Noir Reformatory

Trapped in a world of sin and sexy alpha angels.
Forever defined by my black wings.

My father, King of the Nora, sent me to Noir Reformatory to atone for crimes I didn’t commit.

So what’s a girl to do? Escape, obviously.

Except I need allies to accomplish that feat and no one wants anything to do with King Sefid’s daughter. If anything, my claim to the throne has only made running that much harder, and worse, I’m stuck with two hot angels standing in my way.

Auric is my supposed guardian, his white wings marking him as my superior in this deadly playground. Only, I’m his princess and I refuse to bow to a warrior like him.

And Novak, the notorious Prison King, is hell-bent on teaching me my place. Which he seems to think is beneath him. In his bed.

This prison resembles a training camp for soldiers more than a reformatory for the Fallen. I suspect something nefarious is at play here, but of course, no one believes me. I’m the guilty princess with black wings. Well, I’ll prove them all wrong. I just hope it isn’t too late.

My name is Princess Layla.
I’m innocent.
And I do not accept this fate.

Note: Noir Reformatory is a dark fantasy ménage romance spanning six novels. There will be cliffhangers, adult situations, violence, and MM/MF/MMF content.

* * *

Lethality oozed off him. Danger lurked in his icy irises. But as he lifted those beautiful eyes to mine once more, I felt at peace.

Flames billowed behind him, framing his sharp features in delicate shadows that should have made him all the more terrifying. Yet all they did was intensify his exquisite features.

He lifted a single finger to trail a line down my cheek to my throat and then to my collarbone. Goose bumps followed his touch, my lips parting on a necessary gasp to draw more air into my lungs.

And his scent.
Leather and blood and man.
Oh gods…

My thighs clenched and his nostrils flared.

Then a blade appeared on his wrist, followed by Auric’s snarl. “Remove your hand, Novak. Or I’ll cut it off.”

My throat went dry at the possessiveness in his tone.

Novak glanced at him, his lips curling up at one side into an expression of mild amusement. Then he dropped his hand to his side and took a step backward to survey the yard.

“Game over,” he murmured before turning away without a backward glance, his steps sure as he maneuvered with ease around the graveyard of fallen Noir.

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