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Rachel Harrison

Such Sharp Teeth Hardcover – October 4, 2022

by Rachel Harrison (Author)

4.2 505 ratings

Goodreads Choice Award nominee

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A young woman in need of a transformation finds herself in touch with the animal inside in this gripping, incisive USA Today bestselling novel from the author of Cackle and The Return.

Rory Morris isn’t thrilled to be moving back to her hometown, even if it is temporary. There are bad memories there. But her twin sister, Scarlett, is pregnant, estranged from the baby’s father, and needs support, so Rory returns to the place she thought she’d put in her rearview. After a night out at a bar where she runs into Ian, an old almost-flame, she hits a large animal with her car. And when she gets out to investigate, she’s attacked.

Rory survives, miraculously, but life begins to look and feel different. She’s unnaturally strong, with an aversion to silver—and suddenly the moon has her in its thrall. She’s changing into someone else—something else, maybe even a monster. But does that mean she’s putting those close to her in danger? Or is embracing the wildness inside of her the key to acceptance?

This darkly comedic love story is a brilliantly layered portrait of trauma, rage, and vulnerability.

Print length

336 pages
Language

English
Publisher

Berkley
Publication date

October 4, 2022
Dimensions

6.18 x 1.07 x 9.28 inches
ISBN-10

0593545826
ISBN-13

978-0593545829
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From the Publisher

Editorial Reviews

Review

"Wonderfully witty and wild. It's also heady and daring in how the story explores friend and family dynamics, the anger women aren't allowed to express within our culture, and the wounds that transform us against our will. The next full moon I see, I'll be rooting for Rory."–Paul Tremblay, author of The Cabin at the End of the World and The Pallbearers Club

"No one is writing horror that explores the intricacies of femininity like Rachel Harrison. This brilliant story is about accepting your identity, your past, love, friendship, and family... all wrapped up in a deeply satisfying and scary monster tale. Such Sharp Teeth is as irresistible as the pull of the full moon—I couldn't tear myself away." – Mallory O'Meara, bestselling author of The Lady From the Black Lagoon

“Rachel Harrison has written a witty and wholly original exploration of lycanthropy, trauma, and the monsters that reside within all of us, if we dig deep enough to find them. Such Sharp Teeth is an incredibly compelling read that’s full of horror and heart. It's the werewolf book I've been waiting for and I can’t recommend it enough.” –Alexis Henderson, Author of The Year of the Witching and House of Hunger

"Darkly comic and modern...a story about rage, trauma and leaning into one's wild side."-USA Today

"At turns heart-warming, heart-rending, and a little monstrous, Harrison's latest gives anything but your typical big bad wolf story. Such Sharp Teeth runs slick with bone-crackling wit and cunning, but don't be fooled by that grin; this wolf has a bite." - Hailey Piper, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Queen of Teeth

“Rachel Harrison’s razor sharp prose cuts straight to the bone. With its quick-witted dialogue and acutely human regard for its cursed characters, Such Sharp Teeth solidifies her spot as the alpha author of heartfelt horror.”–Clay McLeod Chapman, author of Ghost Eaters

"With prose as sleek as a wolf in full stride, Such Sharp Teeth feels at once like a classic werewolf story, and something delightfully new. It's a breathless, poignant, blood-and-flesh-licking tale that asks: when our distractions and coping mechanisms are shredded away, who–or what–are we? And it confirms once again that Rachel Harrison is horror's poet laureate of quarter-life dread and existential transition." - Nat Cassidy, author of Mary: An Awakening of Terror

About the Author

Rachel Harrison is the author of Cackle and The Return, which was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. Her short fiction has appeared in Guernica, Electric Literature's Recommended Reading, and as an Audible Original. She lives in Western New York with her husband and their cat/overlord.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I

Moths flutter around the fluorescent bulb as it blinks into the dark outside the bar. I lean back and lift my gaze to the night. There’s no light pollution out here, and the stars are fierce. The moon is full, so I give it a wink.

“Did you just wink at me?”

Ian’s so tall he blocks out the moon. When he’s in front of you, there’s nothing else. He’s all there is.

“I did wink,” I say. “But not at you. Sorry.”

“All right,” he says. “Glad we cleared that up.”

