special place for his first date with Lily.

“The ground beneath our feet is carpeted with rich green moss that pulses with soft light in time with what feels like a heartbeat.”

I love how direct he is without being creepy. And hallelujah for articulate adults!!!

Rafe sucked in a deep breath and decided it was best to tell Sloan the truth. She was only growing on him and seeing her every day, even if only for a few hours, wasn’t going to make things any easier. “I’ve never worked for a single mother I was this attracted to before. I am very attracted to you.”

Funny, smart-mouthed human woman meets erudite, sarcastic spider guy, and the sparks fly.

The beginning is so fun!

SF is, in my opinion, the single most dangerous member of the unit. It is my belief that anyone who undertakes his psychological care is putting themselves at grave personal risk. Should he go AWOL, it’s unlikely that he will give authorities any other choice than to terminate.

This is heartbreaking. Sloane’s first tentative interactions with his mate (and being touched) are interspersed with his psychoanalysis records which label him as so dangerous he’ll need to be killed if he tries to have any autonomy or privacy.

“Am I your prisoner, Sloane?”
The zipper’s painfully slow descent slowed to a stop at her mid-back.
“No.”
She swallowed. “So you’ll let me go?”
“No.”
“So I am your prisoner.”
A heavy, gloved hand settled on her hip. She felt him bend over her as the zipper continued down its little track. Sloane’s robotic voice came out quieter when he replied, “No.”

All three are perfectly in sync, but I love how they stop when they decide to try some kink as well. Hugh and Lachlan teach us that when lovers want power exchange they shouldn’t make assumptions. And consent is so sexy.

“Tonight, Lachlan’s going to show you the difference between being flogged for fun at a play party, and being flogged by someone who’s been inside you.”

“Next time.”
“You’re killing me,” but I smile at him. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Not always but sometimes I like to be.”
“Are you bossy with Lachlan?”
He grins. “Yeah.”
“Like this?”
“No. Bossier.”
That’s crazy hot. I shiver. “Lucky him.”

Lachlan remembering his intense relationship with Hugh:
He hadn’t been the first guy I’d been attracted to. He wasn’t the first guy I’d fooled around with.

But he was the first man I’d wanted with my entire being.

He was a lot of other firsts, too.

Some onlys.

OMG. Hugh. He’s magnetic, a “sexual pyromaniac,” and in love with both Beth and Lachlan. He’s asked Lachlan what he fantasizes about:

“What’s the point of a fantasy if it’s not utterly awful to say out loud? There’s nothing mind-blowing about that which you can voice without wanting to die a little on the inside.”

Ugh. I don’t know if I can finish. She’s too dumb to live.

I’ve never felt wanted this way before, never wanted quite this much in return. It’s heightened by the complicated tangle of emotions I feel for this man. Respect, dislike, intrigue, awe. He’s an enigma.

“You want me to marry you?” Victor meets my gaze. I've never looked at him for this long before. It's terrifying.
"You want a new job.”
"Not as your wife."
“Marrying me would get you out of this office."
"Yes, but not away from you."

SO GOOD.

I’m considering a DNF. The same things keep getting repeated over and over. I does not compare to the previous Archer book I just read.

I don’t understand why the club is such a mess. It’s an accident waiting to happen, and they know better.

I dunno. I love the writing and the characters, but the cutesy “save the bookstore” planning is making me grind my teeth.

“See? We could put these up around the neighborhood. The noticeboard by the grocery store, inside cafés, by bus stops…” I hold up one of the flyers I made for Karli to see. “When did you make these?” “Last night. I went to the copy shop this morning.”

What it is, is a mafia romance. What it’s not is anything kinky beyond light bondage.

I’m enjoying it, but it suffers from Sierra Cartwright syndrome. Damien’s speech is supposed to sound commanding, but it’s over done. It feels like there are whole chapters where he speaks in sentences no longer than 6 words.

What a great first chapter!
The mysterious death of a malevolent, hoarder aunt, a hellacious storm, an intelligent, lost FMC and her memories of a summer with three teenage boys Roan, Lukan, and Kellan, who later moved away.

Or did they move away? Are they even human? Someone has cleaned the house up, even the bed her aunt died (and decomposed) in.

Is “Lukan” a clue?

One of the things I love about Joyce’s shifter romances is how she conveys the feelings of strong but emotional men. He’s a drifter in love and sending her postcards:

Hey Wildcat, Been sick. I think it’s my lion. Nothing serious. I think I just maybe broke my own heart. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to us. […] I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sorry. Talon

This is good advice, but hard to do (I’m 65).

“When you get to our age, there is so much history behind us. So much story. And I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but I can lie awake every night and regret, overthink, and remember. And I have to pull myself back to the here and now because I’m not done yet.”

FEROCIOUS. A matriarchal mafia retelling of (Black) Snow White.

“Do it,” I invite with a bloodstained smile. And I even lean into the barrel pointed at my forehead.
…
“I still got your dick on my breath, but don’t think I’ma let you punk me.”