Read Dark Needs at Night's Edge Online Free
New York Times bestselling author
KRESLEY COLE
Winner of the 2007 RITA Honor
for All-time Paranormal Romance
The critics love her "devilishly passionate"
(Romantic Times)
series The Immortals After Dark
NO Rest FOR THE WICKED
"Sizzling sex and high-stakes adventure are what'south on tap in mega-talented Cole's sensational new paranormal release.... One nonstop thrill ride. Brava!"
--Romantic Times Mag (Superlative Option) "What a fabulous story! I can inappreciably wait to get my hands on the adjacent 1 in the serial."
--Bella Online
"Oh, wow! Kresley Cole writes another spine-tingling, adventurous, and passionate romance.... I recommend readers grab a copy of Kresley Cole's No Rest for the Wicked today. Information technology's a definite keeper."
--Romance Reviews Today
A HUNGER LIKE NO OTHER
2007 RITA Award Winner
"With intense activeness, devilishly passionate sex, and fascinating characters, A Hunger Like No Other leads readers into an amazing and inventive alternating reality.... Hot stuff!"
--Romantic Times Magazine (Top Pick) "Unquestionably an awe-inspiring romance!"
--Reader to Reader Reviews
"Not just another romantic read...it's a powerful feel!"
--The All-time Reviews
"A unique romance--information technology truly stands on its own!"
--Sherrilyn Kenyon, New York Times bestselling author And her gripping historical romances
featuring the MacCarrick brothers
IF YOU DECEIVE
"With power and passion, Cole completes her MacCarrick brothers trilogy with a bang.... Yous'll be held fast in Cole'due south grip and utterly satisfied with every attribute of her story."
--Romantic Times (Top Pick) IF YOU Want
"Cole steams up the pages and keeps you lot coming dorsum for more.... It's impossible to resist these heroes and their stories. Savor every moment of another passionate tale from a queen of adventure romance."
--Romantic Times (Tiptop Pick) IF Yous Dare
"Filled with heated passion and wonderful repartee."
--Romantic Times (Reviewers' Pick Award Winner) "Cole's vocalisation is powerful and gripping, and If You Cartel is her steamiest withal!"
--New York Times bestselling writer Linda Lael Miller "A deliciously entertaining read that kept the sexual tension high!"
--Romance Designs
"[A] classic romantic adventure that volition exit y'all incoherent!"
--New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn
Books by Kresley Cole
The Sutherland Series
The Captain of All Pleasures
The Price of Pleasance
The MacCarrick Brothers Series
If You Cartel
If You Desire
If You lot Deceive
The Immortals After Night Series
A Hunger Like No Other
No Residual for the Wicked
Wicked Deeds on a Wintertime'south Night
Pocket Books
A Sectionalisation of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the writer'due south imagination or are used fictitiously. Whatsoever resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2008 by Kresley Cole
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in whatsoever course whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department,
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
ISBN-13: 978-i-41656556-7
ISBN-10: 1-4165-6556-6
Visit us on the World Wide Spider web:
https://www.SimonSays.com
For Lauren,
my astounding editor and a dedicated champion
of the books. This is our tenth project together,
and information technology'due south withal as crazy and exciting as the first.
Acknowledgments
Many, many thank you to my fantastic agent Robin Rue. So happy to exist working with you. To Caroline Phipps, my steadfast friend who'southward always willing to do a midnight line-edit. To Gena Showalter, because my life's a more meaningful (and riotous) trip with you in it.
And to Roxanne St. Claire, a.chiliad.a. G.U.F. Did I happen to mention you're my rock?
Glossary of Terms from the Living Book of Lore
The Lore
"...and those sentient creatures that are non homo shall be united in one stratum, coexisting with, yet clandestine from, man'southward."
The Lykae Association
"A proud, strapping warrior of the Keltoi People (or Hidden People, later known as Celts) was taken in his prime past a maddened wolf. The warrior rose from the dead, at present an immortal, with the spirit of the animate being latent within him. He displayed the wolf's traits: the demand for bear upon, an intense loyalty to its kind, an animal peckish for the delights of the flesh. Sometimes the fauna rises...."
Also called werewolves, war-wolds.
Enemies of the Vampire Horde.
The Vampires
Ii warring factions, the Horde and the Forbearer Army.
Each vampire seeks his Bride, his eternal wife, and walks every bit the living expressionless until he finds her.
A Bride will return his body fully alive, giving him breath and making his heart beat out, a procedure known as blooding.
Tracing is teleporting, the vampires' means of travel. A vampire can but trace to destinations he'south previously been or to those he can see.
The Fallen are vampires who accept killed by drinking a victim to death. Distinguished by their carmine eyes.
The Horde
"In the kickoff chaos of the Lore, a brotherhood of vampires dominated, by relying on their cold nature, worship of logic, and absence of mercy. They sprang from the harsh steppes of Dacia and migrated to Russia, though some say a surreptitious enclave, the Daci, live in Dacia still."
