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La maison assassinée
date : 14-08 par JLB21 voir tout les commentaires de JLB21ses comms
Le cadenas qui retenait le loquet à la porte du paddock avait été cisaillé à l’aide d’une tenaille. Le battant avait été repoussé et même bloqué avec le crochet qui permettait de le maintenir grand ouvert, comme pour inviter les chiens à sortir et à se jeter sur la première proie rencontrée.
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La maison assassinée
date : 14-08 par JLB21 voir tout les commentaires de JLB21ses comms
C’était la Tricanote, en rentrant ses chèvres, comme d’habitude, qui avait annoncé l’arrestation de Patrice à Clorinde Dormeur. Au village de Lurs, on avait toujours un peu de retard sur les événements, surtout à l’automne où il y a tant à faire.
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La maison assassinée
date : 14-08 par JLB21 voir tout les commentaires de JLB21ses comms
Séraphin veilla toute la nuit avec Patrice le corps de son ennemi abattu. Dans le salon dont on avait repoussé les meubles anonymes sous leur housse, on avait dressé un lit de fortune où l’on avait allongé Gaspard, les pieds roides dans ses bottes de gentleman farmer. Il avait été impossible de les lui arracher. L’eau glaciale l’avait raidi avant l’heure.
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Un cadeau empoisonné
« Nathan souleva une branche pour permettre à Sara de passer et celle-ci lui chuchota à l’oreille :
- Faut-il s’inquiéter des serpents ?
- Non.
- Comment le savez-vous ?
- Je m’en occupe.
- Que ferez-vous si vous êtes mordu par un reptile ?
- Je le mordrai à mon tour.
Elle éclata d’un rire juvénile et s’arrêta tout à coup, émerveillée. »
- Oh, Nathan, comme c’est beau !
La cascade rebondissait de rocher en rocher et tombait en gerbe un peu plus bas dans un bassin.
Nathan prit la main de sa femme et la conduisit dans une grotte cachée derrière la cascade. Un véritable mur d’eau les coupait du reste du monde.

- Retirez vos vêtements, Sara. »
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La maison assassinée
date : 14-08 par JLB21 voir tout les commentaires de JLB21ses comms
Quand le dimanche suivant, sa bicyclette à la main, Séraphin Monge s’engagea dans l’allée de sycomores qui conduit à Pontradieu, c’était un jour où les arbres eux-mêmes annonçaient le malheur. Leurs frondaisons, échevelées par le mistral, se hurlaient des paroles de panique.
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La maison assassinée
date : 14-08 par JLB21 voir tout les commentaires de JLB21ses comms
L’année 1919 fut lugubre sur nos terres.
Dans les champs à travailler, on ne rencontrait que veuves en grand deuil pauvre qui se confondaient sur les lointains avec les arbres calcinés ; enfants de noir vêtus ; aïeuls tristes, le nœud de crêpe à la casquette, qui labouraient, bien que ce ne fût plus de leur âge, poussant exténués la charrue devant eux, n’osant plus engueuler les chevaux qu’à voix basse.
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Gipsy, tome 3 : Le jour du tsar
- On ne fait pas les révolutions parce qu'elles sont belles, le gitan!
On les fait parce qu'elles sont justes!
- Hum... Moi, j'me contente d'empêcher mon cul de s'asseoir sur les boîtes de clous, et c'est déjà assez compliqué comme ça!
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Gipsy, tome 3 : Le jour du tsar
- Oblivia!
- Tu n'as pas oublié la petite tsigane? Malgré cette lourde couronne?
- Non... je ne t'ai pas oubliée, Oblivia... Ils ont mis de l'or sur mon front... Tes lèvres en ont mis dans mon coeur!
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KGI, Tome 11 : Soleil de plomb
Rusty se tut un instant et son visage prit une expression empreinte de gravité.
