Dreams of a dark warrior pdf


 

1 New York Times bestselling author KRESLEY COLE PLEASURE OF A DARK PRINCE “Consistent excellence is a Cole standard!”. #1 New York Times bestselling author KRESLEY COLE PLEASURE OF A DARK PRINCE “Consistent excellence is a Cole standard!”. Dreams of a Dark Warrior by Kresley Cole - HE VOWED HE'D COME FOR HER. .. Murdered before he could wed Regin the Radiant, warlord Aidan the Fierce.

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Dreams Of A Dark Warrior Pdf

A new romantic anthology featuring a trio of steamy stories from "New York Times " bestselling authors Sherrilyn Kenyon and Gena Showalter and "USA Today". Download the ebook Dreams of a Dark Warrior by Kresley Cole for FREE. ISBN- , EPUB, PDF, MOBI formats available | FREE. Immortals after dark series. Book 11 to Kresley cole. IAD11 - Dreams of a Dark medical-site.info KB. IAD12 - medical-site.info KB. IAD13 - Shadow's.

Murdered before he could wed Regin the Radiant, warlord Aidan the Fierce seeks his beloved through eternity, reborn again and again into new identities, yet with no memory of his past lives. When Regin encounters Declan Chase, a brutal Celtic soldier, she recognizes her proud warlord reincarnated. But Declan takes her captive, intending retribution against all immortals—unaware that he belongs to their world. Yet every reincarnation comes with a price, for Aidan is doomed to die when he remembers his past. Her books have been translated into over twenty foreign languages, garnered three RITA awards, and consistently appear on the bestseller lists in the US and abroad. Before becoming a writer, Cole was a world-ranked athlete, coach, and graduate student.

It does start out a bit confusing if you haven't read or remember the previous book Demon from the Dark which has the same basic timeline as this book. These books must be read in order preferably close together or you will have no idea what's going on!

Anyway, it didn't take long for me to lose myself into KC's wonderful world of the Lore. When I first started reading this series, I'll admit that the Valkyrie annoyed me a bit I love their snarky humor Mike Rowe, again? Her comments, her scenes When is she going to get her own book? And who could possibly be strong enough to compete with her?

KC gives plenty of backstory--of course we know good-time prankster girl Regin from previous books, and for the scarred-inside-and-out hero Declan Chase, view spoiler [from his days on the streets of Belfast as a heroin junkie, to his agonizing torture at the hands of the Neoptera, to his solitary life commanding his own army of mortals intent on ridding the world of all creatures inhuman, hide spoiler ] KC leaves out no details, so we know exactly where Chase is coming from, we understand his reasoning, and we sympathize with him, even though he's bound and determined to destroy our heroine and her immortal friends and some enemies.

And speaking of friends--I loved the scenes that included her "cellmates": the Fey Natalya and the 'halfling' high-school kid Thad, and her Berserker protector, Brandr. And the 'is-he-evil-or-isn't-he' vampire Lothaire? Lightning struck then and her breath caught—he had a face made even more beautiful in the blaze of lightning. What are your thoughts now? Nothing frightens me. You sought to take away my freedom. When beset by these needs, I came to you to have them eased.

Reginleit, you make my chest bow with pride. Ah, little wife, if you did not grow up, you certainly grew out. When he shuddered with delight, she felt a thrill down to her toes. She gasped. Make love to me, warlord. But I cannot. I need more time. I want eternity.

So I must be of your kind. And even were it not forbidden, I still would not wed you without ohalla. I know of no warrior older than sixty winters. Two decades should be but a taste of life with you. I came here because I wanted you to be my first lover. But not yet. You wait for me, Reginleit. I will seize ohalla for you, for us. My Valkyrie nature hungers for war as much as yours does. And I hold no love for vampires. You still wield your long sword? I could teach you how.

But only after I deem you ready. He must have taken her silence as acceptance, because he leaned down to kiss her neck, his mouth so hot in the rain. Am I to have no say? All I need is time.

