RECENSIONE BUTCHER & BLACKBIRD DI BRYNNE WEAVER 

Buongiorno Onceuponiani, 

oggi voglio parlarvi del primo volume della serie Ruinous Love Trilogy di Brynne Weaver. Voglio ringraziare la bookblogger Courtney Schubert che seguo sul mio Instagram per averlo condiviso più volte e per averne parlato così bene. Perché devo ammettere che, come lei, ne sono davvero innamorata! Spero quindi che piacerà anche a voi!  

Butcher & Blackbird

Titolo: Butcher & Blackbird
Serie: Ruinous Love Trilogy #1
Autrice: Brynne Weaver 
Editore: Little, Brown Book Group
Genere: Dark Romance
Pagine: 360

Data di uscita: 21 Dicembre 2023
Prezzo ebook: 1,19 € | Link acquisto Amazon
Prezzo cartaceo: 12,64 € | Link acquisto Amazon

Even serial killers deserve a meet-cute.

When a chance encounter sparks an unlikely bond between rival murderers Sloane and Rowan, the two find something elusive - the friendship of two like-minded, pitch-black souls who just happen to enjoy killing other serial killers.

Stalking across the country, 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 deeper, the restless ghosts left in their wake are only a few steps behind, ready to claim more than just their new-found romance.

Can Rowan and Sloane dig themselves out of a game of graves? Or have they finally met their match?

serie 

La serie 'Ruinous Love Trilogy' è così composta:

1. Butcher & Blackbird;

2. Leather & Lark;

3. Scythe & Sparrow. 

autrice

Writing has always been a hobby for Brynne. Even as a young child, she loved typing out stories on her grandmother’s typewriter. She wrote award-winning poetry and essays, and dabbled in various forms of fiction over the years. In 2019, Brynne committed to publishing more of her works, and released her first non-fiction book (under her real name!). She then began focusing on her first fantasy-romance (or ‘romantasy’) series, The Diviner. Next up was the three-part Shadow Realm paranormal dark romance series. Brynne then partnered with author Alexa Harlowe on the contemporary dark standalone romance, Black Sheep.  

Brynne aspires to write female-focused stories about complex, resilient, imperfect characters who struggle with anger, trauma, fear, courage, and love. 

recensione

Questo romanzo è FOLLEMENTE IRRIMEDIABILMENTE BELLISSIMO. Allora mettete insieme due seria killer, famosi, spietati e soprattutto che uccidono altri serial killer che fanno cose indecenti a persone brave, mettete tutto insieme e viene fuori una fantastica commedia dark e veramente spiritosa. 

No bra.

I need to get my shit together. She’s the Orb Weaver, for Christsakes. 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.”

Era da tanto tempo che non trovavo un libro così folle da farmi appassionare così tanto. Ma folle nel senso bello del termine, perché questo romanzo è davvero particolarissimo nel suo genere. E sinceramente la Weaver ha avuto un’idea geniale. 

All’inizio pensavo solamente: dai non è possibile, ma ad un certo punto tutto è cambiato e mi sono ritrovata talmente tanto immersa nella storia che non vedevo l’ora di finirlo. 

Rowan sits back in his chair and taps the armrest as his eyes follow the curves and angles of my face. Their navy blue caress summons a blush to my cheeks. He looks at me in a way that no one else does, as though he’s not just trying to decipher my thoughts and motivations. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the smallest details in my skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind my flesh. 

“Our hobby,” he says when he seems to figure I’m safe to share this answer with. “For Lachlan, it’s not a pastime. It’s a profession.” 

I nod. It makes sense to me now how he could have access to information about criminal investigations. Either he works for the military, or for dangerous, well-connected individuals. 

“So you’re sure he’s not going to help you cheat,” I say. 

“If anything, he’d find a way to help you cheat.” 

“I like him already.” My smile brightens when Rowan shoots me a fake glare. I take a sip from the bottle and pass it over. “What about you? Do you enjoy the restaurant business?” 

Rowan turns a sly smile in my direction. “Have you been looking me up, Blackbird?” 

“Like you haven’t been doing the same to me,” I counter. 

“Guilty as charged.” Rowan takes a long drink of wine and balances the bottle on his knee. He watches me for a moment before he nods, his smile a little wistful. “Yeah, I do. I love running my own kitchen. I like the pace. It can be frantic, but I enjoy that. I do well with a bit of chaos. Maybe that’s why I like you,” he says with a wink. 

I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. This man. He could make anything look flirtatious. “What’s with the name?” I ask, and though I skirt around his comment, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. “Why’d you pick 3 In Coach?” 

“My brothers,” Rowan says, his smile taking on that nostalgic quality once more as his gaze falls to the bottle in his hand. “We were teenagers when we left Sligo and came to America. I remember Lachlan buying the tickets. Three in coach. It was the start of another life for us.” 

“Just like the restaurant,” I say, finishing the trail of thought he’s left for me to follow. His eyes brighten when he nods. “I like that.” 

