By Angela Knight, Nalini Singh, Virginia Kantra, Meljean Brook
Bring those 4 authors jointly and it truly is bound to ignite a spark...
Angela Knight pairs a vampire warrior and his seductive captor in a conflict opposed to demonic predators.
Nalini Singh returns to the area of her Psy-Changeling sequence as a girl in deadly probability unearths an not likely protector-and lover.
Virginia Kantra maintains the haunting stories of the youngsters of the ocean in her tale of a wounded soldier rescued via an enigmatic younger girl.
Meljean Brook launches a daring new steampunk sequence a few girl who moves a provocative-and terrifying-bargain for freedom.
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Additional resources for Burning Up (Berkley Sensation)
Her reasonable hair used to be plastered to her head through rain. Her blue gown clung to her physique. She appeared like the figurehead on a crusing send. Like a mermaid. Jack felt a crackle like lightning zing alongside his nerves and raise all of the little hairs at the again of his neck. “I heard the bell,” she stated. “What is going on? ” nobody responded. She was once now not certainly one of them, Jack learned. She shone one of the villagers of Farness like a superb wax taper, narrow, immediately, and faded. She didn't belong during this dirty taproom. How might he ever have suggestion she might belong to him? Her gaze swept the room like a flame, lights on his hand the place it rested at the girl’s again. Her forehead pleated. “You are damage. ” He had forgotten his bloody knuckles. “I’m wonderful. ” Morwenna took a part leap forward out of the rain, towards him. “I may perhaps support. ” Her supply seared him just like the drag of the rainy rope. there's not anything you could supply me that i don't have, she had acknowledged. not anything i want or wish. “There is not anything you could do,” he acknowledged. Her breath rasped like a fit opposed to the silence. Her gaze narrowed. “Who is that? ” He glanced down on the crying lady in his hands. He didn’t even recognize her identify. The tavern keeper’s spouse crossed her padded hands opposed to her bosom. “That’s our Jenny Miller. She simply misplaced her guy. ” “Lost,” Morwenna repeated blankly. as though the younger fisherman have been a halfpenny or a sheep. “In the sea,” Jack acknowledged harshly. She cocked her head, hearing the wind and the unhappy, deep notes of the bell: Come . . . again. “I may well locate him for you. ” Jenny’s father stirred by way of the fireplace. “He went down with the nets,” he acknowledged dully. “He should not stumbled on until eventually this typhoon is earlier. ” His daughter gave a muffled sob. Jack’s helplessness driven like a thumb on his windpipe. “There’s not anything you are able to do. ” He compelled the phrases via his tight throat. not anything he might do. “Nothing someone can do. ” She met his gaze, her eyes working with borrowed colours just like the sea. and not using a notice she grew to become and walked into the rain. The tavern keeper’s spouse sniffed. “She’s a idiot to return out during this climate. ” Jack stared on the closed door, his throat aching, his middle burning in his chest. sure. And he was once an even bigger one for going after her. Morwenna strode to the harbor in a welter of rain and surprising emotion. The hurricane used to be uncooked and turbulent outdoor her, within her, churning in her chest, pulsing in her fingertips. The reminiscence of Jack’s darkish, weary eyes, his difficult, strained face, jabbed at her middle. She had provided her support, and he had brushed aside her. She couldn't blame him. She had spurned him, in any case. And he had no inspiration what she may perhaps do. What she used to be. as soon as her variety have been respected, feared and worshipped. yet as their numbers faded they usually withdrew deeper into the wild locations of earth, their encounters with humankind turned much less common. Reverence had light to superstition and worry to unbelief. Now even the legends have been fading from human reminiscence. greater that approach, her brother insisted. more secure that approach. there have been such a lot of of them . . . And Jack was once considered one of them, one with them, the boys with their rainy outfits and weathered faces, the woman with the red-rimmed eyes.