An immortal like her could never fully love a mortal. Her instincts would rebel against tender feelings like that. After all, she could never give her heart to a man who would take it to the grave with him, leaving her broken and yearning for eternity. And her out-of-control desires were making it difficult to deny him. You have three months to win me. Regin paced their longhouse as a blizzard raged outside. Aidan was a week overdue from a campaign.

There was rumor of a capture. Did he even live? The bear of a warrior she could never allow herself to love, but the one she wanted above all others. Even though she was a full immortal now—her appetite for food had disappeared, her need for war burgeoning—she lingered with him here at his camp. I am better for being here, for being with him. She was a better lover. Seven months ago, she had tried repeatedly to seduce him, coaxing him to take her completely.

He left her sexually sated and sprawled on the furs, exhausted but glowing with bliss. Already pining for him to return. He treated her like a goddess, spoiling her with gifts and surprises. And they laughed constantly.

She savored the sound of his laughter coming from his big barrel chest—as well as his gruff words of affection: I told you true. He behaved like an immortal already—even more arrogant and lordly—thrilling her.

Regin desired him above all males and knew she always would, which meant two decades was far too short— He stumbled through the door.

She gave a cry, leaping to her feet. His tattooed chest heaved as he stalked toward her, his expression warning her to take a step back. Then another.

The vampires? Not immortals, not men, not a god. Nothing can keep me from you. You must calm yourself. The idea sent me into a frenzy! The beast that roared inside him to claim its mate. Are you maddened? You are mine to claim. Ohalla is mine to take! I demand it all—mine by right. Think about what you are saying!

She feinted left, then ducked to the right, sprinting past him— He caught her dress, snatching her back. You know this—you feel it too! With a roar, he rent the material clean from her body, his smoldering gaze raking over her breasts and lower to her sex. He was going into that mindless state, his muscles bulging even more.

Is that no longer true? His mighty shaft swelled with lust, moisture beading the proud crown. Raw male. Against her will, the flesh between her legs dampened, her breasts growing heavy. Because once it rose, she grew desperate to answer its call. Now she fought the growing need. Do not do this! He caught her wrists, easily pinning them over her head. As he sucked, his finger slid into her core. A second finger delved as he moved his hot mouth to her other breast, suckling with greedy lips, his tongue swirling.

Her nipples were damp and throbbing, her sex quivering to his touch. She whimpered, undulating for them. With her arms still captured over her head, he covered her body with his own.

She felt his thick manhood pulsing, seeking … And gods help her, she tilted her hips so it could surge home. She could hardly stem her tears.

But now sand in the hourglass had begun to flow. Only so much remained. So beautiful she wanted to weep. Nothing can keep me from you! Nothing could touch me. With you as my woman, I feel immortal already. The strength of his will.

The might of his sword … He was so confident that even she began to believe it. He rejoined her, covering her once more. I do not ask this of you. I demand it. As she arched up to him, she knew she would wait forever. Something about this male had always drawn her, captivated her. Love or not—this was her man and always would be. And afterward, as she began drifting to sleep with their bodies still joined, he cradled her face with his callused palms, brushing kisses over her forehead, her cheeks.

In a panic, she pushed up against him. Blood poured as she disentangled them. A sword tip jutted from his chest. The vampire wrenched the sword free, raising it to finish Regin as well. For your wars … now you and your woman die! Just as the vampire readied to strike once more, Brandr burst inside, cleaving through its neck with his ax.

The vampire collapsed. Brandr cast one look at Aidan and fell to his knees. R-rest easy. Even as she numbly curled up beside him, in her mind she was still shrieking, still hungering to slaughter the thing that had done this. This cannot be happening. Your heart is … still your own. Take more time—you fight for us!

You heal so quickly, you can recover from this! Brandr roared with grief. Yearning for Regin endlessly, he was reborn again and again for the next thousand years, re-embodied in different guises and lives, with no memory of his past. Yet each borrowed lifetime ended more tragically than the last.

