Scythe & Sparrow by Brynne Weaver
- Alisha Eadle
- May 25
- 17 min read
Scythe and Sparrow
by Brynne Weaver
Published by Zando
Book 3 in the Ruinous Love Trilogy
Doctor Fionn Kane is running from a broken heart, one he hopes to mend in small-town Nebraska, far away from his almost-fiancé and his derailed surgical career.
It’s a simpler head down, hard work, and absolutely no romantic relationships. He wants none of the circus he left behind in Boston.
But then the real circus finds him.
Motorcycle performer Rose Evans has spent a decade on the road with the Silveria Circus, and it suits her just fine, especially when she has the urge to indulge in a little murder when she’s not in the spotlight. But when a kill goes awry and she ends up with an injured leg, Rose finds herself stuck in Nebraska, at the home of the adorably nerdy town doctor.
The problem is, not every broken heart can be sewn back together.
. . . And the longer you stay in one place, the more likely your ghosts are to catch up.
Genre
Triggers
Attempted Murder, Murder, Things that happen to eyelids/eyeballs, Ill-advised use of staple guns, clowns, medical trauma including serious injury, ambulances, open fractures, blood loss, hospitals and surgical recovery, impaling, references to domestic physical abuse (not depicted), psychological/emotional abuse, sexual harassment, threats and intimidation, misogyny, injured dog, parental neglect and child physical abuse (not depicted), numerous weapons and sharp objects and detailed sex scenes.
Brynne Weaver's trigger warnings are so unhinged.
I love it.
I never fail to chuckle at her very detailed triggers list.
I was SO excited to read this book.
Obviously.
I mean, I travelled to the US just to meet Brynne Weaver.
I really enjoyed it. It's not my favorite of the trilogy, but it didn't take away my love for the series overall.
I kind of loved the ...de-escalation of sorts, when it came to killing, and the type of characters they were.
In Butcher & Blackbird, both Sloane and Rowan are serial killers. Both have the same desire - killing bad people - but where Sloane is meticulous, Rowan just does what he does, with no signature way of doing things. But they are both serial killers, and seemed to get into it with that desire to do do.
In Leather & Lark, Lachlan and Lark are complete opposites. Lachlan kills because he has to. He is a forced contract killer. He kills bad men, but he doesn't enjoy it. Lark is an interesting case, where it seems she was pushed over the edge. She is definitely a serial killer. She enjoys it. But I don't think she would have became one if it wasn't for what happened to her, and her wanting to prevent other people from living with the trauma she endured.
Then there is this one.
And the way Brynne wrote these characters, was what I loved about this book.
Fionn is interesting. Very much the opposite of his brothers, but has a past they know nothing about. He isn't a serial killer. I liked that he was still so connected to his brothers, and the trilogy, but he is different enough from his brothers that it didn't feel like a copy and paste situation.
Rose, though, was the character that I was truly interested - and entertained - by. I've read a lot of dark romance, and I don't think I've ever read a book where the character really, really wanted to be a serial killer, but she just didn't have the stomach for physical killings. Literally.
Making poisons to give to abused wives is one thing.
There isn't any gore involved. She isn't even there to see the death occur. She is just a secret whispered amongst women (which I find SO cool), a way for women who feel they have no way else to escape abusive husbands.
But she wants to be there.
She wants to do the killing.
And every time she does, it's honestly hilarious, because she finds it so disgusting.
You just know that when she finds out about Sloane and Lark, she was secretly fangirling them, and wanting advice.
I just found her so interesting to read, and I don't think I have ever come across a character quite like her.
As for the story, well, it was good. Again, it's nothing like Rowan and Sloane's yearly game. But neither was Leather & Lark. But I enjoyed it. It had tons of Brynne Weaver's unhinged plot, and peppered with her eccentric sense of humor (which yes, when listening to her talk, she comes about naturally). The romance was predictable to a certain extent, but that was okay. The steam was well worth going through the motions of a friends with benefits situation.
