PLEASURE OF A DARK PRINCE PDF

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Pleasure Of A Dark Prince Pdf

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Quick snap. Ball in play.

[PDF Download] The Prince of Pleasure [Read] Full Ebook

Passed to Caliban. Garreth saw his chance, charging for him, pumping his arms for speed. He leapt for the demon, tackling him with all his strength. Without inviting the Valkyrie? And in our territory, too? If beings were going to trespass in order to war, they should at least have the courtesy to invite the host faction to the conflict. When she came upon the battlefield, Lucia canted her head to the side. Clash of the Loreans, she thought as she beheld modern gladiators—not at war, but at play.

Immortal rugby. Winds whipped along the mile-long field, and lightning flashed above them, mirroring the intensity of the contest. It was like a ceremony celebrating. Lucia easily recognized the horned players as demons, and she suspected their shirtless opponents were Lykae.

If so, then the rumors were true. The werewolves were in fact encroaching on Valkyrie territory. She was surprised. Congregating at the sidelines, Nymph spectators trembled with excitement, likely seeing this as no more than a mud-wrestling match between brawny heartthrobs.

A ruthless hit on the field made Lucia raise a brow. Not at the violence—she was a shield maiden after all—but at the unthinking violence. Though these Loreans all trespassed, they were oblivious to an Archer in their midst, one who could inflict serious damage—very swiftly and from a great distance.

Never had. Another brutal hit. Lykae and demons were two of the most brutal species on earth. Though mud splattered his torso and a shadow of a beard swathed his lean face, she still found him handsome in a rough and tumble way.

His eyes were a burnished gold color with rakish laugh lines fanning out from them. Tension radiated from his body, anger blazing off him. When those golden irises flickered a bright ice blue, she confirmed what he was. A Lykae. A werewolf. An animal. His handsome face masked a beast, literally. His accent was Scottish, but then most of the Lykae were Highlanders—or they used to be, before homesteading southern Louisiana.

Go fook yerself! Probably had. The Lykae were considered a menace in the Lore, with little control over their ferocity. In fact, they seemed to revel in it. One hundred percent unadulterated male, alpha to the core. And still he was making her. As the game continued, Lucia waited for revulsion to drown out her attraction. And waited. Yet with each pitiless blow the male gave—and took—and with each of his growled threats and taunts, it burned hotter.

Her breaths shallowed and her small claws went from straight to curling, aching to clutch a warm body to her own.

She dragged her gaze from his antics and surveyed the nymphs frolicking on the sidelines. Lucia had once been like them—hedonistic, serving no higher purpose. Am I still to be like them? No, she was disciplined now; she had a code. With a hard shake of her head, she forced herself to focus on her mission—dispatching the kobolds.

To the naked eye, they appeared cherubic, but they were actually ground dwellers with reptilian features. And when their populations went unchecked they tended to snatch human young, which jeopardized all of Lorekind. The pair had split up, one of them fleeing deeper into the swamps, while the other hid behind the wall of nymph spectators, assuming itself safe in this crowd.

Lucia absently fingered the flights of the barbed arrows strapped to her thigh and savored the comforting weight of her bow over her shoulder. Her prey assumed wrong.

The Archer never missed. Rain pelted him as his speed increased. This would be an easy score, taking him nearly the entire length of the field. Finally the demons pursuing him gave up, slowing one by one, hailing curses. As he inhaled deeply, he isolated a new, exquisite scent from a thousand threads of them—the coppery smell of lightning, cut blades of grass, the swampy bayous all around them. Sensations overwhelmed him, racking his muscles as he slowed.

My mate. She was downwind but close enough that he detected her. His head swung around in the direction of the scent. A small female stood alone off to the side of the field. At his first sight of her, his breath was lost, his Lykae Instinct roaring to life within him. Take her. She had pouting pink lips and flashing amber eyes. Wee pointed ears poked out through her mane of long dark hair. Yes, mine. Gods, she was as exquisite as her scent— Wham!

The demons tackled him with the force of a freight train, flattening him on the field, piling on top of him. His left shoulder popped from its joint. A knee to his jaw wrenched three back teeth loose. He growled, not with pain but with frustration, punching the still-hitting demons with his one good arm. As he battled to free himself, he sucked his teeth into his windpipe.

The twins ran to help him, finally peeling the demons off him. Garreth struggled to his knees, futilely coughing, hacking as he watched the strange female. Suddenly, in a laserlike movement, she readied her bow, nocked three arrows from her quiver, and drew the bowstring to her cheek. What the hell? Everything happening so fast.

