Kings and Bones by Juliette Cross

I do not understand the person that I become when I read books like this. Like, in my right mind I am not fantasizing about being abducted by a huge winged man creature and compelled to play house with him like I do not want to have your babies, sir, no. Put me down. But then I’ll read a book like this and the whole time I’m just like “get it, sister!”

Without spoilers, our FMC is an outcast in her own community because she’s a hybrid fae and her father, who’s a drunk and no good, gambles her away and she is won by this dark fae, our MMC who whisks her away and, I mean basically you know what happens; I don’t know why I’m even hashing this out. They’re going to bone, we already know this. They are clearly mates, we already know this too. Will there be danger, yes of course. Will there be dimensional details having to do with how “big” he is and how “tight” she is; you know it, I know it, we know it.

At no other moment in space and time would I be thrilled to read about a virgin being abducted by a much larger male under the guise of this being somehow written in the stars, like no. No thank you very much. And yet by some kind of magic, these authors spin a tale so expertly, where these men satisfy these women so thoroughly and sweetly; even what is intended to be dirty talk is still so downright adorable that you find yourself saying “damn, why couldn’t that be me?” When that would objectively be TERRIBLE AND INSANE.

If I find out that these books are some kind of pipeline to trad wife, cottage core, homesteading lifestyle bullshit, I am going to be so upset. I feel like I might be being radicalized, I do.