- Cela ne va pas être facile, Joe, dit-elle en le regardant dans les yeux. J'espère que tu en es bien conscient et que tu es prêt à faire ce qu'il faut. Quand tu passes ta vie coincée sous un tas de merde, ce n'est pas parce que quelqu'un t'en sort qu'il peut te convaincre que tu sens la rose.
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Médecins du ciel, médecins de la terre
L'intolérance mène à l'envie et à la rancoeur à la jalousie, à l'orgueil et peut provoquer des cataclysmes dont l'humanité tout entière paie le prix et qui ne sont pas à son honneur!
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Médecins du ciel, médecins de la terre
maison d'accueil et de bonheur pour tous ces jeunes sans foyer... Pendant des années, nous avons dormi dans le garage ouvert. Une chambre était aménagée au sous-sol, avec des lits. Il nous arrivait de trouver quelques barbus et chevelus dans la maison le matin. Un café et hop, dehors !
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Mr Popular and I
date : 14-08 par Eleana2731 voir tout les commentaires de Eleana2731ses comms
Alors que je remue sur mon siège, je fais accidentellement tombé mon stylo, qui atterrit par terre avec un bruyant 'ping'.
Quelques visages se tournent vers moi pour voir ce qu'il s'était passé, comme si j'avais fait tombé une bombe nucléaire.

Oh c'est bon les gens, c'est un stylo, arrêtez de me regarder comme si j'étais une criminelle, c'est pas de ma faute si je suis maladroite.
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Switched
Switched écrit par Elise Sax
date : 14-08 par feedesneige voir tout les commentaires de feedesneigeses comms
CHAPTER 1

I cleared my throat and readied myself for my wedding toast. I’m not what you’d call an experienced public speaker. As a CPA, I’m perfectly happy to sit alone in my gray cubby and crunch numbers all day. Not exactly Hillary Clinton, right?
But my life was perfect, and I wanted to tell the world, or at least my four hundred wedding guests. Don’t get the wrong impression. I wasn’t a bridezilla. My mother-in-law-to-be was the bridezilla for me. She was the one who insisted on the gorgeous white mermaid gown with crystal-appliquéd bodice, the Waldorf Astoria Chicago ballroom wedding venue, a twenty-piece orchestra, enough flowers to reforest the Amazon, and an intimate gathering of four-hundred guests. Nothing was too good for her son.
She was right. Nothing was too good for Jackson Remington. He was perfect, and he deserved perfect. He was brilliant, kind, gorgeous, and his family was old money. Old as Chicago itself. For some reason he picked me, which made my life perfect.
That’s why even though it’s unusual for a bride to give a wedding speech, I was determined to do it and share my perfect happiness. I had prepared my twelve note cards months in advance, even before picking out the flowers with Jackson’s mother and the wedding planner.
“My life is perfect,” I started, clutching on to my note cards with one hand and smoothing out the silky skirt of my gown with my other hand. “Three years ago I met the love of my life, Jackson Remington. He had just become partner at Huntsman, Jones, and Shapiro, and he went to a local tavern to celebrate.”
I choked up and wiped away a tear at the memory. It had been the evening that had begun my perfect life. My best friend Stacy and I had ducked into the Hog’s Arms Pub to get out of an April sleet storm, which was pretty typical weather for Chicago. Inside was pretty typical for Chicago, too. A bunch of Teamsters truck drivers were tipping back a cold one after work.
We tried to lay low in a corner behind a pile of chili cheese fries, but we quickly drew attention anyway. We were the only women in the bar, and we were soon surrounded by drunken truckers who wanted a lot more than we were willing to give.
“Now, there’s a fine piece of ass,” one of them said to me. He smelled like onions and body odor, and he took a seat at our table, leaning into my face as if he was planning on giving me a dental exam.
I’m not really a fine piece of ass. Stacy is. She’s a catalog model, and she ordered the chili cheese fries just to smell them. She’s rail thin and so drop-dead gorgeous that she’s driven men mad with wanting her. She’s so used to men chasing her that she’s constructed this invisible attitude bubble around her of I-don’t-care-about-men that seems to hold them off.