Their ranks are comprised of the Fallen.
Enemies of almost factions in the Lore.
The Forbearers
"...his crown stolen, Kristoff, the rightful Horde king, stalked the battlefields of antiquity seeking the strongest, about valiant human being warriors as they died, earning him the proper noun of Gravewalker. He offered eternal life in exchange for eternal fealty to him and his growing army."
An army of vampires consisting of turned humans, who practice not drink blood directly from the flesh, unless from an immortal Helpmate.
Kristoff was raised equally a human and then lived among them. He and his army know piddling of the Lore.
Enemies of the Horde.
The Demonarchies
"The demons are equally varied as the bands of man...."
A collection of demon dynasties. Some kingdoms ally with the Horde.
Most demon breeds can trace similar vampires. Some breeds are bound to obey summonses.
A demon must have intercourse with a potential mate to define if she's truly his--a process known as attempting.
The House of Witches
"...immortal possessors of magickal talents, practitioners of good and evil."
Mystickal mercenaries who sell their spells.
Strictly forbidden to create personal wealth or grant immortality.
Separated into five castes: warrior, healer, enchantress, conjurer, and seeress.
The only witch known to possess the powers of all five castes is Mariketa the Awaited.
The Valkyrie
"When a maiden warrior screams for backbone as she dies in battle, Woden and Freya heed her telephone call. The two gods give up lightning to strike her,
rescuing her to their hall, and preserving her courage forever in the form of the maiden's immortal Valkyrie girl."
Take sustenance from the electrical energy of the world, sharing it in one commonage power, and requite it back with their emotions in the class of lightning.
Possess preternatural strength and speed.
Without training, they can exist mesmerized past shining objects and jewels.
Enemies of the Vampire Horde.
The Talisman's Hie
"A treacherous and grueling scavenger hunt for magickal talismans, amulets, and other mystical riches over the entire world."
The rules prevent killing--until the final round. Whatever other trickery or violence is encouraged.
Held every two hundred fifty years.
Hosted by Riora, the goddess of impossibility.
The Turning
"Only through death can one become an 'other.'"
Some beings, like the Lykae, vampires, and demons, tin can turn a human or even other Lore creatures into their kind through differing means, just the catalyst for change is ever death, and success is non guaranteed.
The Accession
"And a time shall pass that all immortal beings in the Lore, from the Valkyrie, vampire, Lykae, and demon factions, to the phantoms, shifters, fey, and sirens...must fight and destroy each other."
A kind of mystickal checks-and-balances organization for an ever-growing population of immortals.
Occurs every five hundred years. Or right now...
Night NEEDS AT NIGHT'Southward Edge
A femme fatale? With a history of burlesque dancing? You must have the wrong girl. I'm naught merely a humble ballet dancer, a mere delicate sparrow.
--Neomi Laress,
prima ballerina, onetime femme fatale and burlesque dancer
(b. approx. 1901--d. August 24, 1927)
I hereby vow to devote my life to annihilating the vampiir. None shall know my presence and live.
--Conrad Wroth, age thirteen,
upon being inducted into the Club of Kapsliga Uur in the year 1609
Prologue
New Orleans
August 24, 1927
I'll impale you lot for spurning me....
Struggling to cake out memories of Louis Robicheaux'southward latest threat, Neomi Laress stood at the top of her grand staircase and gazed out over the packed ballroom.
Every bit she might cradle a baby, she held bouquets of roses swathed in silk. They were gifts from some of the men in the crowd of partygoers below, a motley mix of her rollicking set, rich patrons, and paper reporters. A sultry bayou cakewalk slid throughout the space, carrying strains of music from the twelve-piece orchestra outside.
...yous'll beg for my mercy.
She stifled a shiver. Her ex-fiance'southward beliefs had become more spooky of late, his atonement gifts more extravagant. Neomi's long-continuing refusal to slumber with Louis had frustrated and angered him, merely breaking off their relationship had enraged him.
The await in his pale eyes earlier tonight...She gave herself an inward shake. She'd hired guards for this upshot--Louis couldn't go to her.
One gentleman, a handsome banker from Boston, noticed her aloft and began to handclapping. The throng joined in, and in her listen she envisioned a drapery going upward. With a irksome, gracious smile, she said, "Bienvenue to you all," then began descending her stairs.
No ane would e'er sense her feet. She was a trained ballerina, but higher up all things, she was an entertainer. She would work this room, dispensing teasing nibbles of sarcasm and softly spoken bons mots, charming whatsoever critics and coaxing laughter from even the about staid.
Though her arms already ached from cradling so many bouquets, and flashbulbs went off in glaring succession, her smile remained stock-still. Another gliding step down.
