Her Soul to Take by Harley Laroux EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Harley Laroux
- Language: English
- Genre: Erotic Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
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LEON
“Blood has been spilled in Its name. It is awake.”
I’d felt the stirring before he announced it. Damned mortals always
stating the obvious, as if I couldn’t feel the ground trembling and the old roots
tensing – tensing, like a body preparing to be hit. As if I couldn’t hear the
whispers growing louder in the dark, tendrils of ancient, incomprehensible
thought reaching out and prodding for vulnerabilities.
The concrete surrounding me – burying me alive – couldn’t hide the
disturbance. I didn’t need Kent’s pompous ass strutting in here, making
declarations as if I was supposed to grovel at the news. Seated cross-legged in
my wretched binding circle, sharpening my nails against the concrete floor, I
barely gave him more than a glance when he came into the room with his
cronies in tow. At his declaration, I merely grunted, and that hardly seemed to
satisfy him.
“Did you hear me, demon?” he snapped, and his fingers tightened upon
the leather surface of his grimoire. That damned worn-out book was always in
his grip, the hammer he had raised over my head. A non-magical man like Kent
couldn’t control me without his little spell book.
“I heard you.” I sighed heavily, and leaned back so I could tap my nails
upon the floor. “Pardon me for not jumping in joy, Kenny-boy. The fact that
you’re here to gloat about your old God stretching Its limbs only tells me It
hasn’t woken up enough to give you all that delicious power you seek.” His
expression darkened dangerously, and I knew I was walking the edge of
enticing him to hurt me.
Captivity was so endlessly boring that seeing how far I could push my
master before pain resulted had become a real thrill.
I shrugged. “So, you’re here with a task. Here to send me off on some
petty errand before locking me in the dark again. Thrilling.”
Kent’s knuckles had gone white. He had a certain aristocratic look about
him; he would have been just as at home in Victorian London as he was
mingling among Seattle’s business elite. Dark gray suit, a subtle pinstripe on
his black tie, perfectly cut and combed gray hair. He was as muted as
Washington’s cloudy skies, and about as unpredictable in his moods.
“I would save your strength for the work ahead, demon,” he said, his
voice tight, rage barely restrained. “Rather than wasting it on that petty tongue
of yours. Unless you’d like me to rip it out again?”
There was a snicker from one of the white-cloaked figures behind him,
and I glowered but kept my mouth shut. Kent had them wear the cloaks and the
stag skull masks, but I knew the two faceless beings that accompanied him
down here were his adult spawns. Victoria, smelling of bitter artificial vanilla
fragrance and all the chemicals in her makeup. And Jeremiah, reeking of cheap
body spray and hair gel.
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