“Apologies for any confusion.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He turns away from me to exhale, releasing a calm river of smoke toward the parking lot.

“Are you disappointed?” I ask him. “Did I give you false hope for a second there?”

“Well, yeah, but I’ve had false hope since we were thirteen, so I’m used to it,” he says, turning back toward the light so I can see his good-natured grin.

It’s been so many years since I last saw that grin. My heart begins to thump mutinously inside my chest. Maybe his hope isn’t false after all.

All right, then. Time to go.

“I should head home. My sister will be jealous if she thinks I’m out having too much fun while she’s stuck home. Sober.”

“Tell Scarlett I say hello,” he says.

“I will,” I say, patting my pockets to check for my wallet, my keys. “Happy we ran into each other. Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “We should run into each other again while you’re still in town.”

I search for a cool, noncommittal response among the assortment I store readily under my tongue. I fumble. My lips part but offer nothing.

“Or not,” he says, shrugging his massive shoulders. He pushes his glasses up his nose, the same squarish black Ray-Bans he wore in high school. Behind the thick lenses, his eyes are a striking, unusual blue. Cobalt.

“No, yeah,” I stammer. “I mean, yes. Of course.”

Horrifying.

“You good to drive? I can give you a ride,” he says.

“I’m good. One beer. I can walk in a straight line for you, though, if you like. ABC’s backwards.”

“Could you?”

“I’m shy.”

He laughs.

“All right.” I take my car keys out of my pocket. I slip my index finger into the key ring and flip them around. “Good night.”

“Bye, Rory.”

I’m curious if he’s watching me as I walk to my car. The restraint it takes to not sneak a glance over my shoulder. Shameful.

I’ll leave this part out when I tell Scarlett.

If I tell Scarlett.

Despite her current situation, she seems to have retained her position as a hard-core romantic. She’s like Mom. If I tell her I bumped into Ian Pedretti, forget it.

I get into the car and turn the heat on, thawing myself from the October chill. I pull out of the parking lot, stealing a quick look in my rearview.

Ian is still there, finishing his cigarette.

I forgot about the mist. There’s an ever-present mist that skulks around here like a townie. It tumbles down from the mountain, seeps out of the woods, and slathers itself across the dull suburban landscape. It might be the only defining quality of my hometown. Persistent mist.

Even with my brights on, there’s negligible visibility. I drive slowly around the winding curves of Cutter Road. I used to know it by heart. I could drive it in the dark no problem, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been back. I didn’t think it was something I could lose. I thought that the map of this place was etched into me, that I could navigate from muscle memory, but I guess time erases the things you least expect.

A yawn crawls out of me. It’s dramatic about it. The heat has me sleepy. I need to stay awake and alert for the five minutes it’ll take me to get back to Scarlett’s. Doesn’t seem like too monumental a task, but after years of being able to zone out on the subway, passively observing stops and the occasional kerfuffle, the additional attention required for driving seems like a big ask. I turn off the heat and crack open the windows, hoping the fresh air will keep me honest.

In comes the signature campfire smell of autumn, but also something else. Something more potent and less appealing. I sniff.

It’s wet animal.

The distinct scent of damp fur.

It’s overpowering. I consider closing the window, but then my phone chimes.

My eyes obediently flick over to the illuminated screen, and . . .

Thud.

Time leaps ahead, dragging me by the neck. It leaves me with my lungs convulsing, a hideous screeching in my ears. My seat belt is tight, at my throat like a knife.

My car is facing in the wrong direction. I inhale, and it’s just burning rubber.

I hit something.

I hit something.

The sound, that grievous thud, replays loudly in my head. It’s relentless, with a severe disorienting urgency.

I pull at my seat belt, attempting to loosen it, so I can breathe, but it’s dead set on anchoring me in this hellish moment. I feel around for the button with a trembling hand. I find it eventually, and the seat belt releases with a fast snap. I open the car door and stumble onto the road.

The cold pulls me out of the fog of my shock. I do a quick examination of my body. Extremities seem to be intact. I feel my face. Aside from the wide gape of my mouth, there’s nothing concerning. I move my neck side to side.

I’m fine.

Car? Not fine. My front bumper, the grille, whatever, is now so deeply indented, it’s the shape of a V.

