Overwhelming arrogance demands that Damian Marcel claim Jamie Walsh no matter who vies against them. For she is the only woman who can sate this powerful were's untamed hunger. But Jamie believes Damian is the Draicon werewolf who murdered her brother. She fights the dominating male at every step--only to succeed in binding herself to him.
Now the same magick that links them together is slowly killing Jamie, for she is infected with a spell that's turning her to stone. As they race against time to find a cure and to ward off attacks from the evil Morphs, dare Damian hope that his draicara will finally accept him as her lover...forever?
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|Title of eBook: Enemy Lover||Series: The Draicon, , #2|
|Release Date: 11-01-2008|
|Publisher: Silhouette Nocturne|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Enemy Lover|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||Excellent navigation features are available via Adobe such as bookmarks and a quick access table of contents. Text search is easily accessible. An Adobe DRM-protected file is different than a pdf file in that it uses Adobe DRM (Digital Rights Management) technology, which authors and publishers use to protect their content from illegal online distribution and to set certain privileges such as restrictions on copying and printing.|
The scent of fresh river water hit like a hard slap. Damian lifted his nose to the wind, and drank in the smell of the Mississippi. His Draicon senses tasted the water, licked it with a slow, lingering caress. At last, home again.
Twin feelings of joy and deep sorrow pierced him. Home no longer. This place wasn't home. Not anymore. It was a damn tomb, sucking him under, making him scream as he tried to claw his way out.
Damian tried to concentrate on the physical terrain, opening himself up to everything, resisting the instinct to shape-shift into his more powerful wolf form. New Orleans was known for the supernatural, but a werewolf prowling through the bustling French Quarter might scare a few tourists. He gave a mirthless smile.
Another, sharper scent pricked. Honeysuckle and warm woman. His nostrils flared, trying to catch the elusive fragrance. His fingers reached up, traced the air as if stroking a female's soft skin.
"Jamie," he murmured. "Jamie, chère. You can run, but you can't hide. I will find you."
He cursed in French as her scent faded. Somewhere in this thicket of narrow alleys, colorful shops and hard-grained nightclubs, she hid from him.
Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he ignored the chattering tourists snapping pictures. Across from Jackson Square beneath a shady tree, a thin-shouldered painter dabbled color on a canvas, shifting his weight on a lopsided folding chair. On a park bench, a man in a white shirt and faded khaki shorts played mournful n...
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