A pair of lovers—bound and cursed by fate. Whatever may be the case, to this day, Reginleit awaits. To this day, Aidan returns. My target will be within. Regin the Radiant. Though his head was splitting from lack of sleep and his usual tension plagued him, he felt a measure of excitement about his mission. Perhaps because no other magister had ever captured a Valkyrie?

When he spied lightning in the distance, he pulled off into the thick brush, deep enough to conceal his truck. After turning off the ignition, he readied for the night with a swift efficiency born of years of combat. He strapped his sword to his side, then checked the pistols in his dual holster and the extra cartridges in his dark flak jacket. More cartridges filled the pockets of his camo pants.

After carefully stowing the bug in another pocket, he tested his radio earpiece. With the jacket, his customary gloves and high-necked shirt, he began to sweat. Drops of perspiration trickled down his chest, over the countless scars covering his torso.

His never-ending reminders of a time spent in hell. Then he could return to his island, to his sanctum. To my medicine … With that thought in mind, he stepped out into the humid air, then began jogging along the dirt driveway. He turned a corner and slowed, taken aback by the sight before him.

Lightning struck all around the building; the grounds bristled with metal lightning rods. Spectral wraiths flew around the manor, defend-ing it against intruders. An incongruous row of luxury cars lined the drive. Intermittent Valkyrie shrieks pierced the night. So this was where Regin the Radiant lived.

Though the Order possessed much information about other species of immortals—such as the vampires and demons—they had acquired only basic facts about her kind.

Though they varied in looks and abilities, they all possessed superhuman strength, speed, and regenerative powers. Declan knew of only one way to destroy her kind: The Order had garnered a few specific details about Regin. Thought to be over one millennium in age. Five foot three, slight build with small claws and fangs. Pointed ears. Waist-length blond hair and amber eyes. But her most notable feature was her skin.

The file had contained no clear photos of her. The exposure would show only a bright light where she was supposed to be. Glowing skin. Another freak of nature. Yet she went out freely among civilians. She customarily wore two short swords crisscrossed over her back—even in public—and was rumored to be an exceptional swordswoman.

He had backup troops awaiting in the city, ready to mobilize in an instant. But there were other Valkyrie inside, and though their species was uniformly female, they were among the strongest and most vicious in the Lore. Regin might be slight, but she could likely lift a car by herself. A powerful, older vampire had put up a fight as few others ever had.

Plus, Declan had no idea how to battle those wraiths guarding the house. He approached the row of cars, pulling the bug from his jacket. Determining which one was hers proved simple enough. The RegRad license plate on a red Aston Martin was a dead giveaway. The field notes in his dossier had described her as ostentatious, prone to flaunting her uniqueness in public. After testing the sound with his earpiece, he gingerly shut the door and turned to leave— Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a light, turned to it.

She does truly glow. She wore a pair of indecently low-cut hip-hugger jeans and a cropped red T-shirt that revealed her midriff. Indeed, two swords in black leather sheaths crisscrossed her back. Her blond hair cascaded all the way to her waist, except where it was braided into haphazard plaits that jutted out all over the top and sides of her head. Declan suspected she would be as attractive from the front; Lorean females often were.

He detested all immortals but especially the females. They used their seductive looks as a weapon, a tool to rob mortal men of their senses. They will separate you from your purpose, lure you to your doom. How many times had his superior told him that? A row of bushes between him and the house rustled.

Another enemy lying in wait? The Valkyrie had plenty of adversaries. And they had no idea danger lurked so close— The front doors burst open; a woman stormed outside. He released a sharp breath. Those wild braids held her hair back from her face, revealing all her delicate features.

Her cheekbones were high and defined, her nose pert. Blond brows drew together over her vivid amber eyes, and her full lips were parted. She radiated a pure golden light. A feeling of recognition swept over him. But he feared she might be the most beautiful.