While Scythe & Sparrow wasn't my favorite, I still really enjoyed it. This series was so much fun to read, and I can't wait for the spin-off trilogy coming out later this year.
For those of you who read B&B and L&L and said, "Hell, I've already endured the ice cream and pizza, I might as well keep going" ... you truly are my people. This one's for you!
Rose: "Are you, like, a real doctor?"
I blink at her.
Fionn: "Yes ...?"
Rose: "You don't sound so sure."
Fionn: "I'm pretty sure. Put your mask back on -"
Rose: "You look like a TV doctor. Dr. McSpicy or something. What are your credentials?"
Rose: "You look like you're going to tell me it's rotting and about to fall off."
Fionn: "It's going to be fine,"
he says, nodding to my leg where it's splinted and suspended on a foam block.
Fionn: "We put pearls in it."
Rose: "Pearls?"
I snort a laugh.
Rose: "You're into pearling? No offense, but you don't strike me as the type, Doc."
Dr. Kane blinks at me as though he's trying to decipher a foreign language. His expression suddenly clears, and he muffles a startled cough into his fist.
Fionn: "Um, antibiotic pearls. In your leg."
Rose: "That's a relief. We're seriously going to have to revisit your credentials otherwise. Probably with a lawyer."
Lachlan was right. I'm knee-deep in my peak "Hallmark Sad Man Cinderwhatever" era.
Rose: "So you ended up in Nebraska in an attempt to avoid romantic relationships?"
I snort a laugh, picking up a carrot to start peeling it.
Fionn: "Let me guess. You came up with that one due to the bachelor vibes of the house. Was it the doily that gave me away?"
Rose: "No, but I do have questions about that."
Lachlan: "This isn't about a woman, is it?"
Fionn: "No."
Lachlan: "Why not?"
I sigh.
Lachlan: "Maybe it should be,"
he continues, his voice gruff but teasing.
Lachlan: "Get you out of your Hallmark Sad Man Cinderwhatever era."
Lachlan: "Shut up, ya feckin' gobshite,"
he hisses.
Lachlan: "I have not been 'fucking my way through Boston,' I'll have you know. Ever since that Halloween party where you spent the night drinking away your feckin' sorrows only to throw them up again in my feckin' sink the next morning, I've decided to remove myself from the dating scene in the hopes I don't wind up as much of a dumbass as you."
He tsks, though I can tell he's enjoying every minute of forcing me to relive my fall from grace that weekend.
Lachlan: "Couldn't even make it the extra two feet to hurl in the toilet like a normal adult man. You had to clog my feckin' sink."
Fionn: "Did you ... kill him?"
Rose: "Umm, yes. But he's not a good guy."
Fionn: "And you called me to help you to what ... get rid of him?"
I shrug.
Rose: "I got a little stuck. And you specifically said, 'Any trouble whatsoever, call me.' This is 'trouble whatsoever.'"
Fionn: "I didn't mean killing someone and disposing of their body."
Rose: "I did the killing part. I just need a little help with the disposal."
Fionn let's out an exasperated sigh.
Fionn: "'Body disposal' was not on my list of trouble."
Rose: "You should have clarified that from the beginning."
Rose: “Do you think this yarn will be strong enough?”
I take a sip of my lemonade, trying to swallow the dread that’s crept up my throat as Sandra scrutinizes Rose’s pattern with a furrowed brow.
Sandra: “That depends. What are you making, dear?”
Rose: “A sex swing.”
Lemonade shoots up my nose and burns. I cough and sputter my way through what would otherwise be a moment of suspended silence. But that only lasts for a blessed few seconds before I’m surrounded by a flurry of voices that tosses me into an alternate reality.
Woman 1: “You’ll need a softer heft for that. Maybe try the MillaMia merino.”
Woman 2: “You might want to consider a tighter crochet stitch.”
