The viral TikTok friends-to-lovers dark romantic comedy full of murder, chaos, and sizzling chemistry—unlike anything you’ve read before.
When a chance encounter sparks an unlikely bond between rival murderers Sloane and Rowan, they find something elusive—the friendship of two like-minded, pitch-black souls who just happen to enjoy killing other serial killers.
From small-town West Virginia to upscale California, and from downtown Boston to rural Texas, the two hunters collide in an annual game of blood and suffering, one that pits them against the most dangerous monsters in the country.
But as their friendship develops into something more, the restless ghosts left in their wake are only a few steps behind, ready to claim more than just their newfound love.
Can Rowan and Sloane dig themselves out of a game of graves?
Or have they finally met their match?
A dark, twisted, and absolutely unforgettable must read!
I’m actually almost a year late leaving this review. I read Butcher & Blackbird back in February 2024 and fell in love with it before the story even began. I listened to this book on Audible and right out of the gate, we’re greeted with the funniest reading of a trigger warning list in existence. I saw my mom the day I began listening to it and backed it up just to play the TW list for her. It’s a truly apt introduction to the vibes you get with this book. Dark, wickedly funny, and just a touch of whimsy.
“For those of you who read the trigger warnings and said
The Author’s Dedication to the Readers
“Accidental cannibalism?! Count me in!” This one’s for you.”
The premise of this series is serial killers who fall in love. In this book, you have Butcher (a.k.a. Rowan Kane), a full time chef and part time killer of bad guys. He might be a touch crazy but it’s in a fun way! Then you have Blackbird (a.k.a. The Orb Weaver, a.k.a. Sloane Sutherland), a full time scientist and part time killer of bad guys. They meet in the very opening of the book and we quickly learn that Rowan is a great big Orb Weaver fanboy. Their first encounter will have you rolling laughing while also grossing you out so hard. From there, they set up a game. Each year, they pick a target and compete to see who can get the bad guy first.
Butcher & Blackbird is a perfect read for someone who wants to try out dark romance without thoroughly traumatizing themselves. Does it have some icky moments? Yes but the romance itself between Rowan and Sloane is not dark. They have wonderful banter and a mutual fascination about each other’s extracurricular activities.
The Booktok crowd would have you believe that this is a super-spicy book and I have to disagree. Out of a 1-5 chilli pepper scale, I give it 🌶️🌶️🌶️. If you’ve read authors like Shantel Tessier, Amo Jones, or H.D. Carlton, then it will come across really tame in the spice department. If you’re used to the likes of Bridgerton, it might horrify you. It’s all about perspective. 🤣
“I didn’t gouge them out, Butcher.
Sloane to Rowan, Regarding Eyeballs
I plucked them. Delicately. Like a lady.”
The audiobook is performed by Joe Arden and Lucy Rivers and they both knock it out of the park. I’ve re-listened to it twice since my initial read and I never get bored.
“I just want to be tossed around a bit. Manhandled, you know?
Sloane
Call me a dirty little slut and I’m all for it.”
Overall, Butcher & Blackbird was a spectacular intro to a truly unique series that will have you laughing all the way to the last page.
“You might be psycho,” I say with a grin as her eyes narrow,
Rowan to Sloane
“but you’re my psycho, and I’m yours. Got it?”
Spice Level
🌶️🌶️🌶️
My Rating
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Golden Retriever x Black Cat
He Falls First
Touch Him & 💀
Touch Her & 💀
Friends-to-Lovers
Forced Proximity
One Bed
Reluctant to Love
CONTENT WARNING: This is a good opportunity to remind everyone to check out the Trigger Warning page here on my website. This message applies to my books and pretty much everything you’re going to see on my blog, whether it’s dark romance or urban fantasy romance (which tends to be violent). I don’t include this message with every review but some antiheroes rise above the others and do some truly depraved shit. Ye be warned.
Amazon | Audible | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Apple Books
Special Edition Hardcover
Amazon | Barnes & Noble
The review copy of this book was purchased on Audible.
BUTCHER & BLACKBIRD
A Ruinous Love Trilogy Novel
© 2023 Brynne Weaver
The Orb Weaver.
I’m sitting across the table from the fucking Orb Weaver.
And she’s fucking beautiful.
Raven hair. Warm hazel eyes. A spread of freckles over her cheeks and a little nose that’s turned a bit red. She clears her throat and takes a long sip of her beer and then frowns, her eyes trained on her glass as she pushes it away.
“You’re sick,” I say.
Sloane’s eyes meet mine with a wary glance before her attention shifts to the diner. Her sharp gaze lands on one table of patrons for only a moment before it floats to the next. Sloane is a nervous one.
Probably justified, all things considered.
“Three days in that hellhole were bound to take a toll. Thank fuck I had water in there.” She reaches for the napkin dispenser and pulls a tissue free to blow her nose. Her gaze finds mine again but doesn’t stay on me for long. “Thanks for letting me out.”