What did I hit? What could possibly cause that much damage? A deer?

I clench my teeth and take a minute to allow the reality to fully set in, as much as I’d prefer to hang out in the cozy palm of denial. I brace myself for the inevitable cycle of emotions. Anger at myself for being an irresponsible driver, frustration at the situation in general. Remorse for the animal I almost certainly killed.

I wasn’t speeding. I was going only thirty, thirty-five at most. But if the sound and the state of my car are any indication, RIP. I guess I should check to make sure I don’t abandon a concussed house pet, some freshly maimed family dog. If that’s what I hit and there’s a chance that it’s somehow still alive, that means there’s a chance I can save it.

I turn toward the road. Mist curls in all directions; it peels from the night like the skin from ripe fruit. There’s a glittering black smear on the road, mostly eluding the reach of my headlights. I step toward it, holding my breath, preparing my apology to Spot or Bambi.

My presence disrupts the mist, and between my headlights, aggressive starlight, and a cruel, gawking moon, I can see the mess I’ve made.

I can’t even tell what kind of animal it is. Or was.

It’s inside out. The impact must have skinned it somehow because there’s no evidence of fur. Giant worms of intestines unravel across the road. The wet abstract of organs contrasts against the pale shock of bone. It’s a shapeless horror. An absolute massacre.

“I’m sorry,” I tell it, searching for some hint of its identity. There’s a lot of it, whatever it is. Too much. Guessing a deer? I scan for antlers.

There’s a lump. I squint, stepping deeper into the haze. My eyes adjust, and I can see that the lump is fur. A neat mound of fur. Beside the mound, staring up at me with dead glassy eyes, is a head. I was right. It was a deer.

How is this possible? I was not going over thirty-five. And even if I was . . .

Something possesses me to reach out and hover my hand over the carcass. It’s cold. There’s no heat coming off it, no warmth at all. I just hit it. If it just died, wouldn’t it still be warm?

I linger over the deer, wondering, until I realize I’m not required to turn in an autopsy report. It’s not a mystery I need to solve. I killed it. I feel bad; that’s it. My punishment is I’ll likely never be able to stomach meat again. I’ll be a vegetarian and a conscientious driver.

I sigh and straighten my legs.

I pause to listen. I hear something. Labored breathing. A sharp inhale followed by the slow rip of an exhale. It repeats.

I bring my hand to my chest. Its surf is steady. Rise, fall. Rise, fall. It contradicts the sound. But if I’m not making it, what is?

There’s an onslaught of darkness, confusing me for all of two seconds before I realize something has passed in front of the headlights.

Until I realize I’m not the one who killed that deer.

I turn around.

It eclipses the headlights, concealing itself in darkness. I can make out a vague outline, trace an enormous mass sliced from shadow. It suddenly shifts between the headlights, uncoiling itself. The light scalds my eyes, forcing a brief retreat into the refuge of my head. I’m tempted to let them stay there, to leave my eyes closed and maybe just never open them again, never face whatever it is in front of me. But something else—maybe survival instinct or curiosity—wins out.

I open my eyes, and at first they struggle against the brightness. All I can see is that whatever’s there, positioned between me and my car, it’s standing upright.

A bear. It’s a bear. It’s the size of a large bear. It’s got four limbs. A head. Fur.

I blink, and the scene comes into focus.

I’ve never seen a bear like this. Its proportions are weird.

It stands on the pads of its feet. They’re not really paws. They’re big but narrow, and they’ve got fur, only it’s sparse, and where there’s none, grayish skin is stretched tight over thin splinters of bone. Its toes are each about the size of my fist, and from them extend thick black nails, sharp, almost like talons. Its legs are long. Slim pale muscles slither around exposed bone, fur detaching in certain places, like around the knees. The legs have a disturbing bend to them. They’re not straight. They won’t straighten. They’re hind legs.

It’s slouched, concealing part of its torso. There’s fur missing there, too. Its skin has been pulled too taut; there are obvious rips where the thing is fleshless. I can see a sickening twist of ribs and spongy insides, but most of it is shadowed by the curtain of its arms. The thing pulls them forward but leaves them limp. They dangle down past its knees.

Its hands are marred. Leathery tangled mitts. Bones peek through recessions of fur. Its giant knuckles are bald. Its fingers have way too many joints; they bend and unbend and bend.