Maude: “Is it for you?”
Maude asks without looking up.
Maude: “Or does it need to take the weight of an adult man? Like, say”
—her eyes flick to me—
Maude: “maybe the doctor’s size?”
I drag a hand down my face as though it will scrape away my blush.
Fionn: “Jesus, Maude—”
Rose: “I don’t know,”
Rose says as she looks toward the ceiling, tapping her lip with the end of her crochet hook.
Rose: “Maybe …? I’m not sure.”
Woman 1: “What about Tencel bamboo yarn? Soft and strong.”
Woman 2: “Did you find a pattern?”
Rose shrugs. I die a little.
Rose: “I was just going to wing it.”
Liza: “I have a pattern for a pot hanger,”
Liza chimes in, pulling her bag onto her lap so she can rummage through the contents. She finds a magazine and flips it open, pointing to a photo of a crocheted hanging planter.
Liza: “You could use this, maybe make leg holes right here. Ooh, and what about an extra pair of hanging handles and ankle braces?”
Sandra leans over to scrutinize the pattern, adjusting her reading glasses.
Sandra: “My Bernard could make you a wooden frame. It’ll have to be good and strong, don’t want something like that collapsing when you’re taking it for a ride, you know?”
Fionn: "I think ..."
I trail off, drawing out her doubt before I finally give her the barest hint of a conspiratorial smile.
Fionn: "I think you should use a thermal stitch for the base. It's sturdy. Could support the weight of a six-foot-four adult male. Theoretically."
Rose's eyes dance in the morning light that streams through the blinds.
Rose: "Even all Beast Mode muscly?"
I swallow a laugh as I set the magazine aside and resume my stitches. Though I try not to blush, I'm probably failing, judging by the heal coursing beneath my skin.
Fionn: "I mean, theoretically."
Liza: "Well, thank God,"
Liza says as she pulls a flask from her bag and dumps a generous splash of vodka into her lemonade, stirring the mixture with the end of her crochet hook.
Liza: "We were starting to wonder if you were going to run off back to Ireland and join the priesthood."
I roll my eyes.
Fionn: "I'm not joining the priesthood."
Fionn: "Fucking Barbara,"
he hisses.
I grab a crutch and hop up onto my good foot.
Rose: "Yeah, fucking Barbara. Let's fuck her up,"
I say, whipping my knife from the sheath at my back.
Rose: "Who's Barbara?"
Fionn: "The raccoon."
I blink at him as Fionn pockets his phone and strides to the table to grab his truck keys.
Rose: "Aww, I don't want to fuck her up. She sounds cute."
Fionn: "She might look cute,"
he says as he helps me up into the vehicle,
Fionn: "but don't let her deceive you. She'll tear your face off to get what she wants."
I force a mischievous grin as he settles my injured leg into the footwell, trying not to think about what it might be like for him to toss me around when he lifts me so effortlessly, or what his hands might feel like gripped so tightly to my hips that he leaves fingerprints on my skin.
Rose: "Are you talking about me, or the raccoon?"
Fionn huffs.
Fionn: "Both, probably. So I guess you'll be evenly matched."
Rose: "So cute yet so murdery,"
I say, stuffing the gloves in my back pocket.
Rose: "I think we're kindred spirits, Barbara."
She growls.
Rose: "Right. Enjoy your snack. I'm totally going to tell Dr. McSpicy you're getting in through the vent for giving me that ungrateful attitude."
She looks up at me with her beady little eyes.
Rose: "Okay, fine. I won't. But you need to check those manners next time."
Fionn: "I'm her doctor, for one thing."
Rowan: "Forbidden. I like it. Makes it ten times hotter."
Rowan: "You're a dumbass, but you're a good man. You deserve to have fun too. And I like the little banshee."
Rowan: "See you around, Rose,"
he finally says. His wary gaze rakes over my face. I narrow my eyes at him, but I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.
