Dragon by Kat Blackthorne EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Kat Blackthorne
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Genre: Gothic Romances, Bisexual Romance
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
Onyx
NO JUSTICE FOR OLD MEN
There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to
warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.
Vincent Van Gogh
The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s death. Your dreams dying,
resolutions and loyalties writhing on the floor. On the other side of the
door of love is a funeral for who you thought you were.
A mirror
revealing who you hoped to be as a distorted and idealistic farce. And if it’s
romantic love we’re talking about? God help you, it’s a funeral for two. The
opposite of love, the ending, the goodbye to who you hoped you’d be
together.
I’d witnessed a lot of death and very little love in my two hundred years
of existence. Normal beings would seek out the latter. Unfortunately for me,
normal was far too boring. I chased after death, taunted it, played with it,
finding it in the oddest of hiding places.
I pushed its rules and barriers, seeing
how close to the line I could dance. And then, sometimes, I’d coax death out
from hiding and revel in the satisfaction of meeting it face to face. God, how
I loved a good murder. But death was Blythe now, too, wasn’t it? A reaper.
My mate was a reaper. My Claimed, as the demons would call it. My blood
simmered in knowing agreement.
The spindly blond human tapped her heel. What was her name again? I
forgot my clients’ names often. Who cared? The woman wrung her sweaty
palms as the sadist entered the room. The heavy weight of her anxiety
tightened my shoulders. For such a small mortal, her emotions were so loud
they were deafening. Sometimes I could block out the feelings of others, but
lately, it was damn near impossible. Most vampires only felt others’ emotions
during sex, but I was cursed to feel them constantly.
“This will be over
quickly. It’s open and shut,” I assured her. Her tired hazel eyes found mine,
and she nodded calmly, though I sensed her heartbeat pick up as he neared.
Cemeteries, haunted houses, hospitals, morgues—none of them felt as
strongly of death as a courthouse did.
Opposing counsel—didn’t know his name either—sauntered over. I
didn’t stand, only asked, “We good?”
We’d met in chambers with the judge yesterday. It was an open-and-shut
domestic violence situation. The girl had photo evidence, abusive text
messages, and an email confession from the fucker. I’d convinced them all to
reach a deal where the human scum did hard time and fucked all the way off
so this woman could live her life without his interference. The attorney
tapped the table, and my client jumped. “We’re more than good, Hart,” he
said a little too happily.
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