Just like any good love story, this, too, started with hope.
Hope to be loved, to stay clean—to be happy. But now Jo knows better.
She's freshly out of rehab, returning to her hometown, where she's set on figuring her life out. Out of the spotlight, she finally feels like she can breathe. Until old debts come calling. Turns out her contract with Scorpio Records is not severed, and she is still, by all intents and purposes, their favorite little rockstar.
A story of addiction, fame, and the complexities of human nature.
Trigger warning: Drug use, Drug addiction, Trauma, Alcohol/Drug withdrawal, Suicide, Explicit sex scenes, Sexual abuse, Domestic abuse, Death, Drugging someone against their will, Physical assault, Tobacco use, Overdose, Strong language, Panic attacks
Lenore note:
Please be mindful that Love, Jo tackles heavy themes. If you are mentally struggling (First of all, I’m sorry, darling—I know it’s hard) maybe try Ashes Don’t Bloom.
A poetry collection.
“I dare you to look inside, neophyte.”
This is not a love story.
This is not healing.
This is sacred disfigurement.
Memento Mori is a poetic reliquary of fractured gods, desecrated altars, and prayers written in blackout ink. A neon-lit gospel for the spiritually unsound, these poems do not seek redemption. They wade through grief, anger, trauma, desire, and existential rot with the precision of a surgeon and the venom of a heretic.
Rattlesnake Ridge isn’t a place you move to. It’s where you end up when you’ve got nowhere else to go.
Delilah Kensington arrives in a busted-up '67 Impala with no plan, no prospects, and no money. She takes a job at The Junction—a bar owned by a gunrunner—and catches the eye of Diesel, an ex-Marine with a criminal record and a dangerous reputation. Their chemistry is immediate, their bond unshakeable. Delilah isn’t interested in playing it safe, and Diesel isn’t a man who needs to be tamed.
But this isn’t just their story.
Monica “Sedona” Verona used to lead convoys through war zones. Now she runs Diesel’s garage with grease on her hands and a Glock in her belt. She’s sharp, lethal, and loyal. When cartel threats begin closing in, Sedona’s past bleeds to the surface, calling sleeping instincts into action. Suddenly, her connection to Duke, another Marine-turned-outlaw, gets harder to ignore.
Book 1 of the Rattlesnake Ridge series
Trigger warning: Explicit sexual content, PTSD, Military flashbacks, Nightmares about traumatic events, Tight/claustrophobic spaces, Death, Murder, Explicit language, Tobacco use, Alcohol use.
Morally grey, erotic, and grimly whimsical.
For fans of the Witcher Universe, Penny Dreadful, and grimdark fantasy—perfect for the Halloween season.
Morena is a necromancer who has lived long enough to forget why. Every few decades, she drinks a potion that wipes away her past—names, faces, and especially lovers. Carrying the moniker—the Blackwater Hag—she follows the only constant the potion can’t seem to take from her. Death. Wherever she goes, graveyards weep.
But in the Under Realms, the King of Hell still yearns. Razakel has ruled over hell since before men knew kingdoms came with kings. Warlord, seducer, executioner—he has worn many titles, but one obsession has endured: the witch who refuses to remember him.
A darkly erotic fantasy perfect for readers who like their stories well and rotten, and their characters dipping into pools of moral corruption.
There are no heroes in this.
Only devils, grimoires… and brides.
Trigger warning: Graphic violence, Physical assault, Sexual abuse, Blood magic, Necromancy, Death, Emotional manipulation, Explicit sexual content, Dismemberment, Body horror, Resurrection, Depictions of war, Torture, Religious blasphemy, Execution, Self-inflicted wounds, Physical punishment, Alcohol use, Arson, Strangulation.
Lenore note:
This is not a romantasy. Think early fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm turned erotic with no redemption arcs.
#BD33A4: Byzantine
The year is 2184—the world is beautiful, the air is clean, and crime is low.
Ha, in your dreams, chum.
The year is 2183, the world is ugly, cleanliness is overrated, and crime is so rampantly delicious I snort it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Here’s our protagonist, Nyx. Former top-tier merc, now addicted to a nasty little drug called X, and one catastrophic debt shy of being property of the most dangerous man in Star City. That’s our city, by the way. Stern—pardon—Star City. Named after the, you know… stars.
Moving on. Nyx has a brother. Eno. A real screwup. He steals a pound of aforementioned X from Nyx, which actually belongs to said dangerous man, and vanishes into Midtown. A solid move that leaves Nyx even more f’d. Wait, can I say that? F’d? Oh, it censors it. Would you look at that.
F’d.
F’ng f’d.
Neat.
Anyway. Our Nyxie girl is so deep in debt, she agrees to a gig that leads her straight into Midtown. How convenient. Word on the street is—the job’s a suicide run. But it’s a lose-lose situation, really. She’s dead if she refuses, and she’s dead if she agrees. However, if she agrees—and she does—we get to point a finger and laugh. The perfect pastime, if you ask me.
#BD33A4 has corrupt megacorps, lethal debt collectors, rogue AIs, city-wide power plays—and, of course, it has me. Your favorite narrator.
Think: Bladerunner gets blackout drunk with Altered Carbon, snorts a line with Cyberpunk 2077, and wakes up in a back-alley clinic missing a kidney—but having gained a hell of a story.