Aiming for the nymphs? No, not them. A kobold cowering among them. Never hit it from so far away. She was poised, motionless, for a shot. Though rain and wind whipped her hair over her cheek, she never blinked, never took her eye from her target even after she released that bowstring. A fantastical shot. Yet she appeared bored with the result. Heaving, choking, Garreth saw her casually wend her way through the stunned nymphs.

Once she reached the two pieces of kobold, the archeress chucked them into the nearby swamp. When she realized all attention was on her, she slowed. He reached a muddy hand toward her, but she frowned with disdain, then disappeared into the brush. Finally Uilleam kicked Garreth in the back, and his back teeth flew from his windpipe like Chiclets.

Between labored breaths, Garreth clambered to his feet. Munro looked incredulous; Uilleam, jealous. How long had they both been waiting? But she looked like she might be. Be quick, man! He was shirtless, well on his way to being drunk, and filthy with blood and mud. Vow it! The second they popped his shoulder back in, he took off at a sprint.

On this day, the fates still refused to surrender Lachlain. As he charged forward, excitement welled within him, followed by overwhelming relief. Now he was on her trail. Yet at the line of moss-curtained cypresses—the entrance to the most remote section of the swamp—he slowed. Somehow her scent was emanating from four different directions.

He decided on one to follow, then thrashed through the brush, hurdling streams and bogs. When he reached the source of the scent and there was no sign of her, he turned in place. Then gazed up to find one of her arrows lodged in a tree, so deep only the flights showed. Clever girl. But he would follow each to the end, tracking her for as long as it took. And I was born to find her.

An animal. His handsome face masked a beast, literally. His accent was Scottish, but then most of the Lykae were Highlanders—or they used to be, before homesteading southern Louisiana.

Go fook yerself! Probably had. The Lykae were considered a menace in the Lore, with little control over their ferocity. In fact, they seemed to revel in it. One hundred percent unadulterated male, alpha to the core. And still he was making her. As the game continued, Lucia waited for revulsion to drown out her attraction.

And waited. Yet with each pitiless blow the male gave—and took—and with each of his growled threats and taunts, it burned hotter. Her breaths shallowed and her small claws went from straight to curling, aching to clutch a warm body to her own.

She dragged her gaze from his antics and surveyed the nymphs frolicking on the sidelines. Lucia had once been like them—hedonistic, serving no higher purpose. Am I still to be like them? No, she was disciplined now; she had a code. With a hard shake of her head, she forced herself to focus on her mission—dispatching the kobolds. To the naked eye, they appeared cherubic, but they were actually ground dwellers with reptilian features.

And when their populations went unchecked they tended to snatch human young, which jeopardized all of Lorekind. The pair had split up, one of them fleeing deeper into the swamps, while the other hid behind the wall of nymph spectators, assuming itself safe in this crowd. Lucia absently fingered the flights of the barbed arrows strapped to her thigh and savored the comforting weight of her bow over her shoulder.

Her prey assumed wrong. The Archer never missed. Rain pelted him as his speed increased. This would be an easy score, taking him nearly the entire length of the field.

Finally the demons pursuing him gave up, slowing one by one, hailing curses. As he inhaled deeply, he isolated a new, exquisite scent from a thousand threads of them—the coppery smell of lightning, cut blades of grass, the swampy bayous all around them.

Sensations overwhelmed him, racking his muscles as he slowed. My mate. She was downwind but close enough that he detected her. His head swung around in the direction of the scent. A small female stood alone off to the side of the field. At his first sight of her, his breath was lost, his Lykae Instinct roaring to life within him.

Take her. She had pouting pink lips and flashing amber eyes. Wee pointed ears poked out through her mane of long dark hair. Yes, mine. Gods, she was as exquisite as her scent— Wham!

The demons tackled him with the force of a freight train, flattening him on the field, piling on top of him. His left shoulder popped from its joint.

A knee to his jaw wrenched three back teeth loose. He growled, not with pain but with frustration, punching the still-hitting demons with his one good arm. As he battled to free himself, he sucked his teeth into his windpipe. The twins ran to help him, finally peeling the demons off him. Garreth struggled to his knees, futilely coughing, hacking as he watched the strange female. Suddenly, in a laserlike movement, she readied her bow, nocked three arrows from her quiver, and drew the bowstring to her cheek.

What the hell? Everything happening so fast. Aiming for the nymphs? No, not them. A kobold cowering among them. Never hit it from so far away. She was poised, motionless, for a shot. Though rain and wind whipped her hair over her cheek, she never blinked, never took her eye from her target even after she released that bowstring. A fantastical shot. Yet she appeared bored with the result. Heaving, choking, Garreth saw her casually wend her way through the stunned nymphs.