At least to me. When the red-robed beings parted, she strode down the steps, her thick-heeled boots clicking. Out on the lawn, she stopped and cocked her head, drawing those swords with a lethal grace. One of her pointed ears was visible and clearly twitching as she scanned the night. She would see Declan … would sense him. He was about to slip back when the bushes nearby rustled once more. When she bounded from the shrubs, her swords were already sheathed and twigs protruded from those haphazard braids.

She reached up, felt them, then left them there with a shrug. When a trio of other women staggered out onto the front porch, Regin held up the head and made an exaggerated curtsy.

They cheered drunkenly. Witches, no doubt. One laughed, tripped over her own feet into a pratfall, then laughed again. Regin turned back to face his direction. The witches cheered again. That task completed, she plucked a sat-phone from a holster on her belt.

She texted something, her fingers so fast they were a blur, then strolled over to her car and hopped inside. The engine purred when she started it. She pulled up in front of the house, honking the horn and rolling down the windows. But when Regin turned from them, her easy grin faltered, her demeanor preoccupied. Another Valkyrie sauntered from that madhouse, a blackhaired one with vacant eyes, cradling what looked like a paralyzed bat in one arm like a babe. Though she looked to be in her mid-twenties, she was one of the oldest—and most crazed—immortals on record.

Flaunting themselves. The arrogance. Christ, how he hated them. She too proffered a braid to the wraiths—a toll of some sort? As they passed, he drew back into the brush, his heart thundering. But the dark-haired one turned, looking directly at him with eerie golden eyes. Regin the Radiant sensed some enemy was hot on her ass as she sped down dark country roads.

Regin had to reach Lucia before it was too late. She adjusted the rearview mirror. Should I remember? Meeting up with Lucia. Every five hundred years, he tried to escape his prison. For the last two times, Lucia—with Regin as her trusty wingman—had forcibly denied his parole. Her visions of the future had been hitting her rapid-fire lately, and they were taking a toll.

Even more cray-cray than usual. Getting high on intoxispells and picking fights. You are acting out, and it simply must stop unless you invite me to join in. But what else was Regin supposed to do?

A year ago, she and Lucia had undertaken a badass mission to discover a way to defeat the unkillable Cruach forever. Instead of merely imprisoning him. In other words, good times. Leave her behind when she was nursing a hangover. I cleaned your room. I took your Bentley to the shop after you went off-roading again.

And I put in hours at the Lore foundling house with those little punks. With his heart-stopping smile and big, possessive hands. She was his doom, might as well deal the deathblow herself. Aidan had been sword-struck in his first life, poisoned in his second, crushed during a shipwreck in his third. All directly after she and his reincarnation had made love for the first time.

Dreams of a Dark Warrior (Immortals After Dark #11)

Damn, could she sound more desperate? Why not me? What would you sacrifice? It is when you have nothing to show for it. For instance, your some-some meter is reading empty. What about that nice leopard-shifter pack that wanted to date you?

Dreams of a Dark Warrior by Kresley Cole

The benefits of a variety pack of males cannot be overstated. But like some stupid, sappy tool, she stayed faithful to Aidan and his reincarnates. The happy-go-lucky one. Are you happy? You seem tired all the time.

Which directly affects hundreds of thousands, which indirectly affects millions, with a ripple effect reaching billions. If the bat made her happy and calmed her, then … Welcome to the family, Bertil. But the vampire was pure evil.

Dreams of a Dark Warrior (Immortals After Dark #11) by Kresley Cole

See some sights. Which she needed to fight Cruach. Hence the fleeing from MacRieve and all. I need you to go take out some adversaries. Make it an example killing. Must be Tuesday. Everything must go.

I promise. Oh, me? Then, fine. What the hell had the soothsayer meant? So for now he bided his time, pursuing the pair of Valkyrie. It was as if an electrical field had interrupted the relay.

All he knew for certain was that Regin had been dispatched to kill. Not who, not where, only why. An example killing. Historically her enemies were the vampires and certain species of demons. She might lead him to an entire nest of their kinds. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar car treated like junk. He parked a couple of blocks away, then hurried into the crowd, searching for the two. Though he was several minutes behind, he swiftly reencountered Regin sauntering down Bourbon Street alone.

