His Darkest Embrace (Jaguar Warriors 2)

First off, I know I wouldn’t be here without the support of these women: Lauren Hawkeye, who told me once that rules are meant to be broken; Nini, who was brave enough to be the first person to ever read my work; Amanda Vyne, who has a sharp eye, biting wit, and is a great roommate to boot; Sue, whose love of spreadsheets is legendary; the other Sirens: Barbara C., Barbara H., Linda (Star Girl); and the newest, Dara Snow. You guys are all so generous and amazing, I am lucky to have such a great group of writing friends.

I need to say that I am thankful to have such an amazing agent, Laura Bradford, and an editor, Esi Sogah, who not only has legs to die for, but is beautiful, funny, and great to work with. You ladies have helped me achieve my dream and for that I am grateful.

Thomas Egner, you so rock the cover world. Wendy Ho and Pam Jaffee, you guys are not only pros at your job, you’re also very talented, bright women. Tessa Woodward and all the many people I’m not even aware of who have worked on these books, I totally love you all! For reals!

I need to mention the Bradford Bunch ladies, who have always, always, been there with their knowledge and support. You guys so rock and I truthfully think I hit the jackpot the day I signed with Laura.

I want to thank Christine Feehan for writing her amazing books. My world changed the day I picked up Dark Prince.

Finally, to all my friends and family, the Mudslides in particular, I truly am blessed.

By Juliana Stone

HIS DARKEST EMBRACE

HIS DARKEST HUNGER

Six months earlier

The light had led to a darkness that was unprecedented—a flash of heat, a taste of sulphur, and then nothing but fire.

The pain was constant. It drifted over his skin like black mist, sliding across flesh and caressing every inch. It was full of an evil that both fed upon and nourished him.

It sustained a need that grew stronger every day he was in this hellhole.

And it was hell, of that there was no question.

At the edge of Julian Castille’s vision a shape lingered, drifting, out of focus, ethereal. Watching … waiting, until it was time. Then she would carefully slice into his chest, peel back a piece of skin and resume her position.

To wait once more.

For the day he’d finally break.

Jaden DaCosta knew she was in trouble about ten seconds before the door opened.

It was in the air she dragged deep into her lungs and the electricity that ran along with it, pulsing, burning, as it slid down.

She whipped her head around, eyes scanning with quick, cool precision, and dove behind the sofa just as a click echoed in the darkened penthouse.

Her heart slowed automatically and she relaxed her limbs, calling the shadows to her as she slid forward on her belly. With her fingers she felt along her waist to cradle the edge of the charmed dagger th

at was there, and her senses sharpened as the animal inside awakened.

The door swung open slowly, sweeping across cool tiles and allowing a thin beam of light to fall into the dim interior. She could see a shadow reflected along the floor as long moments passed. It was impressive and she gritted her teeth in anticipation.

And then he was there, striding into the room as if he owned the place.

Jaden gripped the dagger tightly. She inhaled the stench of otherworld, yet it was somehow different, already fading fast.

The intruder paused, his tall frame humming with an energy that, while dark, was unlike any she’d ever come across. There was a familiarity to it and it tugged at something deep inside of her.

She watched in silence as he kicked the door shut, winced at the harsh echo of it as it slammed against the frame.

The man held still for a few moments and then his head swiveled around slowly. He scented the air and her breath caught at the back of her throat. Would he be able to smell through the charm that coated her body and masked her scent?

Who the hell was he? What the hell was he?

The stranger seemed to relax a bit and he rotated his neck, running his hands through the thick hair that hung in waves to his neck. Power clung to him, gripping his tall form hungrily, electrifying the air.