Books about reality TV have become a subgenre that has taken over our TBR stacks in recent years. Murder mysteries set on dating shows and dystopian fiction about competition series have hit our shelves—but now you can thank Rosie Danan for adding paranormal romance to the mix.
The bestselling author's latest steamy novel, Villain Edit, follows the drama that ensues when the first supernatural contestant—vampire prince Gabriel Hargrave—gets cast on the hit, Bachelor-esque program Rare Pair. Reality TV producer Harper Calloway sees him as the answer to saving her career when a mishap at work leaves her down and out and desperate for a win. What she doesn't see is how much he wants to sink his teeth into her.
Danan is known for bold paranormal premises (Do Your Worst), witty prose (The Intimacy Experiment), and slow-burn connections (The Roommate), which make steamy scenes all the more satisfying, and Villain Edit is no exception.
Before the bestselling author's latest rom-com hits shelves on December 8, she shared an exclusive excerpt with Marie Claire. Below, you can read the chapter in which Harper tries to convince Gabriel to join her dating show.
Harper was joking. She had to be.
It was funny when Gabriel pictured it—him, trying to date not just one but twelve different humans simultaneously, on camera, in front of millions of viewers.
But when he laughed, Harper didn’t laugh with him.
“I’m not joking,” she said patiently, an urgent fire in her
eyes belying her tone.
“You— I—” It wasn’t uncommon for Gabriel to find himself an object of desire, but humans were at once terrifying and tempting.
All that power, the risk of it. Somehow, humans thought vampires possessed the thrall. Meanwhile, each of them was born with siren song in their blood.
“No,” he said finally, because it seemed like he had to.
Twelve humans. When sitting next to Harper alone had Gabriel gnawing the inside of his cheek to keep from leaning over and sniffing her neck.
It was delicious torture to see her in what must be her house clothes: kelly green shorts with white piping on the side, and a rumpled T‑shirt that looked so soft his fingers physically ached with the desire to rub against the fabric.
Their bodies had drifted closer to each other on Lorraine’s couch over the course of the night, until Gabriel had felt sure that with the next episode, their legs would brush or their shoulders would press together.
He’d almost been holding his breath: scared that it would happen, scared that it wouldn’t.
Gabriel had enjoyed himself too much tonight already, watching Harper’s show, sharing wine and Chinese food, ask-ing questions about the set, her experience on the crew—wait.
“Harper, they fired you.”
“I know.” She grabbed the remote, turning off the TV and plunging the room into silence. “But that won’t matter any-more.”
Pinned by her gaze, Gabriel was a fish on a line, caught.
“Because you’re perfect,” she said.
“I can assure you, no one’s ever used that word to describe me.” He’d been tarnished since the day he was born.
Though, of course, Harper didn’t know the prophecy. If she did, she’d see the irony.
“You’re the rarest eligible bachelor in the world.” Her voice held a mix of relish and awe.
Gabriel would have thought she was drunk if he hadn’t watched her abandon wine for Diet Coke hours ago.
He got to his feet.
“I need to make tea.” Lorraine wouldn’t mind, and Gabriel knew where she kept everything from their Thursday visits.
He took the kettle down from the cabinet to the left of the sink and began filling it with water.
Harper hopped up on the counter beside him.
Part of him was scandalized that she was sitting on an area meant for the preparation of food; the other part was fixated on the way her shorts slid higher on her thighs with the motion. “Even if you weren’t a vampire,” she said, “which, frankly, will be enough of a fantasy for plenty of people all by itself, you’re handsome, royalty, and rarest of all: You’re a good guy.” Gabriel didn’t think she was trying to flatter him into submission, but it was heady to hear Harper call him “handsome,” to hear her call him “good.”
“You don’t actually know me very well.” He turned away from her and forced himself to take a deep breath in the opposite direction.
Years of relentless training meant he was normally difficult to ruffle. But with Harper, his body felt brand‑new.
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
Gabriel set the electric kettle back in its base and flipped the switch.
“I’m saying it’s never going to happen.”
“Okay.” Harper kicked her heels back and forth, pounding the cabinets with her socked feet, adrenaline practically seeping from her pores. “Why not?”