Easy enough to track her. She left a trail of slack-jawed men in her wake. And they reacted not only to her glowing skin. The Valkyrie walked with an otherworldly sensuality, her hips swishing in those low-cut jeans, her plump arse attracting male gazes like moths to a flame. Some men adjusted obvious erections or rubbed cheeks recently slapped by outraged girlfriends. To be aroused by a revolting detrus? When nothing else could tempt his deadened, scarred body?

While others in the Order called the immortals miscreats, short for miscreations, Declan often used the term detrus, the coarsest word they had for them. More witches tried to coax her to go out with them.

Two pointed-eared females—likely more Valkyrie —twirled swords, looking like they were primed for a battle and inviting Regin to come along. She turned them all down with a grin, which promptly faded as she moved on.

Even more beings avoided her. Declan noticed several large males striding in the opposite direction when she came into sight; all wore hats of some type. No doubt behorned demons. The field notes in her dossier reported that she was notoriously hard on demons. Whereas she simply ended vampires. When she paused to text something on her cell phone, he drew back behind the cover of a nearby building.

Then she gazed up with a peculiar look of sadness. She stowed her phone back on her belt, then crossed to a back alley behind a five-story hotel.

Without warning, she leapt to a balcony on the fourth floor, easily jogging along the rail before scaling to the roof.

There he saw her hunch down at the edge, her ears twitching once more as she searched for her prey. A perfect killer.

Recently, several had made strikes against well-known human leaders around the world. Any tenuous truce has fallen by the wayside. As ever, Webb was right— Declan lost sight of her.

Where the hell was she? He tore up and down streets, head craning. In the distance, he heard what sounded like an explosion. Seconds later, he got a call on his earpiece from the leader of his backup unit. When Declan answered, he heard a war zone on the other end. Was that groaning metal? The example killing.

He raced toward the sounds, turning a corner. He spotted her maybe half a mile away along a riverside quay downtown. Never had he seen anything like the scene there. One of their three black vans was on the bank of the river, upended on its grill. A second lay on its side in the street, with claw marks carved down its length. Bodies of slain soldiers sprawled all around it. Declan sprinted, unable to reach her before she struck out, swirling with those swords like a tornado, slicing down men with unfathomable speed.

A dozen more soldiers had opened fire on her with their laserlike charge throwers. Hair whipping all around her face, she took the electricity, seeming to consume it. Lips curling, she stabbed her swords back into their sheaths and opened her arms wide. Her lids briefly slid shut in pleasure. As he ran, he inexplicably shuddered in reaction. Thoughts arose that never should, impulses long denied. Hit me with another.

She sucked it in. The streetlights surrounding her began to flare from her radiant energy. She hit one soldier, exploding him into the air, killing him instantly.

Rage erupted within Declan. The strength and speed he fought so hard to hide rose to the fore. Blood pumped to his muscles, his thoughts dimming. Like a blur, he closed in on her, unsheathing his sword as he ran. Declan stole behind her, wrapping one arm around her neck to yank her back into him.

He inhaled her scent, felt her body, hesitated. Stab her, incapacitate her. When she thrashed against his chest with inconceivable strength, his training took over and he planted his sword into her side, twisting the blade within her. Lightning struck nearby. She gasped at the pain. A debilitating wound, even for an immortal. Blood bubbled from her lips and poured from the gash.

Her little body trembled against him, her skin cooling as her light dimmed. Dizziness hit him as that familiar tension multiplied, knotting every one of his muscles, nearly crippling him. He swayed, quickly withdrawing his blade. Sign up and get a free eBook!

Book 11 of Immortals After Dark. Price may vary by retailer. About The Book. About The Author. Photo Credit: Kresley Cole. Product Details. Pocket Books February Length: Resources and Downloads. Dreams of a Dark Warrior eBook

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