Extraits

"You think the journal will tell us anything about the nectar?" Warwick stared off, his obvious switch of topics not lost on me.

"I hope... or maybe something about me. What I am."

His head turned in my direction. "What you are... is mine... Sotet démonom." His turquoise eyes flamed with a possessiveness.

"If you think I wouldn't choose your life over a fucking diary." The blade dropped from his hand to the bed. He seized my thighs, lifting me off my feet, curling my legs around his waist.

"Then you're not fuckin' getting it, princess. This world would be in shreds if anything happened to you."

Heat, rage, and violence throbbed between us.

There would be carnage.

Warwick didn't kiss. He devoured. Conquered.

Owned.

And I knew I would never have enough.

"I'm a legend. A warrior. Death can't fuckin' touch me... but I couldn't fight you."

"Maybe I'm death," I snapped back.

"No." His hand clamped down on the back of my head, bringing our faces an inch apart. His chest brushed my nipples, hardening them. "You feel like fucking life. Like air in my lungs."

Life and death.

It branded us.

Owned us.

Created us.

This man would consume me.

Devour and destroy me.

He'd burn me to the ground, but I would rise up from the ashes and demand more.

'Wrath

Lust

Hatred

Passion. Every emotion consumed me, my spine arching into his touch, my brain shutting down to logic. it only desired. Craved.'