Before Gabriel could answer, before he could start to enumerate the many, many reasons her suggestion was preposterous, she jumped back in.
“I know the promise of finding love and living happily ever after isn’t particularly compelling coming from a reality TV show—”
She was wrong. Or at least, Gabriel was more susceptible to the allure than most.
Before his mother died, his parents had a storybook love: the prince and the farm girl.
His mother was in charge of the underground greenhouses at the compound. His father would make up excuses to visit her, concerns about soil or irrigation that he told Gabriel he’d spent hours reading about in textbooks, just so he could have a ten-minute conversation with her.
In his early twenties, Gabriel railed at his father for not allowing him to court, to seek his own partner.
What do you think falling in love will do for you? Your responsibilities won’t change.
Gabriel didn’t know what falling in love would do for him.
Wasn’t that the whole point?
He’d wanted it the way a child wants things, without care for the consequences.
Now, as a man who should be king, that kind of wanting was a weakness he couldn’t afford.
Happily ever after. There was a distinctly human glamour to it. And like all things glamorous and human, it wasn’t meant for him.
“—but hear me out. You’re here on a diplomatic assignment to integrate and endear yourself to humans.”
That was what he’d told her, half the truth.
“You want to further your father’s legacy, to open doors for vampires in the human world.”
His mission sounded noble. It would have been, if he were pursuing it with any kind of real intent. Harper thought Gabriel was a better person, someone less selfish than he was.
Falling in love—or at least, giving the illusion of it—is one of the most universal and unifying experiences we have.
“I can put you directly into millions of Americans’ living rooms. You’d like people to forget the stereotypes they think they know about you and see vampires as more relatable. Well, falling in love—or at least, giving the illusion of it—is one of the most universal and unifying experiences we have. Trust me. Humans eat that shit up.”
Gabriel had to give Harper credit. In the short time they’d known each other, she’d identified and collected the most valuable pieces of information he’d given her.
She wanted her job back. These arguments must have come as an afterthought. It was impressive how quickly she could deliver them with conviction.
“I could make you famous.” Her pretty hazel eyes were wide, imploring.
Ah, your first misstep.
“That won’t work on me.” Between them, the kettle bubbled, almost done. Gabriel pulled down his favorite rooibos and placed a tea bag in each of the two cups he found hanging on hooks by the pantry. The last thing either of them needed right now was caffeine.
“You forget, I’ve been famous my whole life.”
Harper didn’t flinch.
“Not like this you haven’t. You’ve got seven more years of your assignment left, right?”
If the council had their way, he might have much longer. Gabriel inclined his head.
“I can give you a platform, one that reaches way more than ten thousand people, to harvest however you want. You’re a TikTok fan editor’s wet dream.”
“I have no idea what you just said.” He didn’t have to. Not with the way her gaze slid from his face down to the open neck of his shirt, past his collarbones and down his chest toward his—Gabriel grabbed the screaming kettle.
Harper hopped off the counter to stand behind him as he poured them each a cup.
It was a blessing to have a moment to collect himself without her eyes on him, but then—he could still feel the heat of her, flushed all over, at his back.
“I can get you a fan base, set you up for brand sponsorships—the right ones—build a social media following for you, and even though I don’t personally think men should be allowed to have them, after the show airs, if you want, I’ll help you start a podcast.”
His shoulders shook as he laughed again, helplessly, splashing water onto the countertop before he put down the kettle and turned to her.
“Make the next seven years count,” Harper told him. “And then, go back to the compound with ten times the soft power you had when you left.”
“You sound so sure.” No wonder they fired you. Look how dangerous you are.
Harper picked up one of the mugs and pressed it gently into his hand.
“I am sure.”
Standing here looking at her, Gabriel could almost forget that going on a reality TV dating show was the Frankenstein’s monster of everything he avoided.
“Even if I wanted to—” He didn’t like disappointing her.
Harper cut him off again. “I know going on Rare Pair seems like a humiliation ritual that only someone deeply unwell would undertake—and it sort of is. I won’t lie. But you’d have a secret weapon, someone on the inside. I could protect you from most of it.”
