The Compact of Sorcerers, a brotherhood sworn to guard the wall between the human world and the demon realm, have relied only on one another for centuries. But now there’s a traitor in their midst…
Struggling medical student Clea Masters knows she’s unique. Ever since her parents’ death, she’s been kept safe by an inexplicable force inside her that knocks back any threat. But when a demon attacks her, Clea is launched into a dangerous world she never knew existed. Her only ally is a lethal, seductive man who arouses a hunger stronger than anything she has ever imagined…
Compact of Sorcerers member Ciarran D’Arbois will not let harm befall Clea. In her, he sees a strength he admires and a body he longs to caress. Yet demons are determined to break down the portal Ciarran has sworn to protect, using Clea as their key. Now as a rogue sorcerer leads the enemy ever closer, Ciarran and Clea have only one hope. Both must surrender to their darkest passions–and unleash their most dangerous, untested deisres.
DEMON’S KISS–Which is more deadly, his passion or his power?
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Moving so fast it made her gasp, Ciarran rose and came to stand in front of her, his muscled body towering over her as he closed his hand around Clea’s upper arm and drew her to her feet. A jolt of excitement and electricity sizzled through her, leaving her breath coming in short, sharp huffs through her parted lips.
“Christe,” he said, his eyes dark and hot. Heavy-lidded.
He dragged her up against his solid body, heat and power swirling around them like a storm. A thrill shot along her veins, reckless exhilaration that burned away common sense and reason. All she wanted was his kiss, the taste of him, rich and warm on her tongue.
Catching her chin between his gloved fingers, he tipped her face and brought his mouth to hers, a light brush of his lips, and then his tongue touched her, making her wet. Clea arched into him, a whimper of pure feminine pleasure pouring from her as he pushed inside and kissed her deeply, lips and tongue and teeth, a little rough, a little urgent, and so hot she felt singed. He was inside her, the luscious velvety stroke of his tongue, sliding into her, tasting her.
Oh, God, his mouth. The way he moved it on hers, the heat of it, the carnal pleasure.
She sucked him deeper, her fingers twining in the long silky strands of his hair, and she was half crazy with wanting him, a burning hunger gliding through her, pooling between her thighs into an ache so strong it bordered on pain.
Dimly, she was aware of his light, his power, and hers, that thing inside her, coiling up, weaving from her into him, and him into her, joining them, a sharing as sensual as their kiss. And then she felt something else, a slow hiss of menace, something dark, something dangerous, slithering through him, a whisper of movement like a shark in still waters. Breaking the connection, she jerked back, eyes wide, and clamped her fingers around the chair back, certain she would collapse but for its solid support.
Chest heaving, she stared at him in confusion.
“What—” She couldn’t ask, didn’t know what to ask.
He looked down at her, eyes hard and bright, his breath coming harsh and fast. Swallowing, he backed up a step, his gaze shifting to his leather-gloved hand as he turned it slowly palm up, then palm down.
Power arced between them, and then he pulled it back, leashing his magic. She knew it, sensed it, felt him slamming a door against her.
“Perhaps you asked the wrong question, Clea,” he said, his voice rough. “You asked what I am.” His gorgeous face grew deadly earnest, and his eyes, his beautiful, long lashed, iridescent eyes watched her with a wary respect. “The better question might be, what exactly are you?”
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