BLURB
They say monsters are made, not born.
He was both…
Chase
As the second youngest Ravage brother, I’ve spent my entire adult life rectifying our tainted family name and keeping my urges behind closed doors.
Until my best friend’s little sister shows up at The Hunt ready to play, and I lose control.
I tell myself it’s just a taste.
Except, with her, I should’ve known a single taste wouldn’t be enough.
And then the good girl I’ve known most of my life drops to her knees.
For me.
From that moment on, I knew she would only ever be one thing.
Mine.
Juliet
Presenting my brother’s best friend with a pros/cons list of why he should take my virginity seemed like a good idea at the time.
I thrive on information, data, and lists, and it made sense on paper.
Until he rejected me and walked out of my life.
Now, eight years later, my life is falling apart despite my careful planning.
Tempted with an invite to Ravage Castle, I show up seeking answers to questions I’m not sure I can handle.
Except, a furious Chase finds me talking to another man.
Under his gilded, arched roof.
I soon learn that despite his controlled exterior, Chase seems to have one weakness.
Me.
Prey Tell is a full-length brother’s best friend/billionaire romance with primal play themes. It is book one in the Ravaged Castle series. All books can be read as standalones.
Warning: This book contains a possessive, jealous antihero, explicit sexual situations, and strong language. There is no cheating, and there is a HEA.
There once was a castle, so mighty and high,
With large, gilded gates, it rivaled Versailles.
To all those below, it was splendid and lush,
But to those inside, it was ravaged and crushed.
Five Ravage boys born amongst old, rotted roots,
Their father ensured they’d all grow to be brutes.
Some said they were cursed, sworn off of desire,
But they turned into men and found what they required.
Forbidden, illicit, they had to work for that love,
They questioned that castle when push came to shove.
The curse and the rot gave way to unsavory tastes,
Dark proclivities and sick, messed up traits.
Five stories of five men with sinfully dark tales,
The Ravage brothers prove that love does prevail.
TRIGGERS
Triggers: BDSM elements (Dominant/submissive, consensual non-consent, spanking, primal play, predator/prey play, rough sex, use of riding crop), parental death (remembered), child neglect (remembered), coming out themes, and anxiety.
*Please note that Prey Tell is not a dark romance. Happy reading!
RESOURCES
Resources
These are just for fun, but if you’re a visual or auditory person, here you go:
Spotify playlist
Pinterest board
For all the girlies who want to be caught.
PROLOGUE
THE OFFER
Chase
Eight Years Ago
I’m just slipping the pink rubber gloves onto my hands when I hear a crash and subsequent moan coming from the front porch. Muttering under my breath, I walk over to the front door and throw it open.
“Parker,” I growl, taking in her small, slumped body sitting on the large porch swing. She’s fumbling with the straps of her heels as a string of curses leaves her lips. “Are you fucking drunk?”
She snaps her head up and glares at me. “I’m not drunk. I tripped on the stairs because these heels are trying to kill me.” Her eyes swing to the gloves. “I never knew you were so domestic. Pink is undoubtedly your color.”
I lean against the doorframe and smirk. “You always know what to say to make a man swoon.”
She narrows her eyes at me before she continues fumbling with the tiny straps. “Why are these ankle straps so hard to unbuckle? I don’t understand why we women constantly torture ourselves like this. For example, why are these holes so hard to find in the first place?” The instant the words leave her lips, she glares up at me. “Don’t make some sexual innuendo right now, Ravage. I’m not in the mood to spar tonight,” she says, using her nickname for me.
“Let me,” I offer, snapping the rubber gloves off and shoving them in the back pocket of my suit pants.
Walking over to where she’s sitting, I fall to my knees and pull her left leg up first, exposing one of her creamy thighs. I clear my throat and focus on the task at hand. Much to my chagrin, she’s not wrong. The buckles are tiny and it takes me a solid minute to slide the thin strap off from around her delicate ankle. When I grab her other leg, it takes an inordinate amount of self-control not to run my fingers up her toned legs.
When I finish, I sit back on my heels and grin. “It wasn’t that hard.”
She blinks a few times and looks at something behind me, refusing to make eye contact. “Is Jackson asleep?”
“Yeah. Those toddlers will be the death of him one day,” I mutter, standing up. I’m referring to the little crotch goblins he teaches every weekday. I’d been cleaning up after our dinner so that it was one less thing he had to do tomorrow.
She snorts. “Probably. But he’ll love every second of his hard-earned demise.”
I hold the front door open for her as she walks inside before me, heels dangling from her fingers. I study the way she sets them down by the door neatly—the way she lingers and gazes around longingly. Pulling the gloves on, I walk over to the sink.
“So, rough night?” I ask her.
She hops up onto the counter next to me, crossing her ankles as her hands grip the edge of the countertop.
“No.”
“Parker,” I warn her, my tone low and intimidating. I pick up the first plate and begin the arduous process of cleaning up after her sloppy brother. “You know, I can always tell you’re lying because your voice drops an octave.”
She twists her lips to the side, looking so fucking innocent. Except she’s endured more than any eighteen-year-old ever should.
“Fine, you caught me.”
I start to load the dishwasher, knowing my silence is eating at her. “I also know you’re lying about being drunk.”
She scoffs. “I had two drinks. I’m hardly falling over my—”
“Front steps?” I finish, looking over at her as I quirk a brow. “Juliet Parker actually went to a party and indulged in… fun?” I tease.
She swats my arm. “I can be fun sometimes. It’s rare though, so you better soak it all up now while you have the chance, Ravage.”
I set my plate down and turn to face her. My eyes bore into her light-green ones, and then they perused her heart-shaped face, the dusty rose of her lightly freckled cheeks, before tracking down her slender neck. My mind memorizes the way her dress—which is too fucking short—clings to her smooth curves—the slim waist that flares into rounded hips. When I’m done, I meet her eyes again, but this time, her cheeks are tinged with pink.