Once she reached the two pieces of kobold, the archeress chucked them into the nearby swamp. When she realized all attention was on her, she slowed. He reached a muddy hand toward her, but she frowned with disdain, then disappeared into the brush. Finally Uilleam kicked Garreth in the back, and his back teeth flew from his windpipe like Chiclets. Between labored breaths, Garreth clambered to his feet. Munro looked incredulous; Uilleam, jealous.

How long had they both been waiting? But she looked like she might be. Be quick, man! He was shirtless, well on his way to being drunk, and filthy with blood and mud. Vow it! The second they popped his shoulder back in, he took off at a sprint. On this day, the fates still refused to surrender Lachlain.

As he charged forward, excitement welled within him, followed by overwhelming relief. Now he was on her trail.

Yet at the line of moss-curtained cypresses—the entrance to the most remote section of the swamp—he slowed. Somehow her scent was emanating from four different directions. He decided on one to follow, then thrashed through the brush, hurdling streams and bogs. When he reached the source of the scent and there was no sign of her, he turned in place. Then gazed up to find one of her arrows lodged in a tree, so deep only the flights showed.

Clever girl. But he would follow each to the end, tracking her for as long as it took. And I was born to find her. Terrain passed beneath his feet for half an hour before he located her true trail.

With the innate stealth of his kind, he prowled closer, hunting this huntress in the now drizzling rain. The swamp made it easy for him to approach her undetected. There were a thousand shadows to conceal him, with animals constantly creeping about to distract her. Once he spied her again, he just stopped himself from sucking in a breath.

She had to be a Valkyrie, one among a species of women both notoriously beautiful. Her features were stunning—high, bold cheekbones, plump lips, and a slim, pixie nose—but her coloring made her beyond compare. Her skin was golden and smooth, her eyes the color of Scots whiskey.

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She was of middling height and curvy, wearing a wet white T-shirt that hugged generous breasts. Khaki shorts fitted tightly over her pert arse and displayed shapely legs. Her hair was long—a dark mane, heavy with rain.

On her right hand, she wore a leather shooting glove. A long leather forearm guard stretched from her left wrist to her elbow. Who knew archery gear could be so sexy?

Pleasure of a Dark Prince

His female would wear her leathers when he took her curvy wee body tonight. At the thought, his shaft hardened in his damp jeans, and he almost growled. But all the while she would freeze, jerking her head back in his direction, her pointed ears twitching. Without warning, she leapt up into a waterlogged oak, crouching there as she resumed her shooting stance, nocking another arrow. From a distance, her short bow was unassuming, a recurve bow with the ends arching away from her, and a thickened grip in the middle.

Typical, if old fashioned. But as he neared he could see there were etched gold markings in the polished black wood.

Her weapon was as fine and proud as its owner obviously was.

Did she plan to hit it through the earth? Lucia knew the kobold had gone underground, scurrying for its life.

From this angle in the tree, she could shoot into the ground, piercing her arrow straight into the tunnel beneath. Just as Lucia always did. And then what? When the nightmares came. For now, kill the kobold, go home. His interest had disconcerted her. Petkoff for offering the best in entertaining audiobooks. Pleasure of a Dark Prince Each book just gets better and better but I am really in a hurry to hear more from smart-ass warrior Regin! After listening to this installment, I now realize why the last few titles have made me cranky.

All is right with the world again. Garreth was awesome, and I loved the advice that his brother and Bowen kept giving him. Petkoff is a beast. The best book hands down. See More New Releases.

Coldly interested only in the power his Bride will bring, he can hardly believe when Myst the Coveted awakens him body—and soul. The Seductress Famed throughout the world as the most beautiful Valkyrie, Myst has devoted her life to protecting a magical jewel and to fighting the vampires.

Wroth provides her with the perfect opportunity to torment her sworn enemy—for with his new heartbeat comes a consuming sexual desire that can only be slaked by her. Denying him, she flees, struggling to forget his searing, possessive kiss. Hunger Like No Other Book 2.

No Rest for the Wicked Book 3. Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night Book 4. Dark Needs at Night's Edge Book 5. Dark Desires After Dusk Book 6. Kiss of a Demon King Book 7. Deep Kiss of Winter Book 8.Once she reached the two pieces of kobold, the archeress chucked them into the nearby swamp.

If so, then the rumors were true. Never had. Go fook yerself! He leapt for the demon, tackling him with all his strength. I dinna see such proof with Lachlain. Wroth provides her with the perfect opportunity to torment her sworn enemy—for with his new heartbeat comes a consuming sexual desire that can only be slaked by her.

She was downwind but close enough that he detected her. She released the string. So she shot him in the heart.