Rose: "I'm sure you will. Drive safe, Shitflicker."
Rowan: "Listen here, ya little banshee -"
Sloane: "Rowan,"
Sloane hisses as she wallops him in the stomach with her good arm. My grin begs to ignite.
Rowan: "She beat me with her crutch, Blackbird."
Sloane: "And then you ate three helpings of her waffles this morning and single-handedly drained her maple syrup supply. I think you'll survive, pretty boy."
Fionn: "Safety first,"
Fionn says as he reaches across my hips with his free hand and pulls one end of the belt over his jacket, and then the other. He slides the metal clip into the release and then tightens it with a swift tug of the strap, trapping his other hand against my pussy.
Fionn: "Seat belts should stay on in case of turbulence."
Rose: "Jesus Christ,"
I hiss as his fingers stroke deeper.
Rose: "Who are you?"
Rose: "Just because you finger fucked me on a plane doesn't mean I want to get married, Dr. Kane,"
I say as two women exit the elevator arm in arm.
Woman: "You tell him, badass bitch,"
one of them says as the other gives me a high five when they pass by.
Rose: "He's pretty hot though. Reminds me of someone, but I can't put my finger on it."
Lark: "He doesn't look like anyone. Except an asshat. A hot asshat, but still an asshat."
Sloane: "He makes me think of someone too,"
Sloane says, tapping her lip thoughtfully as she turns her gaze to the ceiling.
Sloane: "Oh! I know. It's Kea-"
Lark: "Don't you dare, Sloane Sutherland. Don't. You. Dare. Keanu Reeves is a god amongst men and you will not ruin him for me by comparing him to Lachlan Fucking Kane."
Lark: "Well, I for one hope it works out whatever way you want it to,"
Lark says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. When she pulls her palm away, she leaves a gold sticker behind.
Lark: "And you're not getting away from us, no matter which way it goes."
Sloane: "Yeah. You're definitely not. You've been stickered. You're part of the sticker-bitch crew now. Count yourself lucky she didn't put them on your tits."
I look down.
Rose: "She'd have to find them first."
Lark snorts.
Lark: "Shut up. You've got great tits. All perky and shit. Great nips. Advantage of an optional bra and they don't smack you around. Small is sexy."
Sloane: "Lark is like a tit sommelier. Trust her judgement,"
Sloane says, then drains her cup and checks her watch.
Lark: OMFG!!!!
Rose: ??
Lark: Rowan motherfucking Kane just broke up with Sloane, that fucking piece of shit. I'm gonna kill him.
Rose: Man-guy?! Are you fucking for real?
Rose: I'm going to knife that fucker in the balls.
Lark: You take the balls, I'll go for the throat. Sloane will want the eyes.
Rose: Good. I hate the eyes.
Rose: "You don't have to try so hard to be somebody else,"
I say, and Fionn meets my eyes.
Rose: "I like the dark too."
I give him a slow smile that turns wicked, letting go of his hand to reach for his belt, undoing the buckle and zipper. I can feel him watching every motion as I pull his pants and briefs down to free his erection, taking his length in my tight fist.
Rose: "I love a bit of something deliciously sinful,"
I whispered.
Fionn: "He's pretty quick,"
I say. We watch him sprint in a wide circle, then he shifts his trajectory toward the white picket fence that surrounds the fairgrounds.
Rose: "Give a man a shit ton of drugs and the promise of ass fucking, and he'll do anything. Even knit doilies."
Fionn: "I'm so conflicted. I want to fuck you so badly but I also fear for my life. It's like wet dream nightmare fuel."
Rose: "Honestly, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
Fionn: "Help? You want someone to help you?"
Fionn shakes his head.
Fionn: "Do you really think I would ever, ever let you threaten her and walk away? Do you seriously think you could hurt her, and I would just let you live? You don't deserve mercy. When have you ever given that to anyone else? So the only thing I'll give to you is suffering."
