JL Roberts > Recent Status Updates

For the plus size queens dreaming of being hunted by a mass psychopath, who thinks your favorite romance book is a how to manual.
X says hi. And he'll see you in your bedroom. (Possibly from outside your window, but hey, details.)

💜😏 Love this dedication!

It's hard to describe the feeling--but of course, that's what everyone wants to know, what it feels like to sense a dead person. It's a little like hearing a bee droning inside your head, or maybe the pop of a Geiger counter--a persistent and irregular noise, increasing in strength the closer I get to the body.

Aidan O'Rourke: the Irish Devil, second son of the mob, and Breakers enforcer. He was chaos personified, a captivating mix of skill and brutality.

"A promise is just another lie, dressed up to look beautiful enough to believe. Praying on hope." I muttered under my breath looking away from him.

I kissed him then. The kind of kiss required when your mate tries to die on you. Desperate didn't cover it.

Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where they strung up a man they say murdered three? Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Is Lucy Gray the original writer of the famous hanging tree song that Katniss sings?

“The District Twelve girl tribute is Lucy Gray Baird,” he said into a mic.
The audience gave a surprised murmur at the sight of her.
Lucy Gray Baird stood upright in a dress made of a rainbow of ruffles, now raggedy but once fancy. Her dark, curly hair was pulled up and woven with limp wildflowers. Her colorful ensemble drew the eye, as to a tattered butterfly in a field of moths.

The District 12 girl? Could there be a bigger slap in the face? District 12, the smallest district, the joke district, with its stunted, joint-swollen kids that always died in the first five minutes, and not only that . . . but the girl? Not that a girl couldn’t win, but in his mind the Hunger Games were largely about brute force, and the girls were naturally smaller than the boys and therefore at a disadvantage.

As in the past, the tributes would be dumped into the Capitol Arena, a now-dilapidated amphitheater that had been used for sports and entertainment events before the war, along with some weapons to murder one another. Viewing was encouraged in the Capitol, but a lot of people avoided it. How to make it more engaging was the challenge.

There would be twenty-four tributes, one boy and one girl from each of the twelve defeated districts, drawn by lottery to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death in the Hunger Games. It was all laid out in the Treaty of Treason that had ended the Dark Days of the districts’ rebellion, one of the many punishments borne by the rebels.

He smoothed back his blond curls as he mockingly whispered to his image, “Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem, I salute you.”

It was one of a long list of precautions he took to mask the fact that his family, despite residing in the penthouse of the Capitol’s most opulent apartment building, was as poor as district scum. That at eighteen, the heir to the once- great house of Snow had nothing to live on but his wits.

It was one of a long list of precautions he took to mask the fact that his family, despite residing in the penthouse of the Capitol’s most opulent apartment building, was as poor as district scum. That at eighteen, the heir to the once-great house of Snow had nothing to live on but his wits.

As he stepped around the tree he was confronted by something that seemed to have crawled out of his nightmares. It was 7 ft at least. Clumped fur hung from broad shoulders to graze the ground. Luminous eyes glittered out from a twisted, shadowed inhumane face. A long claw-like appendage extended from its arm and shown in the torchlight.

A twig snapped, it was no more than twenty feet away. Eileen flinched and pressed her lips together to quiet her rasping breaths. She didn't know what had broken the twig, but whatever it was had been following her for more than an hour.

Their shared pain had always pulled her toward him, but she’d denied the sensation for so long that it had become normal. Not anymore. If soul mates really existed, his father had created him to be hers. What an intriguing thought. She’d spent so much of her life avoiding connections with people, fearing they’d get hurt, but what if—what if—Cain really was meant to be hers?

Wulfe was a very old vampire, older than Marsilia. He was witchborn and a wizard , which meant that he wielded two entirely unrelated forms of magic in addition to whatever magical power just being an old vampire brought him. He was also bug-nuts. The combination of power and unpredictability made him the single scariest vampire I'd ever met.

"You bring me joy," he said clearly. "I never expected this. I don't deserve it-but I am claiming you for my own."
"Well, yes, I told him. I thought we'd established that when I claimed you for my mate and then my husband. I get you. You get me. No take-backs."

He laughed. Kissed me.

He had helped Mercy-maybe-and then she had, she had.. done something to him. He wasn't sure what to call that, either, because it felt as though she had saved him until the effects wore off and he understood that she might have destroyed him instead. Hope was the most deadly of emotions.
He didn't think she was his enemy. But certainly not his friend.

Yeah, I brought wine on my hike. Didn’t everyone? It made the uphill climb out of town easier. Hell, it made everything easier.

“Why are you always pestering me?”
He holds a hand over his heart. “You wound me, bro. I’m trying to be a good person. Which means I’m not making a move on your girl like I want to.”
I don’t even bother arguing that she’s not my girl.
Because Charlotte feels like she’s mine.
Fuck it. I’m done debating this.
I’m going after what I really want.

“I had feelings for you, Jake. That’s why I left.” I’ve been in love with him since we were fourteen, but I’m not brave enough to go that far.

“I couldn’t sit there one more day while my sister bragged about all the times you guys screwed. Or listen to you guys fuck in the other room. Or watch how she treated you like crap while you accepted it like it was your due. So I left.”

Kota and I couldn’t be more different.
Where she’s outgoing and fun, I’m quiet and shy. Where she’s adventurous and loves to party, I prefer to stay home and read a book. Where she loves being the center of attention, I’d rather blend in and not cause a fuss.
Or as my mother tells everyone, I’m the wallflower and Kota’s the prom queen.

With dark, soulful eyes, a smile punctuated by dimples, and a body like a Greek god, Jake has been my quiet obsession for years.
To be fair, he was my friend first. My best friend. The reason I got up in the morning and dragged myself to high school.
But that was before he met Kota at a party our senior year, and everything changed.

"Huh," said Aiden, keeping a wary eye on Wulfe. "How fortunate that you were here."

"Not fortunate," demurred Wulfe, answering Aiden with a coyness. "Not mere luck. I am stalking Mercy. Of course I was around, because that's what stalkers do, or so I've read. It's my new hobby."

I can’t help but laugh. Then I start to wonder what it is exactly that I’ve gotten myself into with Professor Wolf. Whatever it is, I apparently can’t say no to him, and I’m beginning to think… He can’t say no to me either.

Adam set next to me, absently taking my hand in his and playing with my fingers. I liked it when he touched me like that, without thought, as though there were some magnetic force between us. The only thing better was that I could touch him, whenever I wished.

I parked the Jetta next to Adam's suv. Before I got out, Adam was beside my car.
He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, his face buried in the crook of my neck as if he hadn't seen me for a decade instead of... at lunch time yesterday. I could feel his chest lift as he breathed in my scent and it made me do the same to him. Musk and mint and Adam. Yum.

"Now it's about zombie miniature goats. Or miniature goat zombies. Nigerian dwarf goats. Running free all around Benton city, apparently."

" Miniature zombie goats," murmured Mary Jo. "I think that sounds the cutest. I can see the newspaper headlines now."

"Are they dead?" Tad asked.

"That's what 'zombie' means," said Mary Jo loudly, to make sure Tad heard her. "But we're on our way to kill them again."