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Her Fate Series, Tome 1: Adelaide's Fate
Chapter One
”Adie, why do we have to move? The old house was fine," my little sister says as she groans from her seat next to me in my small car. The car that somehow seems smaller every time she asks me the same question. Shitadoodle, what do I tell her? I look over at Sophie, who is sat with one ear plug in and doesn't take her eyes off her tablet as she waits for an answer I don't want to give her. I can't worry my fifteen-year-old sister with the facts about our money situation, and the fact we have absolutely none. The truth of the matter is that our parents liked to travel around all the time, and that wasn't good for keeping a long-term job. All the traveling meant that when they died two months ago, in a car crash, I had to sell our house to pay off our debts and then move my sister into the house left in the will. I look out at the snow and ice on the road, deciding I’m not going to like this small town. Well it’s not that bad, as Scotland isn’t too far away and remote. The new house is only seven hours’ drive away from York, where I was at university. Deep breath, and answer her, Adelaide.
"Adie," Sophie sighs louder than before, and I put my foot on the gas a little more and pray my piece of crap car will actually get us to the house. God knows I don’t have the money to pay for a pickup truck or any idea who to call. The old Peugeot is traveling way too far than I would have ever trusted it to, but I really can't afford to pay for a new car.
"We are nearly there,” I finally say. That was a lame answer, and I know it.
“Great,” she huffs, and I just catch her rolling her eyes at me from under her brown hair before she goes back to whatever game she is playing on her tablet.
“I know this is a big change, but it will be good for us," I tell her as she finally looks at me for a second before huffing in response, again, and going back on her tablet. Sophie used to be a chatty twelve-year-old who loved sports. Or at least that’s what I remember her being like when I left for university, but now she is a shell of herself since our parents’ death. My heart drops as I remember that they are really gone, and I have a teenager to look after, with no job and hardly any money. I haven’t had time to grieve because I can’t melt down in front of Sophie. It's going to be difficult enough to find work that works around Sophie in a small town. A university dropout isn't a good person to hire. I had no choice but to leave when the accident happened; I couldn't move Sophie into my shared dorm at university with what the world is like now. They would kill her and me for one slip-up. The small village finally comes into view after over an hour of driving down an empty country lane. The village is near enough to a big town, so I can drive there to work in the day, and it apparently has a very good school that I've gotten Sophie into. She doesn’t start for a few weeks though, and considering we can hardly talk to each other, the idea of being stuck in an old house for weeks is not appealing.
It takes me a few wrong turns down empty roads until I find a row of four houses. Our house is the last of the attached houses, and it has its own driveway that I pull up in. Sophie finally looks up from her iPad and frowns at the sight of the overgrown lawn and old paint falling off the outside of the old house. Home, sweet, home. The house looks close to falling apart, and it takes everything in me not to slam my head against the steering wheel at the sight. The estate agent said it was in good order, this isn’t what I thought it would be like. I wrench my door open, muttering "fuck" to myself as I slam it shut behind me and go up the two steps to the door. Thankfully the locks look new, kind of, and the door opens easily before I walk in.
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The Fractured Faery, Tome 3: Skulk of Foxes
Chapter One

It was the beeping that told me I wasn’t dead. Unless hell had a special section set aside where you were driven mad by the incessant sound of human technology. It was unlikely.
I groaned and tried to turn onto my side to get away from the sound, which was starting to feel like it was reverberating around my skull. As soon as I shifted, however, there was a clink of metal upon metal and I realised I couldn’t move. I opened my eyes and glanced down. Gasbudlikins. I was in a hospital bed – and, not only that, I was cuffed to it so I couldn’t escape. If it weren’t for the pervasive smell of antiseptic, it would have been kinky.
‘Welcome back to the land of the living.’
