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A warrior with inner demons falls for a woman who could save his soul in this seductive novel from the 1 New York Times bestselling Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Within the Black Dagger Brotherhood, Rhage is the warrior vampire with the strongest appetites. Leia mais Leia menos. Habilitado Page Flip: Habilitado Idioma: She lives in the South with her family.

Above us, a shrill and deafening cry resonated through the night. I awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. Sitting up in bed, I blinked.

It was another wet August morning, so early the sun had barely risen behind the clouds. My grandfather had given me a stack of them at the beginning of the summer, to educate me on what I was, what everyone in my family was: Monitors, people born with the innate talent to sense death, or more specifically, the Undead.

I glanced at the book. That was the last thing I remembered before falling asleep. The phone rang once more, then stopped. The clock on my nightstand read 5.

There were three loud raps on his door, fumbling, then voices. Kicking off the sheets, I slid out of bed and peered down the hallway. A shadow passed by the door, blocking the light. He slammed the phone back into the cradle. Without warning, the door flew open and my grandfather burst into the hall, pulling on his coat.

Ducking inside the linen closet, I crouched next to a hamper of dirty laundry and waited. When I was sure both men were downstairs, I slipped back into my room and went to the window. A damp breeze blew in through the screen. From where I stood, I could see Dustin juggling the two bags and holding an umbrella over my grandfather as he ran out the front door and into his Aston Martin.

Dustin deposited the bags in the trunk, and I watched as the car lurched down the driveway, turned, and sped out of sight. I tried to go back to sleep but ended up drifting in and out of my dream, haunted by the face of Miss LaBarge, my philosophy professor at Gottfried Academy. What had she meant? A knock on the door pulled me back into the day. Outside it was still drizzling, the sun a faint orb behind the clouds. Dustin entered, bald and droopy as an earlobe, balancing an elaborate platter of eggs, pancakes, sausages, and fruit.

His suit was tight around his paunch.

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When he saw me, he froze. I saw your light on and took the chance that you were awake. Breakfast in bed? My birthday, of course. I leaned against my bedpost as Dustin arranged the platter on my nightstand. Now it was the day my parents had died, exactly one year ago.

The day Dante had died, seventeen years ago. Quite the adult. Until last year, he had been doomed to wander the earth in search of the person his soul had been reincarnated into, and take it back through a kiss. Closing my eyes, I shook the thought out of my head and looked up at Dustin. Dustin grew stiff. First, eat. The food looked syrupy and hot, but I had no appetite.

It had been like this all summer. Surprised, Dustin blushed. After he closed the door, I noticed an envelope lying on my night table where the breakfast tray had been. With the beginnings of a smile, I picked it up. The return address read:. I emptied the contents onto my bed. My best friend from Gottfried, Eleanor, had been travelling around Europe with her mother all summer, and had been sending me postcards sealed in envelopes for privacy, each from a different town: Waxy landscapes decorated the mirror over my dresser, a pathetic but welcome stand-in for Eleanor.

This one was a picture of a shimmering lake, its blue water speckled with green islands. I flipped it over.

Yvonne Woon

Bonjour from Verdun! As in Verdun, France, which is where I am for the next few days. My mother has been dragging me to all of these remote lakes that are apparently famous in Monitoring history. She still refuses to acknowledge what I am.

Hope you have an amazing birthday. I read the last lines again, knowing exactly how she felt. Eleanor had been a Monitor, like me, until last year, when she was drowned and reanimated into an Undead. Now her Monitor parents could put her to rest at will. Placing the envelope next to the postcard, I picked up a pencil, and, following the mailing code, I began counting. As I said his name out loud, my insides stirred, as if something inside had just come alive.

I shuddered, remembering that night. She was the headmistress at Gottfried Academy, our exclusive school where the Undead and Monitors were educated together.

It was then she told me what Dante had known all along; that I was his soulmate, and were I to kiss him, I would save his life, restoring his soul to him, but transforming myself into an Undead. I confronted him immediately, and Headmistress Von Laark attempted to apprehend him. Dante pursued Gideon outside, pulling him underground in a forced burial, which should have killed them both.

I remember sitting there beside him, watching him die. And I knew what I had to do. I kissed him. I gave Dante my soul to save his life. I died for him, and then ten days later, he gave my soul back to me. I should have been alive after that. That was the last time I could remember the smell of flowers or the feel of the sun on my neck. Without Dante, everything was dull and colourless, a world made of cardboard. What did it feel like to drink a glass of cold water on a hot day?

To taste the tartness of a summer peach? These days, I could hardly remember what it felt like to enjoy even simple pleasures like that. My only comfort was the memory of Dante, and the hope that once I saw him, I would be able to understand what had happened to me, and what had happened to him.