I look up at its head.

A whiteness escapes its wide-open jaws. Froth pours through its fangs. Beyond its snout, two red eyes bore into me. The color of them, it’s unreal.

It can’t be real.

Did someone slip something into my beer?

I feel the skepticism creep across my expression, my eyebrows sinking, eyes narrowing as I study the thing standing in front of me. My doubt releases me from my fear, and for a moment the creature isn’t real and I’m safe.

It must sense this, because it rears back, head up, opening its chest to the sky, arms wide. I can hear the awful creak of its jaw as it unhinges to an alarming degree, the separation between its teeth staggering. It begins to scream. The torturous pitch funnels ice into my veins. It’s agonizing.

The scream splits, harmonizing with itself. It’s like there’s more than one voice.

Animals shouldn’t be able to scream like that.

It’s going on forever. I don’t know if it’ll ever stop. Should I run? Why haven’t I already started running?

The thing finally stops screaming. It collapses onto all fours. It turns to me, and the clarity of its red gaze is unnerving. I understand.

It’s angry. I hit it with my car. I interrupted its dinner.

And it’s starving.

I run.

I take off into the mist. I’m a runner but this is different. Running for your life is different. It sucks.

I’m vulnerable on the road. There’s nowhere for me to hide. If another car comes, it’s more likely to hit me than be able to help me. I veer into the woods.

The wet carpet of moss swallows my footsteps. I dodge branches, hop over rocks. I know it’s following me because it’s not stealthy. It doesn’t need to be because it’s huge and fanged and fast. It’s got that predator confidence. It knows it can catch me because it’s the predator. And I’m prey.

It’s not the first beast to see me this way. Might be the last, though.

My thoughts distract me. My run becomes increasingly reckless. A wayward arm smacks a cluster of low foliage. The rustle is thunderous.

I can’t think. I can’t think about what’s happening. I can’t stop to conjure the image of what’s hunting me, pause to marvel at the horror of it. No time for How? or Why? or What the ever-loving fuck? Its snarls cleave the quiet; its hot breath is at my heels. Any hope of escape is obliterated. I’m not going to outrun the thing. I can’t. I’m not getting home to my sister, who needs me. I can’t go any faster.

Is this it, then? My final thought: This is as fast as I can go.

I spit dirt and blood from my mouth. The pain is disorienting. I’m facedown. The gentle creep of insect legs along my cheek is the only sensation I can decisively identify. The rest is just nebulous torment.

My ankle, maybe?

The brutal bloom of heat on my shoulder interrupts my analysis, and I’m flipped over onto my back. It’s done easily, like I have no weight, like it’s nothing, like I’m nothing. My body is not a factor, except right now I know it’s the only factor. I go rigid.

It looms above me, the moon providing a direct spotlight, a wraithlike glow. Honestly, I could do without it. Fuck you, moon. I don’t need my death by large inbred animal to have good lighting. Dark would be fine. Preferable.

I could close my eyes, but it’s kind of hard when the thing looks the way it does.

I can almost hear the chiding of my future self, if there were to be a future self. Or maybe it’s the chorus of outsiders who might someday read about what happened to me and wonder aloud, “Why didn’t she?” “Why didn’t she wriggle away?” “If it were me, I would have punched it in the face!” “I would have fought back!” “I would have screamed!”

Why didn’t I? Why don’t I?

Because I can’t.

I can’t.

It lowers itself down. It sniffs me, starting at my feet. It’s removed my boots, or they’ve come off somehow. Not sure. I can see now that my ankle is twisted, bloody. My jeans are torn to shreds. They were my favorite jeans, too.

The soft twitch of my grin meets a salty wetness. I’m crying.

Scarlett.

I’m grateful we never had that special twin thing. We were disappointed as children that we didn’t have that connection. She broke her collarbone at a soccer game, and I was across town having the time of my life sleeping over at Ash’s. Double-fisting s’mores and dancing along to music videos on MTV. No phantom pain. No nothing.