I glanced to my left, spotting the white-coated doctor who wasn’t quite able to meet my eyes. ‘What…’ I croaked. ‘What happened?’
‘You pulled out a gun in the city centre and tried to use it,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a wise action on your part. If anything, I’d say it was quite mad.’
Well, I thought, wishing I didn’t hurt quite so much, I was the Madhatter.
‘You’re healing remarkably quickly. The police shot you. The bullet missed your heart by centimetres. All the same, the shock alone would have killed a normal person. You are some sort of medical miracle. You should be glad.’
I was beyond thrilled. I looked around. ‘Where are my clothes?’ And, more to the point, where was the sphere? The magical one created by a dragon that had the potential to destroy this world? It had been in my possession just before the armed police made their move. If they hadn’t impounded everything I owned for forensics and further investigation then all this had been for nought. ‘My belongings?’
‘We had to cut you out of your clothes. But we’ll rustle up something else for you to wear before you leave. As for your belongings, the police have them. I doubt you’ll get them back any time soon.’
I breathed out. Praise be. It had worked.
I’d been out of options. Confronted by Rubus and his minions, suicide by cop had seemed to be the only way to keep the destructive magic out of his hands. Maybe it wasn’t my finest hour but it had served its purpose and the sphere was safe – for now. All I had to do was get the police to arrest me properly and throw me in jail, and the sphere would be locked away as evidence for good along with me. Then I froze.
‘Wait a minute!’ I half screeched, as the doctor’s words finally filtered through my fogged brain. ‘You cut me out of my clothes? Even my sexy-arse leather trousers?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And my gorgeous leather corset?’
‘Yes.’
I hissed in annoyance. Screw the damn dragon-created, apocalypse-inducing, magical sphere. I’d looked bloody good in that outfit.
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The Fractured Faery, Tome 2: Quiver of Cobras
Chapter One

Ten days later. Post amnesia.

I peered down. We had to be at least ten storeys up. I had no idea what Rubus was planning but I suspected that I wasn’t going to like it one little bit.
‘This entire city is mine, Madrona,’ Rubus said, sweeping out an arm. ‘Those humans down there might not know it but I am their lord and master. I give them protection.’
I scratched my head. ‘But you’re looking for this dragon-sphere magic-sucker thingumabob that belonged to some dude. Chen? Chin? Whatever. If you find it and use it, won’t all these people be killed?’
His handsome face darkened with fury. ‘There’s no if. I will find it. That fucking bogle, Charrie, took it and he has to be somewhere. He can’t just have vanished into thin air. Besides, over-population is a serious problem. The humans could do with a bit of culling. Magic never did any of us any harm. I suspect it will be the making of the entire race.’ He leaned towards me. ‘One day they’ll thank me for it.’
‘Only if any of them are still alive after you’ve flooded their world with magic that doesn’t belong there,’ I said.
He glowered at me, his green eyes spitting venom. ‘I’m rather tired of this attitude. It was very tiring moulding you into the Madrona I needed last time. I’m not sure I have the energy to do it all over again.’
I shrugged. ‘Then let me go.’
‘I can’t do that. I won’t let Morganus have you.’
Like I was a thing to be passed around between the pair of them. I sighed and rolled my eyes. ‘Then kill me.’ I waved a dismissive hand in the air. ‘Push me off this building and be done with it.’
‘I thought this had been explained to you,’ he snapped. ‘The truce prevents me from hurting you in any way. It cannot be broken.’ He scowled. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried to break it.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ I asked, genuinely curious. ‘What did you do?’
‘Do you really, truly, want to know?’
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The Fractured Faery, Tome 1: Box of Frogs
Chapter One

The man lying next to me was definitely dead. It wasn’t the glassy white caul on his eyes or even his unnatural stillness that gave it away. It was the fact that his head was entirely detached from his body, as if someone had unscrewed it like a burnt-out light bulb and dropped it casually on the ground.