Rowan passes the bottle to me. Our fingers graze one another’s around the cool glass. Our touch lingers for a moment longer than it should, but for some reason, I find that it’s still less time than I’d like. 

This is absurd, I remind myself. You don’t know this man.

Devo essere onesta mi è dispiaciuto finirlo. Sono arrivata alla fine del romanzo con un po’ di malinconia, perché durante tutta la lettura mi sono ritrovata a capire il perché del loro essere degli assassini. I nostri due protagonisti Butcher & Blackbirs appunto hanno avuto un passato molto difficile. E vogliono proteggere gli altri da questi pazzoidi che ci sono all’esterno. Quindi iniziano questa carriera di killer. 

“I don’t think he would have left me if the situation was reversed.” 

“But you didn’t leave.” 

I shake my head. 

“Why not?” 

My chest aches. It does every time I remember the way he called my name like a broken prayer. The defeated slump of his shoulders is a vivid image in my mind, even now. “He seemed so vulnerable, despite what he’d just done. I couldn’t leave him like that.” 

Lark’s lip twitches as though she’s holding back a smile. “That’s nice.” 

She nibbles at the corner of her lower lip and I roll my eyes. “It’s sweet. 

You stayed. You made another friend.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Maybe a future boyfriend.” 

I bark an incredulous laugh. “No.” 

“Maybe a soulmate.” 

“You’re my soulmate.” 

“Then a best friend. With benefits.” 

“Please stop.”

Proprio durante una caccia Blackbird finisce per essere intrappolata e ad aiutarla ad uscire sarà Butcher. Che fin dalle prime battute rimarrà molto colpito dalle sue tette. Entrambi saranno attratti gli uni agli altri. Come se avessero capito inconsciamente che l’altro/a poteva capire profondamente questo lato oscuro. Ma soprattutto accettarlo completamente. 

My voice is low, the amusement burned away when I say, “I wish you would have stayed, Blackbird. I would have taken you back into the kitchen. We could have made something together.” 

“You were busy. I was…intruding.” 

“I would have made time for you. You’re…” I swallow before I can say more than I should. “You’re my friend. Maybe someday my best friend.” 

The silence stretches on so long that I pull the phone from my ear to check if the call disconnected. When Sloane’s voice comes through the line, it’s little more than a whisper but still cuts louder than a scream. 

“You hardly know me,” she says. 

“Really? Because I bet I know the darkest parts of you better than anyone. Just like you know the darkest parts of me. And despite that, you still want to hang out with me. Most of the time, anyway.” I smile when Sloane’s breath of a soft laugh travels through the line. “So, I think that makes you my friend, whether you like it or not.”

Inizieranno così questa sfida: ogni anno avrebbero dato la caccia a un serial killer. Il primo che lo avesse ucciso avrebbe vinto. Ma man mano che si ritroveranno a passare del tempo insieme, si ritroveranno immischiati anche in questi sentimenti profondi. 

When I glance up, Sloane’s lips twitch. It’s almost a smile. Her eyes are a little softer. 

Fuck. 

Just as I suspected. She’s fucking relieved. 

I’ll absorb the venom of this burning sting. I drop my head into my hands. She’ll never know I remember every second of my embarrassing, unrequited confession. I’ll never forget the way her skin flushed such a pretty shade of pink when I said she was beautiful. I would have crawled across the table to kiss those plump lips when they pursed as I spilled my secrets between us. 

I need to get it through my fucking thick skull. She will never want more than this. But I refuse to lose her. Sloane is the only person in the world who can look at my monster and find a friend. And I know she needs a friend just as much as I do. Maybe more.

Insomma questo romanzo è un continuo crescendo di emozioni. Io l’ho stra stra stra adorato e ve lo consiglio davvero caldamente. Quindi sì case editrici se leggete questa recensione muovetevi e portate questo romanzo anche in Italia perché noi ce lo meritiamo!! 

When I look at her, I can’t seem to pry one emotion away from the others. They all intertwine when I think of Sloane Sutherland. Fear is fused with hope. Care with control, with envy, with sadness. It’s fucking everything, all at once. Even the desire to turn this feeling off locks with the need to nurture it. The totality of it devours me. 

And it only grows with every passing moment. Sloane bleeds into every thought. When we’re apart, her absence is an entity. I worry for her. I dream of her. And yesterday, I almost lost her. Killing bound us together, and it’s a compulsion neither of us can live without. This need, and now this game between us, consumes me as much as she does. 

My obsessions push me to a cliff I’m bound to fall over, and there might not be an end to the drop once I do. 

Sloane stirs and groans, and my fucking heart starts rioting. Maybe it hasn’t stopped since that first day in the bayou when she walked out of that bathroom at Briscoe’s, all wet hair and flushed, freckled skin and that Pink Floyd T-shirt tied at her waist. Every time I think of her, my heart reminds me I’m not as dead on the inside as I thought after all.

Io lettori miei come sempre vi abbraccio, vi auguro una buona giornata. A presto....

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