Rose: "Being on the road ... being the way I am ... It's hard to find someone. Even harder when you're not afraid of the dark. I thought maybe I did find someone, this time."
When I meet her eyes, the smile we share is bittersweet.
Lark: "You did. You've got me, always. You're got Sloane. We're not afraid of the dark. And we're not going anywhere."
Hope can be beautiful. But it can also be brutal. It can keep your head above water just long enough to drown you in the next wave.
Sloane: "Rowan and Lachlan say you're the best of them. What that means to your brothers might be different that what it means to you,"
Sloane says as she looks at me over her shoulder, her hazel eyes bright with a challenge.
Sloane: "So prove it to the only person who counts."
Rose: "So, like ... what does choosing you ... what does that entail, exactly?"
I can't help the stupid grin that erupts on my face, though I try my best to subdue it.
Fionn: "I think it's whatever you want it to be."
Rose: "Well ... but ..."
She shakes her head and looks out to the sea, a crease notched between her brows.
Rose: "I like cuddling. We'd have to permanently dissolve that rule."
I take another step closer. She's nearly within reach. My hand aches with the need to touch her, but I stop myself from moving closer.
Fionn: "I like cuddling."
Rose: "I like PDA. Holding hands and shit."
Fionn: "I want to hold your hand."
Rose: "Dorothy only has one bed. I'm not unfolding the sleeper sofa. It's a pain in the ass."
Fionn: "Perfect. I don't want seperate beds."
Rose: "And you can't keep telling Barbara she has rabies. SHe doesn't like that."
Fionn: "You have Barbara?"
I ask, and she gives me a faint nod.
Fionn: "I thought she was performing with the poodles."
Rose: 'There were some ..."
Rose pauses, her gaze lifting to the sky as she considers her words.
Rose: "... incidents. With churros. And maybe one or two with the hot dog stand."
I sigh dramatically, but only to test out her reaction. Sure enough, her eyes slice to mine and narrow.
Fionn: "I won't tell her she's rabid,"
I say, laying a palm across my heart.
Fionn: "I promise."
Rose: "I liked that time we kissed,"
Rose finally says, and the first hint of doubt creeps into her expression as her gaze finally lands on me and sticks.
Rose: "We'd have to dissolve that rule permanently too."
Fionn: "Thank God, because I fucking hate that rule. I'd like to break that one first, if you'd let me."
Rowan: "Blackbird ... no ..."
Sloane: "Butcher, yes."
Sloane's wicked giggle is punctuated by the tick of the turning signal as she makes a U-turn to follow the car's directions.
Sloane: "You're the one who decided to spend six hours in a dragon costume."
Rowan: "And you love cosplay."
Sloane: "I also love winning."
Sloane: "You look like you're regretting your life choices,"
Sloane says as she turns the engine off.
Rowan: "Maybe one or two."
Sloane: "Then I'll leave you with this lovely reminder that every time you try to take your teasing a little too far, karma comes along to bitch-slap you in the ball sack."
Rowan: "What the hell is that?"
Sloane: "Moonshine, probably. I overheard someone say it was whiskey but I have my doubts. So I hope dragons can sing, because I expect 'The Rocky Road to Dublin' at full volume tonight."
I was hoping to arrive early so I could chase my wife through the woods and make her laugh as I fucked her on the forest floor. At least I'm extremely successful in the laughter part. Too bad it's not just my wife who's delighted in the costume.
Lachlan: "You feckin' dumb bellend. What in the Christ Jesus are you wearing?"
Lachlan says from the porch as we exit the vehicle. Sloane's grin is maniacal as she stands off to the side to watch our exchange with unrestrained glee.
Rowan: "What the fuck does it look like I'm wearing, asshat?"
Lachlan makes a show of taking off his glasses and polishing the lenses with the bottom of his shirt before he slides them back on.
Lachlan: "Looks like an idiot suit. Is that the right answer?"