I had the feeling I should probably be screaming. Instead I blinked and rolled away, dew from the perfectly manicured grass beneath me soaking through my thin blouse. Then I got to my feet, the sudden nausea tearing through me suggesting that standing up was a mistake. I grimaced. Even my mouth tasted foul – like wet dog.
Rubbing my hand over my forehead, and avoiding glancing at the body again, I looked around. Where the hell was I? The chill night air offered no clues but, over to my left, there was something tall and thin standing upright. A sign, perhaps.
I staggered over. My chest hurt as if I’d cracked a rib or two. I made it all the same, my legs shaking with astonishing violence. I was forced to clutch onto the metal pole as soon as I reached it in order to remain upright. The small triangle of material attached to the top of the pole hung limply. I squinted at it before my gaze drifted downwards and I dimly registered the hole. A golf course, then. How had I ended up here?
I tried to think. The last thing I remembered was... My stomach dropped. Nothing. Nada. Zilcheroony. I strained every brain cell I had but there was just a deep, dark chasm of nothingness. Then another horrifying thought occurred to me and, with desperate fingers, I searched my pockets. No purse. No identification.
I slapped myself around the cheeks in a futile bid to wake myself up. My fingers came away wet, sticky and dark with blood. I felt the sting of pain.
Suddenly my location and how I’d arrived here, not to mention what had happened to the corpse lying less than thirty feet away, drifted into insignificance. My cracked lips formed the words, a croaked whisper breaking the silence. ‘Who am I?’
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Sapiens : Une brève histoire de l'humanité
<< La plupart des hiérarchies sociopolitiques manquent d'une base logique ou biologique : elles ne font que perpétuer des hasards entretenus par des mythes. C'est une bonne raison d'étudier l'histoire. Si la division entre Noirs et Blancs, ou Brahmines et Sûdras, s'enracinait dans les réalités biologiques - si les Brahmines avaient vraiment de meilleurs cerveaux que les Sûdras -, la biologie suffirait pour comprendre la société humaine. Comme les distinctions biologiques entres les différents groupes d'Homo Sapiens sont en fait négligeables, la biologie ne saurait expliquer ni les complications de la société indienne ni la dynamique raciale de l'Amérique. Nous ne saurions comprendre ces phénomènes qu'en étudiant les évènements, les circonstances et les rapports de force qui transformèrent les caprices de l'imagination en structures sociales cruelles - et bien réelles. >>
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Mr Popular and I
date : 14-08 par Eleana2731 voir tout les commentaires de Eleana2731ses comms
je suis finalement convaincu que la pomme est réelle.
OUF! cela aurait été bizarre que je morde ma peau avec plaisir, pas vrai ?
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Dark Breaks the Dawn
date : 14-08 par MilieP voir tout les commentaires de MiliePses comms
« Are you all right, Princess?” Lord Tanvir was there, holding out his hand to help her up. But she ignored it, climbing to her feet on her own.
“Quite all right.” She grinned, even though Dela was standing across the field, directing a jet of water from the bucket at her feet up into the tree where Evelayn’s first attempt had gone high and wide, setting a branch on fire.
Kelwyn smiled back at her, for once not lecturing her on proper behavior. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
“I had no idea,” Evelayn agreed, still slightly breathless. “Let’s do it again.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Kelwyn agreed. “But first, let’s discuss what you did wrong. »
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Dorina Basarab, Tome 4 : Shadow's Bane
Chapter One

The truck was old army issue, built back when even regular cars resembled tanks, and it could easily eat a Hummer for lunch and spit out the bolts. At least, it could have in its prime. But the years had not been kind, resulting in it landing at Stan’s Auto Emporium, a junkyard/car dealership in which it was often hard to tell the difference between the two types of merchandise.
“It’s as dependable as they come, Dory,” Stan said, patting its rusty hood. He was a tiny man, four foot something, with the something being mostly chutzpah. “This truck is rugged.”