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Berkley (October 4, 2022)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 336 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593545826
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593545829
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 1.31 pounds
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 6.18 x 1.07 x 9.28 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #192,592 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #164 in Vampire Horror
- #269 in Witch & Wizard Thrillers
- #1,310 in Occult Fiction

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Rachel Harrison

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Rachel Harrison is the national bestselling author of BLACK SHEEP, SUCH SHARP TEETH, CACKLE and THE RETURN, which was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. Her short fiction has appeared in Guernica, Electric Literature's Recommended Reading, as an Audible Original, and in her debut story collection BAD DOLLS. She lives in western New York with her husband and their cat/overlord.

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Werewolf, both literal and allegorical, howls at the moon.

Reviewed in the United States on October 10, 2022

Verified Purchase

**It looms over me, the moon providing a direct spotlight, a wraithlike glow. Honestly, I could do without it. F--- you, moon. I don't need my death by large inbred animal to have good lighting. Dark would be fine. Preferable.

[...]

I can almost hear the chiding of my future self, if there were to be a future self. Or maybe it's the chorus of outsiders who might someday read about what happened to me and wonder aloud, "Why didn't she?" "Why didn't she wriggle away?" If it were me, I would have punched it in the face!" "I would have fought back!" "I would have screamed!"

Why didn't I? Why don't I?

Because I can't.

I can't.**

In a nutshell: A werewolf tale -- don't change it to "tail"! -- about trauma, loss of control, rage, and various stuff. And also a love story. Not scary, but pretty darned gross in all the best ways. A great seasonal read.

Rachel Harrison is simply one of my favorite authors at this point. Even the book I liked least by her (The Return) was thought-provoking, stuck with me, and has themes I now associate with her and look forward to when I pick up one of her books. I actually think I like it more in retrospect because I recognize the now the familiar themes and motifs. (And if you like body horror, with SST has in abundance, The Return more than matches that energy.)

Cackle remains my favorite.

SST is about Rory who has an early encounter with a werewolf, and then has to make some adjustments. In doing so, she addresses trauma, learns about control, and about letting go, discovers she can't get drunk, and eats some squirrels (For those people with a soft heart for animals, it's all a blur to her, and so while gross not as sad as it could be.)

Rory has a twin sister, Scarlett, who's pregnant. They're both dealing with some body changes, and that's no narrative coincidence.

"What's it like," she asks. "Being a werewolf."

I swallow. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah."

"The bite was excruciating. And after, it leaked this silvery goo. My new blood, I guess. It was weird and gross, but honestly, it was also kind of fascinating that my body was doing this weird, gross thing."

"Relate," she says.

She also meets a man who's been crushing on her since they were in junior high, and she questions if she can allow herself to trust and commit. On top of that, she would have to tell him she eats vermin. If you read between the lines, she has always wanted to be with him, but in the beginning she was held back by another secret, and the processing of trauma.

And trauma is one of the elements at the core of this story. Past traumas and current trauma. It's about what you do when someone takes your power from you, and it's about loss of control of your own body. The loss of control would be pregnancy, or chronic illness/pain. Menstruation or menopause. It's about changes you hate, and changes you hope for. It's about existing in a female body or if you now or have ever been femme presenting.

It's about figuring out to what to do with the things you can't change, but might be able to mitigate. It's about finding peace. It's about letting go of a life that no longer suits you.

People change. Some of us once a month.

It's about learning to surrender sometimes, and learning to trust, and what to do when your trust is betrayed, or the people you love can't or won't give you what you need.

And as is almost always the case with a Rachel Harrison novel, it's profoundly about the relationships between women -- friends, and sisters, mothers and daughters, and the women we're set up to to see as rivals.

It's also quippy and funny. The conversations between Rory and Scarlett. The banter between Rory and Ian. The absurdity of Rory's situation.

Maybe the funniest line for me, which makes no sense out of context is, "You wore my boots in front of me. What's wrong with you?"

If I must quibble, of all the changes she struggles with, she barely flinches at the realization that her career and life in Manhattan as she knew -- and claimed to love -- it was either over or going to need some serious reworking. See? I'm tough in my opinions.

Highly recommended.

6 people found this helpful

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Pamela K Kinney

Review of Such Sharp Teeth

Reviewed in the United States on October 17, 2022

Verified Purchase

Actually 4 1/2 stars.