Sloane bellow a laugh as Lark pushes open the screen door, drying her hands on a tea towel as she exits the rustic cottage. She lurches to a halt as soon as her eyes land on me.
Lark: "Oh holy hell."
Her giggle is devious, a bright contrast to Lachlan's derisive snort.
Lark: "Is that suit clean?"
Rowan: "Unfortunately,"
I grumble.
Lark: "Oh, Rowan -"
Lachlan: "Don't give him any sympathy, Lark. Pity makes him even more insufferable, the feckin' twat."
Lark: "But look at him. He's all sad and horny."
Sloane: "Literally,"
Sloane interjects, whacking one of my yellow horns as she heads toward the porch to give Lark a hug.
Sloane: "Also permanently green."
Rowan: "We need to talk more about 'permanent,' Sloane,"
I say as I grab our bags and the moonshine and then follow after her, my dragon tail swishing across the gravel behind me. When Lachlan groans and runs a hand down his face, I exaggerate the sway of my hips just to annoy him.
Rowan: "Fuck, that is atrocious."
Lachlan: "Are you sure it's not battery acid?"
Rowan: "No. I'm not sure at all. Though it's not going to stop me from drinking enough to serenade you."
Lachlan: "I think it might kill us both before that happens,"
Lachlan says as we both suffer through another sip.
Rowan: “I really need to know if this is actually permanent,”
I say as I start peeling off a scale glued to my cheek. Fionn scratches his stubble as he watches me from beneath the arm Lachlan keeps slung over his shoulder.
Rowan: “Will it come off?”
Fionn: “You didn’t tattoo it on there, did you?”
Rowan: “Of course not, dickhead.”
Fionn: “I’m sure you’re probably fine.”
Rowan: “‘Probably’ does not inspire much confidence,”
I say, but Fionn only shrugs.
Fionn: “You’ll probably have to wait until the skin cells replenish.”
Rowan: “How long does that take?”
Fionn: “A couple of weeks.”
Rowan: “A couple of weeks?”
I parrot back to him as Sloane cackles in my periphery.
Fionn: “Maybe. I mean, if you really scrub it twice a day. Otherwise, probably a month,”
Fionn says. I look over at Sloane but she just shakes her head. I do my best to look dejected, which really isn’t so hard to do, and then I shuffle my way toward my brothers.
Rowan: “I need a hug. Even dumpster goblins need love.”
With my arms outstretched, I grab hold of my brothers and though they protest, they still wrap their arms around me in return.
Fionn: “You’re an idiot,”
Fionn whispers to me as the three of us press our foreheads together.
Lachlan: “And you’re a birdseed-eating twat,”
Lachlan counters on my behalf.
Rowan: “And you’re a broody asshat,”
I say, and he grins, the shine still bright in his eyes. I swallow, trying to force the sting in my throat from burning its way into tears. It feels like a displaced bone has finally been reset, like I couldn’t take a breath without feeling a pain that dug between my ribs, and suddenly it’s gone. And judging by the way my brothers both look back at me, they feel the same way.
Rowan: “Neither one of you would make as good of a dragon as me, by the way. But I still love you both.”
Fionn: “Yeah. Me too.”
Lachlan clasps a hand across the back of each of our heads.
Lachlan: “Love you too, my boys. And I’m proud of you.”
Fionn: “I’ve been waiting to try this swing for so long.”
Rose: “How long?”
I ask as he lifts me with one arm, positioning the swing with his free hand. Fionn chuckles as he sets me on the suspended yarn, and with just a little adjustment and a pause to ensure it’s safe, he takes a step back.
Fionn: “Since you first brought it up.”
A theatrical gasp passes from my lips, but Fionn hardly notices. Half of his focus is on my ankle as he slides it into a crocheted cuff, the other half on my pussy.
Rose: “You were thinking about me in the sex swing at the Suture Sisters meeting? You scoundrel.”
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