I crossed my arms. “This truck passed ‘rugged’ a long time ago. This truck couldn’t find ‘rugged’ with a map. This truck is—what’s the phrase I’m looking for? A hunk of junk.”
“A hunk of junk you can afford, sweetheart.”
He had a point.
“How much?”
“Two hundred.”
“Two hundred? I could practically get a limo for that!”
“But you don’t need a limo.”
“I don’t need a hole in my wallet, either.”
Stan crossed his arms and silently chewed tobacco at me.
“I just need it for the night,” I told him. “I can have it back in the morning.”
“Fine. That’ll be two hundred bucks.” Something hit the concrete below the cab with an ominous rattle. Stan didn’t bat an eye. “Okay, return her in good condition and I’ll take ten off the price.”
“Good condition? You mean something other than the way it is now?” But I forked over the cash. Normally, I’d have driven a harder bargain, but I’d promised to help a friend and I was running late. And nowhere else was going to have the kind of steel-gauge construction I needed. This thing might be a hunk of junk, but it was solid.
Yet, fifteen minutes later, as my team filed in, it was also sagging and groaning, to the point that I feared for the tires—all six of them. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. I peered into the cavernous interior, and found it alarmingly full of troll.
“Here’s the thing,” I told the nearest four-hundred-pound slab of muscle. “We’re going to need room to transport the illegals, assuming we find any, not to mention the slavers. And I don’t think they’re gonna fit.”
Nothing. I might as well have been talking to the brick wall the guy closely resembled.
“I’m not saying that everybody needs to stay behind,” I offered, trying again. “Just, you know, two or three of you.”
Nada.
I waited another moment, because troll reasoning faculties can be a little slower than some and I thought maybe he was thinking it over. But no. The small, pebble-like eyes just looked at me, flat and uninterested in the yammering of the tiny human. I sighed and went to find Olga.
The leader of the posse currently straining the hell out of my truck was in her headquarters, which consisted of a combo beauty salon and what looked like the back room at Soldier of Fortune. It would have been an odd marriage in the human world, even in Brooklyn, but there weren’t many humans shopping at Olga’s. And the local community of Dark Fey seemed to like buying their ammo and getting their nails done all in one place.
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Dorina Basarab, Tome 3: Fury's Kiss
Chapter One


It wasn’t being shot that was the problem. Or the fact that someone had apparently decided to beat the crap out of me beforehand. Or afterward. Or, considering the way I felt, possibly both.
I wasn’t sure, as I couldn’t seem to remember the fight that had left me bloody and bruised, with a bullet hole in my right thigh and another in my left shoulder. I couldn’t seem to remember much of anything else, either, including who the hell I was. But that still wasn’t the problem.
No, the problem was that I’d woken up next to a vampire.
One who was maddeningly hard to kill.
“If you would but listen to me for a moment,” he said, as I slammed his pretty red head against the concrete floor for the sixth freaking time.
“Okay,” I panted, wondering what the hell his skull was made of. Granite? “Let’s chat.”
Of course, that would be difficult since I’d just changed tactics, grabbing his throat and squeezing for all I was worth.
I wasn’t trying to choke him to death. That doesn’t work with creatures who don’t breathe, and the bastard’s neck was too muscular for me to close my hands around anyway. But most vamps have instincts left over from their human days, and they don’t like being grabbed there. It distracts them, messes up their concentration, makes them panic.
At least, I really hoped it did, since otherwise I was screwed.
He didn’t have fangs in me yet, but he didn’t need them. Because Hollywood had gotten it wrong. Even plain old vamps could leech blood molecules through the skin using a simple touch. As a master, this one could probably do it without even that, just by being in my vicinity, assuming he could concentrate. Which, judging by the bulging eyes, was probably not the case.
But then he got a leg over mine and flipped us.
