Page 33 of Blood Feud


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The whole ride through town felt surreal.

I rested my forehead against the chilly window of the car, watching as droplets of rain trickled down. The fields and forests surrounding Eoin’s estate eventually melded into stone and glass as the driver worked his way through the city. The outside world was shimmery, distorted, and watery through the steadily growing rain shower as I gazed out at the passing scenery. I wondered if Sable knew I was gone yet; if she was hurt by the fact that I didn’t say goodbye. I wondered if Eoin was watching the rain fall like I was, and if he was thinking of me.

My hands fisted in my lap.

I couldn’t forget the brief flare of something dark and full of rage I had felt in the bond before Eoin cut me off, leaving me with the white static of his absence. I felt off-center without him resting in my mind and it was a startling, ugly realization of how comfortable I had become with him.

It was good that I left, I reassured myself. I had wanted to be free. I had wanted to go back home.

And it was a good thing I was, because I had to get my house in order.

Something ugly was brewing in the La Rosa mansion, and I was going to find out what it was.

Someone wants me dead.

And with me, my father, the Don of the La Rosa mafia.

Or so says Eoin Ó Ceallaigh, king of the Vampires.

The blood bond he forced upon me says I can trust him, but my instincts scream otherwise.

And when he offers me a chance at freedom,I take it.

Only now the home I’ve run back to doesn’t feel like the one I remember.

The walls are stained with secrets and lies—my gilded cage is no longer safe.

Everything is at stake and only one person can help me save it,

But will he?

Want to know what happens next?

Find out in the Guns vs Fangs full-length book two,Blood Ties,hitting kindles April 21st 2023

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Swipeto preview the first three chapters ofConfiteor, Salem & AJ’s sapphic forbidden angel & demon novella

Please note that this preview contains elements that some may find triggering including religous trauma, abuse of power, and non-con by a man of power (not the love interest)

Theodora

prologue

Proverbs 3:11-12

My son, do not despise the Lord’s discipline, and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in.

each tick of the large grandfather clock hanging on the wall to my left was a knife to my ears; it was hanging crookedly on the stone, nearly knocked from the wall mere seconds before. My elbow stung from colliding with it—the back of my arm was scraped, the thin lines welled with blood as I clutched the wooden edge of the desk below me. Tiny droplets of sweat beaded between my shoulder blades and the inside of my cheek burned as I bit down on it to force my breathing to remain even.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

A grunt slipped out unbidden as he draped his large body over the top of mine and pressed me down so hard into the desk that my ribs nearly crunched against the wooden surface. His wings sucked me into his darkness, cocooned me in the sickeningly sweet smell of his skin—all the angels here smelled the same, like honeysuckle and vanilla. A scent I was sure was engraved into my cells as a permanent source of torture. The tips of his feathers brushed along the tops of my reddened knuckles, a touch that was far too intimate, far too gentle for the moment.My long nails bit into the wood and the metallic tang of blood pooled on my tongue as I bit harder into my cheek. His breath met my ear, hot and unwanted, as his mouth hovered along my skin in a way that made my entire body scream with repulsion. I could feel the grin splitting his pale pink lips and my stomach churned.

“You know how I hate punishing you like this, Theodora.” One of his hands raised to stroke his fingers along my cheekbone and I angrily blinked back the flinch that tried to shake my body. Bile got caught in my throat when he pressed even closer, his erection dug almost painfully between my ass cheeks as his wings sucked me even deeper into his feathered prison. “You are a child of God and as such you need to act as one.”

Air whooshed from my lungs as a snort slipped from between my teeth at the way he lied so fluidly. I was no child of God; I was a demon. One that had spent many a year happily shedding the blood of the mortals before the Heavens fell upon Earth in a crash of self-righteous glory and blinding light. Fall may be too subtle of a word—they crashed. Rammed. Battered.Destroyed.

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