Gaslamp Monster Romances Series by Jove Chambers, Val Saintcrowe

Buffy meets Bridgerton. This dragon doesn’t shift. Miss Gissele Chapman’s dragon-slaying magic is growing weak. Her life has always been chaotic, what with managing her secret slaying duties with her obligations as the daughter of a wealthy gentleman—hosting teas, attending balls, entertaining callers. But now, on top of everything, her magic is waning, and no one seems to know why. No one, that is, except this red-scaled dragon that she still hasn’t killed... moreBuffy meets Bridgerton. This dragon doesn’t shift. Miss Gissele Chapman’s dragon-slaying magic is growing weak. Her life has always been chaotic, what with managing her secret slaying duties with her obligations as the daughter of a wealthy gentleman—hosting teas, attending balls, entertaining callers. But now, on top of everything, her magic is waning, and no one seems to know why. No one, that is, except this red-scaled dragon that she still hasn’t killed. That is what a slayer does with dragons, even ones who call her ‘love’ in a lilting voice and go on about her scent and how enticing it is. The dragon says he’s got the key to restoring her magic, and it’s straining against his scales right here, ready to spring free and service her. But he must be lying, and anyway she would never do such a thing, because she is a very respected heiress, and she has a reputation to think of and girls like her don’t… don’t…. He’s a monster with teeth and claws. He’s her enemy, and she kills his kind. They hate each other. Besides, he’s… enormous. It wouldn’t even work. Would it? This gaslamp fantasy features very proper characters driven by magical means to do shocking things. Secondary characters in the story pursue male-on-male and asexual relationships. If such things will give readers vapors, they should take necessary precautions. less

The centaur arrives in town and builds a truly ostentatious house, big enough to take up an entire city block, throwing around his money as if it’s a calling card into society. Miss Phoebe Llewellyn, daughter of the late Earl of Crisbane, knows high society sits high on a gated hill, and they aren’t admitting anyone. She knows, because she has been cast out. She is ruined, her virtue trampled long ago. The centaur may think to rise, but he is little more than an oddity, a tidbit of gossip... moreThe centaur arrives in town and builds a truly ostentatious house, big enough to take up an entire city block, throwing around his money as if it’s a calling card into society. Miss Phoebe Llewellyn, daughter of the late Earl of Crisbane, knows high society sits high on a gated hill, and they aren’t admitting anyone. She knows, because she has been cast out. She is ruined, her virtue trampled long ago. The centaur may think to rise, but he is little more than an oddity, a tidbit of gossip. Society will never accept him. When she meets the centaur, he robs her of the ability to breathe. It’s the way he looks at her, the dark hunger in his eyes, the barely-contained desire there. No one has ever wanted her in that way. Savage, base yearning. Dangerous yearning. Terrifying yearning. When he asks for her hand in marriage, she can’t say she’s displeased. If she weren’t ruined, it would be out of the question. But she knows that she has no other prospects. So, marrying a new-money social climber and being lavished with his coin? She’s not dismissing it out of hand. Even if the bottom half of him is a horse. Even if she doesn’t see how one can… with that. Even if the way he seems to want her borders on bestial madness. This gaslamp fantasy monster romance is spicy, angsty, and dark. It's got a fixation with horse analogies (mounting, breaking, training, etc. ) If a reader will get her bridle in a twist about such things, she should beware. less

Do not read this. I assure you, I am not the sort of woman that anyone likes, and you will not like me. The fact that he likes me, it should be a sign to you, in fact. He is Mr. Marlow, and there is something wrong with him. I couldn’t say what it is exactly. He doesn’t outwardly present as deformed, not truly, but he seems that way somehow. The edges of him squirm and expand. He is shadows and barbs and coils and teeth. He is a monster. He likes me. And the man that contains Mr... moreDo not read this. I assure you, I am not the sort of woman that anyone likes, and you will not like me. The fact that he likes me, it should be a sign to you, in fact. He is Mr. Marlow, and there is something wrong with him. I couldn’t say what it is exactly. He doesn’t outwardly present as deformed, not truly, but he seems that way somehow. The edges of him squirm and expand. He is shadows and barbs and coils and teeth. He is a monster. He likes me. And the man that contains Mr. Marlow, the proper and buttoned up Dr. Fastian? Well, he sees me for what I am—a scarred strumpet who enjoys playing too close to the fire, who doesn’t mind getting singed now and again. He doesn’t like me, not truly. I am not the sort of woman that anyone likes. Well, not anyone decent, that is. You won’t like me either. I am warning you. Do not read this. This Jekyll-and-Hyde inspired monster romance is a gaslamp romp into the dark, seedy back alleys of a Victorian-esque city. Part psychological thriller, part musings on gender roles and social structure, and all detailed monstery spice. If a reader is looking for a simple pleasurable escape, she should look elsewhere. This one will hurt. less