Okay, then, I thought grimly. It looked like the choking thing wasn’t providing enough of a distraction. Fortunately, he’d left me a hand free.
So I used it to break his nose.
“Damn it!” He actually looked surprised. “Stop fighting me!”
“Sure thing,” I grunted, struggling for a foothold. “I’ll just lie here and let you drain me.”
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Dark Breaks the Dawn
date : 14-08 par MilieP voir tout les commentaires de MiliePses comms
« Many apologies, Your Majesty.” Caedmon bent his head in supplication. “That was not my intent at all. I merely wished for you to understand my views so you will believe my purpose in coming. I wish to tell you of King Bain’s plans so that you might be prepared for the trap he intends to lay for you, and help you beat him at his own game. I wish to help you defeat my king. »
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Dorina Basarab, Tome 2 : La Maîtresse de la Mort
Chapter One

There was no sign on the abandoned church, but someone had scribbled “Let us Prey” above the main doors. As a Catholic, I didn’t approve. As someone bent on doing exactly that, it seemed oddly appropriate.
I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and went in. It looked like I’d guessed right in going with office chic when I’d gotten ready for the evening. There were a minority of Goths and some tourist types in the church-turned-nightclub, but most of the crowd seemed to be composed of those recently released from corporate hell.
I fit in well enough, in a blue silk tank top I sweated through within five minutes and a short black skirt. The tank matched the new streaks in my short brown hair; the skirt matched my eyes. I got a beer at the bar and wandered around, looking for trouble.
It didn’t take long to find it. The club was populated mostly by humans, but it was owned by a vampire. A group of the fashionable undead showed up every night for the all-you-can-eat buffet, and from the look of things, the owner was dining early.
He had a pretty brunette in a corner, his hand up her skirt and his fangs in her throat. That was frowned upon by the Vampire Senate, the ruling body for North American vampires, who preferred feedings to be kept nice and subtle. But then, this guy had already proven he wasn’t too concerned about the Senate’s point of view—about a lot of things. That was why I was here. They intended to teach a lesson, and to make it memorable.
The woman was facing out toward the crowd, and by the time I reached them, he’d managed to get her dress open all the way down. She wasn’t wearing much underneath, unless you counted the scrap of black lace he had his hand inside. He did something that caused a quick, indrawn breath and a helpless shift of her hips. One of the bystanders laughed.
There were a dozen of them, all vampires, and at least a few were masters. I’d hoped to catch him alone, or at worst with two or three others. I hadn’t planned on the show, and it complicated things.
He pulled the dress off her shoulders and it slithered to the floor, over skin already so sensitized that every tiny movement was torture. She began to breathe heavily through her nose, trembling like a fever had gripped her. He hadn’t bothered to fog her mind, because it’s no fun if they aren’t terrified. And because his boys wanted to play.
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Dark Breaks the Dawn
date : 14-08 par MilieP voir tout les commentaires de MiliePses comms
« Excellent. Let’s hope you choose more wisely this time.” King Bain didn’t even glance at the body as he exited the room. »
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Dark Breaks the Dawn
date : 14-08 par MilieP voir tout les commentaires de MiliePses comms
« King Bain’s eyes narrowed, and Lorcan noticed his brother, Lothar, flinching in preparation for the anger that was sure to come. Instead, Bain merely asked, “How old is the young princess again?”
“I believe she just turned eighteen today,” Lothar supplied, which wasn’t surprising, since he was forever reading and studying, rather than spending every spare moment training as Lorcan did.
King Bain barked out a laugh. “So she barely came into her full power today and you think she could possibly complete the ceremony to reclaim the Light Power in time? Pardon me if I don’t share your concern.” He laughed again and everyone else nervously joined him—everyone except General Maedre.
“Still,” he persisted, “it would be foolish not to take into account the possibility that she could succeed, even though it would be quite remarkable—”
“Are you calling me foolish?” King Bain roared, cutting him off. This time even Lorcan flinched. »
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