I shrug and sip my beer, and I watch in silence as her gaze flicks away to a server who exits the kitchen with another table’s order. Sloane asked for a booth midway down the window, pointing to the exact one she wanted when the hostess led us into the room. Now I get why. It’s equidistant between the front entrance, the emergency exit by the bathrooms, and the kitchen.
Is she always this flighty, or has her time in Albert’s cage got her spooked? Or is it me?
She’s wise to be wary.
My eyes stay fixed to her, and I take the opportunity to openly assess my dining companion as she surveys the restaurant. Sloane twists her damp hair over her shoulder and my gaze drifts down to her chest, as it has every two minutes since she walked out of Albert Briscoe’s bathroom with a Pink Floyd T-shirt and no bra.
No bra.
The thought echoes through my brain like church bells on a bright Sunday morning.
Her body is curvy and strong, working some kind of witchcraft on her stolen clothes that should look anything but sexy given they came from Briscoe’s closet. She even makes his jeans look good, the hems of the long legs rolled to her ankles and the baggy waist cinched with two red handkerchiefs tied together to form a makeshift belt. She knotted the bottom of the T-shirt so it nips in at her waist, showing a sliver of tempting skin and her pierced belly button when she leans back against the booth with an exhausted sigh.
No bra.
I need to get my shit together. She’s the Orb Weaver, for Chrissakes. If she catches me ogling, she could pop my eyeballs out of my head and string me up in fishing line before I say the words no bra.
Sloane rolls a shoulder, doing little to help my mission to give up my no bra mantra. Her fingers find the joint as a little wince of pain creases her features. She frowns when her eyes meet mine.
“He kicked me,” she explains, her touch lingering on the top of her shoulder with her answer to my unvoiced question. “My shoulder hit the edge of the cage when I fell in.”
My hands fold into tight fists beneath the table as white-hot rage burns in my veins. “Fucker.”
“Well, I did stab him in the neck, so I guess it was justified.” Sloane’s palm slips down her arm and she sniffles, her nose crinkling. Fucking adorable. “He managed to close me in before he fell. He even laughed.”
The server approaches with two plates of ribs and one of fries, earning a ravenous glance from Sloane. When the plate is set down in front of her she smiles, a little dimple appearing next to her lip.
We thank the server who lingers for a moment in the periphery before Sloane pipes up with confirmation that we have everything we need. When the woman departs, Sloane snickers, that dimple deepening. “Don’t tell me you get that so often that it doesn’t even register in your brain. That’s just depressing.”
“Get what . . . ?”
Sloane’s gaze darts to the server and I follow her line of sight to the woman who tosses a smile to our table over her shoulder. “Oh my God, it really doesn’t register. Like, at all.” Sloane shakes her head and tears a rib free of the steaming rack on her plate. “Well, be prepared, pretty boy. My stomach has been eating nearby organs for the last three days and I’m going to devour these fucking ribs in the most unladylike fashion possible.”
I say nothing, riveted to the sight of her perfect teeth as she tears into the steaming flesh that slides off the gray bone. A drop of barbecue sauce gathers at the corner of her lips and her tongue darts out to claim it, and I want to fucking die.
“So . . .” I clear my throat in the hopes my voice won’t crack. Sloane’s brow furrows as she sinks another bite into the meat. “How come not Blackbird?”
“Huh?” She slips the end of the rib into her mouth and sucks the meat right off the bone to pull it past her lips with sauce-stained fingers. My cock strains against my zipper just watching her cheeks hollow.
Imagine what she could do with that fucking mouth.
I take a sip of beer and look down at my plate. “Your name,” I reply before starting on a rib, purely to distract certain body parts that are becoming pretty insistent about what they want. “How come you didn’t pick a name with Blackbird? Raven hair, flighty nature, the song . . . I’m going to hazard a guess it’s from your childhood, right? I heard you singing it back in the cage.”
Sloane’s chewing stops for a moment as she regards me with a thoughtful pass of her thumb over her bottom lip. It’s the first time her gaze has really settled on me, and it burrows right into my skull. “That’s for me,” she says. “Orb Weaver is for them.”
Sloane’s eyes have darkened, and with just a blink she’s gone from a sexy, runny-nosed, and ravenous beauty to a wicked, remorseless, iron-willed killer.
I nod. “I get it.”
I might be the only person who does.
Amazon | Audible | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Apple Books
Special Edition Hardcover
Amazon | Barnes & Noble
BRYNNE WEAVER is a fan of velociraptors, the Alien movies (well, most of them), red wine, and wild adventures. She can relate nearly anything you say to a line from the movie Hot Fuzz. She has been trying unsuccessfully for years to convince her husband that they should acquire a pet mink to add to their menagerie of animals (what could possibly go wrong with that plan?!). Brynne has been everything from an archaeologist to a waitress, a deep-sea core analyst to an advertising account executive. For the last several years, she has been working in the field of neuroscience clinical research. Brynne has been writing since childhood. When not busy at her day job or working on her next book, Brynne can be found with her husband and son on their family farm in NS, Canada, or enjoying her other passions which include riding horses, reading, motorcycling, and spending time with family and friends around a raclette and a bottle of wine.
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