“And would you?” The only person who’d ever tried to protect Gabriel was dead. “You’re asking me to take your word for it.”
“I would.”
He wished he could say yes. Just to see Harper try. “Look,” she said. “We both know I’m not presenting this opportunity to you out of the goodness of my heart. I won’t disrespect you by pretending that I am. You’re my golden goose—ticket—whatever.” She shook her head. “But, Gabriel, you can believe me when I tell you that I am a good producer. I know getting fired unceremoniously doesn’t suggest as much, but if you go on Rare Pair for me—with me—I will make it worth your while. I don’t think our goals are mutually exclusive.”
She might not be wrong if Gabriel were allowed to have goals. Right now, he was at the mercy of the council.
He’d spent the past three years celibate, practically hibernating, avoiding anything and anyone that might spike his thirst. This conversation, right now, was the closest he’d ever come to rebellion.
Imagine the council’s reaction if suddenly he wrote to them and said he was going to star on a human reality dating show. The compound didn’t have nearly the extensive access to hu-man programming as Harper did here in America, but they had satellite. Members of the council might have heard of Rare Pair, even if, like Gabriel, they’d never seen an episode.
If he suggested willingly throwing himself into such an environment, they might not know exactly what it meant, but they’d know enough.
He didn’t trust Harper—why would he?—they’d just met, and she’d spent half of tonight explaining to him how easily she talked people into acting against their best interests. But this was the only way forward that he could see, the only path that might lead him home.
A locked set that was highly stressful, almost endlessly surveilled, and emotionally manipulative by design.
Gabriel had just binged half a season with Harper providing behind-the-scenes commentary. The lead was somewhat spared direct humiliation over the contestants, but she’d told him point-blank her team was given a cash bonus from their showrunner if they could bring someone to tears.
There’s a direct correlation between crying on-screen and a ratings boost.
Gabriel’s insides iced over. It should have been impossible, but Rare Pair might satisfy, barely, the council’s directive. They’d demanded a display of restraint amidst provocation, proof of his ability to behave respectably under scrutiny. From a detached, industrial lens, the show was perfect.
A test with data and documented results. They’d accept nothing less.
If Gabriel went in front of the cameras and lost control for a second—if he lunged once—he would lose everything. The council wouldn’t have to wait another seven years to declare him unfit for the crown and make his secondment permanent. But if somehow he succeeded, ended the season smiling with a blond woman named Lauren on his arm, Gabriel would have his own advantage: evidence the council couldn’t censor or manipulate.
If humans made the show, if humans watched it—the council’s reach wasn’t that long. They couldn’t bury the evidence. Not if it was streamed to millions of households.
He’d have documentation of his impulse control, his rule following, his ability to form healthy attachments with humans. And most of all, he’d have proof he could suppress the violent impulses the council feared would cost them a kingdom.
Harper waited, watching him. She probably thought she’d shocked Gabriel silent.
He couldn’t agree without warning her. Gabriel admired manipulation as a skill set because he’d never mastered it.
“It would be a lot riskier to put me on TV than it is when you do it with a human lead.”
Harper thought it would be easy: dress him up, feed him lines like Cyrano de Bergerac.
There was so much she didn’t know. So much that he’d kept from her.
“I hear you.” She took a deep breath. “But I was thinking we could negotiate in your contract for extra security to protect you. And we could try to get questions added to the screening process for casting, to weed out bigots and fetishists. Delilah will want conflict and to make you uncomfortable, so I can’t guarantee how successful my efforts will be, but I’ll use whatever leverage I can muster.”
“Thank you.” He hadn’t gotten that far, but of course she was right. There would be danger from more than one direction. “But that’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say making me the lead would be risky for you.”
“For me?”
A lifetime of lessons in control kept Gabriel’s tone light, his breathing even.
He didn’t trust Harper—why would he?—they’d just met, and she’d spent half of tonight explaining to him how easily she talked people into acting against their best interests. But this was the only way forward that he could see, the only path that might lead him home.
“It would be easier to show you. Will you come with me back to my place?”
From VILLAIN EDIT published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2026 by Rosie Danan.