Rory Morris had returned back to her hometown, taking a leave from a job in New York City she loves. Her twin, Scarlett, is pregnant and claimed the baby’s father had moved out, so she needs support. After running into Ian, who she had a crush on for years, she hits an animal while driving home. When she gets out to check what she thinks is a dog, maybe a deer, she is attacked by something that is neither and bitten, luckily surviving when the beast gets distracted. At the hospital, her wound heals. She then finds out she is strong, has an aversion to silver, and is hooked to the moon. Rory soon realizes she is becoming something not human.

There is no doubt the author was inspired by Little Red Riding Hood and the movie Ginger Snaps. It's a tale that contains finding one’s self, love for family, finding true love that was always there, trauma, rage and vulnerability, and mixing those ingredients with a werewolf horror story. The reader gets a new read perfect for the fall, a fairy tale for the 21st century that one can sink their teeth into.

3 people found this helpful

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Entertaining werewolf book

Reviewed in the United States on February 9, 2023

Verified Purchase

For me, this was a nice step up from Harrison's last book, Cackle. I really enjoyed this one. The story was fun and heart-warming yet sometimes gross and violent. Nice little mix-up. For most part I liked the twist that was added into the werewolf genre. The werewolf's blood being different was a bit too weird for me. Almost as bad as sparkling vampires. Other than that, it was a clever twist. I really liked the main character, Rory. Most of the other characters I liked as well except for Rory's sister, Scarlett. Her constant whining and self-absorbency got on my last nerve. There were a few good parts with her but not many.
The ending concluded nicely. Now just need to sit back and wait for her next book, Black Sheep, to come out.

One person found this helpful

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Jules114

Excellent

Reviewed in the United States on July 7, 2023

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I thought this would be a cute horror/thriller romance similar to a B Movie, but wow! The author does an excellent job weaving horror, thriller, comedy and romance into this story, while at the same time showing her characters addressing genuine issues about past and present trauma related to what it is to be a woman, mother, sister, daughter, friend, wife, lover etc. Standing ovation go Rachel Harrison, well done 👏🏼 👏🏼

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Summer

Body horror and romance! What a combo!

Reviewed in the United States on February 10, 2023

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My hold for this book came up at a perfect time, right before Valentine's Day. I don't often like romance in my horror, but Rachel Harrison's books do make me feel warm and fuzzy, while dishing out the terror.

One thing I really loved about this book is the comparison between Rory transforming, and her twin's pregnancy, Scarlett's own transformation into a mother. The talk about what it means when your life changes drastically and your future isn't what you dreamed it would be, really hit home for me. Not just as a mom, but as a person with disabilities that came on later in life, and with kids with disabilities as well. You have to learn to let your expectations go, and I loved the way this book led the characters through their own journeys with letting go.

Overall, this was a fun, quick read. Plenty of body horror, but enough cozy romance for those days bundled up on the couch.

One person found this helpful

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Nikneedsnovels

Werewolf transformation

Reviewed in the United States on February 17, 2023

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Rory’s twin sister is pregnant and asks Rory to come home for 6 months. One night out Rory runs into an old friend. On her way home she hits something. While investigating she is attacked by what she thinks is a bear, but later believes it was a werewolf. She begins to transform. Who bit her, why did her sister kick out her husband, Will family issues be resolved, so many layers.

Reviewed in the United States on April 28, 2023

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I'm kinda on the fence of this story. I personally don't really care much for first-person pov, but I absolutely loved the premise of this story. It was a very cozy read and I did enjoy it. Felt the back and forth with the love interest was a little bit much but otherwise very good read. I did especially enjoy the parallels with being a monster and the monsters you meet growing up.

Reviewed in the United States on March 13, 2023

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A fun take on the werewolf genre. It’s more like the hallmark version of a werewolf tale. Romance included

One person found this helpful

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Marcus Woodhouse

Arrived quickly

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on September 12, 2023

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Very good condition.

Venus In Tulle

If hallmark made a horror novel - and hit it out of the park.

Reviewed in Canada on November 7, 2022

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I do not normally think of werewolf novels as a source of heartwarming, emotional depth but here it was.

I absolutely loved this book from start to finish. I could not put it down and found myself invested in every character. Definitely my top read of 2022.

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Such Sharp Teeth Hardcover – October 4, 2022

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