Was he alive? Was he Undead? Or somewhere in between, like me? He had been sending me messages through Eleanor all summer, each brief and devoid of any information other than that he was safe.

He was in hiding; he had to be concise. But where did that leave me?

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If he went back to Gottfried the Monitors would sense him, find him, and bury him. So how would I see him? And what if I never heard from him again?

Placing the postcard next to the others on my bureau, I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, a little less upset that it was my birthday.

While the water was warming up, I glanced in the mirror, my reflection catching me off guard. Had it happened overnight, or had I just not noticed until now? Steam wafted out of the shower, fogging the glass. Dante , I wrote on the mirror with one finger.

I watched as the fog on the surface slowly thickened, until all I could see of my face was his name. The mansion was unusually quiet as I made my way downstairs for breakfast. The rain pattered against the side of the house. The chandelier was lit, but the table was bare. Water trickled down the windows. I was wandering into the hall when I heard a muffled noise coming from the kitchen. I pushed through the doors.

From the corner of the room came the scratchy voice of an announcer. Huddled by the pantry were the entire kitchen and maintenance staff, as well as Dustin, who had a particularly sombre look on his face. In front of them sat a tiny television, set up on a stool. On the screen, a reporter dressed in a windbreaker spoke into the camera.

The woman has been identified as Annette LaBarge, a native of Vermont, and a philosophy teacher at Gottfried Academy, a private high school located in Maine. According to a close friend, Annette LaBarge had been missing for over a week. I raised a hand to my mouth, accidentally knocking some pots and pans on the wall.

The entire staff turned around at the clamour. Although the cause of death is still unclear, initial police reports indicate that her body was severely bruised and scratched, possibly by fingernails.

These reports have aroused strong suspicions of foul play. I stared at the screen, unable to believe what I was seeing. Behind the reporter was a familiar scene. A rocky beach, the coastguard, a thicket of trees in the background.

A red rowing boat was tipped on its side near an area blocked off with caution tape. The man who was working there attested that Annette LaBarge was alone when she rented it late last Friday.

Authorities still do not know why the woman rowed to the island on her own. No suspects have been identified yet.

Gauze in her mouth. My parents had died like that, too, their souls sucked out by the Undead they had been tracking. Miss LaBarge was a Monitor, just like my parents. Could she have died in a Monitoring accident? Is that what I had seen in my dream? Are they sea creatures? Mythical beasts? Or something far more sinister than just the monsters of the tabloids? As cenas de luta foram bem coordenados e quanto aos caras maus, bem, o jeito que ele resolve as coisas me fez QUASE sentir pena deles.

He is cursed for what seems like an eternity and is a lonely, misunderstood character. He is destined to live with a barely controlled monster and avoids intimacy lest the monster within is unleashed. Just like I did yesterday.

“Life Eternal” at Usborne Children’s Books

Rhage shivered, a balmy rush blooming out all over his skin. The musical lilt of her voice, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her words, it all spread through him, calming him, comforting him. Chaining him sweetly. He closed his eyes. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice again.

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And bonus, this is really two love stories in one. And she held his attention like a marching band. I loved his unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood and the lengths he would go to for Mary. Lucky for me that I have the whole series on my Kindle! All the praise to J. Ward for writing a very different and very memorable paranormal romance.

More than ten years ago, I read this book and loved it from the start. Two days ago I bought the Kindie edition, and it's even better than I remembered. When I went to the reviews, I noticed that they are all ten years old. I think that this new edition deserves a fresh review - what do you think? The Brothers are heroes larger than life, and yet each one of them is flawed in some way.

The King, Wrath, is blind. This story is about Rhage, who once lacked control over himself, and who was cursed by the Scribe Virgin for causing the death of her sacred white owl. He's spent almost a hundred years sharing his body with a dragon, and every time he fails to control his rage, the dragon is set free to destroy everyone around him.

The only leash that restrains the creature is fighting or sex, and as much as he loves to fight his race's enemies, having sex with strangers and never finding his mate torments him.

Then he meets Mary, a human woman, dying of cancer. And even though he should only bond with a vampire, this fragile woman with the courage of a warrior, is the mate that his heart wants. This is the love story that proves the rare talent that Ward has for amazing adventures is equaled by her gift for giving us a pair of miss-matched lovers - lovers who bring us as many tears as they do fits of laugher, and an adventure you will never forget.

If you can, read Dark Lover first to get all of the back-story, but don't miss out on this one. I promise you will never forget it. Compra verificada. Met Z in book 2, she is from an aristocratic family.