She'd be damned earlier she'd permit Louis ruin her night of triumph. Three hours agone, she'd given the functioning of a lifetime to a sold-out house. For this evening's soiree jubilant her newly renovated estate, Elancourt, the Gothic manor house was resplendent with the glow of a thousand candles. Through her dancing, she'd paid for the painstaking restoration of her new home and all the sumptuous furnishings inside it.
Every detail for the party was perfect, and outside, a sliver moon clung to the sky. A lucky moon.
Her dress for this evening was a more risque version of the costume she'd worn before, the satin as blackness equally her jet hair. It had a tight bodice that she laced up the front end like a foretime corset and a slit in the skirt that almost reached up to where her garter belt snapped to her stockings. Her makeup was styled after the Hollywood vamps--she'd kohled her optics with a smoky hue, donned lipstick of oxblood ruddy, and painted her short nails a dark crimson.
With her jeweled choker and dangling earrings, the ensemble had cost a minor fortune, simply this night was worth it--this night all her dreams had finally come truthful.
Only Louis could ruin information technology. She willed herself to ignore her anticipation, inwardly blasphemous him in English and in French, which helped ease her tension.
Until she almost stumbled on the stairs. He was there, standing at the periphery, staring up at her.
Ordinarily and then perfect and kempt, he had his necktie loosened, his blond pilus disheveled.
How had he gotten past the guards? Louis was filthy rich--had the bastard bribed them?
His bloodshot eyes were burning with a maniacal light, just she assured herself that he wouldn't dare harm her in front end of so many. After all, at that place were hundreds of people in her home, including reporters and photographers.
Yet she wouldn't put information technology past him to make a scene or expose her scandalous history to everyone. Her uptown patrons winked at her and her friends' colorful antics, only they had no idea what she was--much less of her past occupation.
Chin raised and shoulders dorsum, she continued down, but her easily were clenching the roses. Resentment warred with her fear. And then aid her, God, she'd scratch his eyes out if he ruined this for her.
Just earlier she reached the bottom step, he began elbowing his fashion toward her. She tried to signal the burly guard at the opened patio door, but the crowd enveloped her, finer trapping her. She attempted to make her way to the man, withal everyone wanted "to exist the kickoff to congratulate her."
When she heard Louis pushing people behind her, Neomi'south soft-spoken apologies--"Pardonnez-moi, I'll just be a moment"--turned to "Allow me pass!"
He neared. Out of the corner of her eye she spied his mitt fiddling with something in his jacket pocket. Non another souvenir? This will be and so embarrassing.
When that hand shot out, she whirled around, dropping her bouquets. Metal glinted in the light of the candles. Optics wide, she screamed--
Just before he plunged a pocketknife into her chest.
Pain...unimaginable pain. She could hear the blade grating past her bones, felt a force so jarring the tip pierced through her very back. As she clawed at his artillery, ugly sounds erupted from her throat; those nearest her backed away in horror.
This tin't be happening....
Only when he released the pocketknife with splayed fingers did her body plummet to the floor. Rosebuds scattered around her, their petals wafting around the jutting hilt. She stared dumbly at the ceiling equally warm blood seeped from her back, pooling all effectually her. She perceived the silence of the room over Louis'south harried breaths as he knelt beside her, beginning to weep.
This isn't happening....
The outset hysterical scream hire the quiet. People fled the scene, shoving and tangling all effectually them. She heard the guards finally yelling and fighting past the oversupply.
And Neomi lived still. She was dogged, a survivor--she would not die in her dream habitation on her dream night. Fight--
Louis fisted the hilt over again, jarring the pocketknife inside her. Agony...also much...can't bear this... Simply she had no breath to scream, no strength to raise her limp artillery to defend herself.
With a choking bellow he twisted the blade in the pocket of her wound. "Feel information technology for me, Neomi," he gasped at her ear. Pain exploded, radiating out from her heart to every inch of her body. "Feel what I take
suffered!"
As well much! The temptation to close her eyes about overwhelmed her. Yet she kept them open, kept living.
"See how much I love you? Nosotros'll be together now." The knife made a sucking sound when he yanked it from her. Merely before he was finally tackled to the basis, he sliced his ain throat ear to ear.
Her blood had begun to cool by the time a doc crouched to grasp her wrist. "In that location's no pulse," he said to someone unseen, his vocalisation raised over the commotion. "She's gone."
But she wasn't! Not all the same!
Neomi was young, and there were so many things she had left to experience. She deserved to alive. I'yard non dying. Her hands somehow clenched. I pass up to!
However every bit the cakewalk picked up in one case more, Neomi'due south vision guttered out like a candle. No, no...still living...tin can't see, tin can't see...so scared.
Rose petals defenseless on the wind and tumbled over her face. She could feel each absurd buss of them.
So...nothingness.
1
Outside Orleans Parish
Nowadays day
Stay sane, act normal, he chants to himself as he strides down the rickety pier. On either side of him, water black like tar. Ahead of him, muted light from the bayou tavern. A Lore bar. A lone neon sign flickers over flat skiffs beneath. Music and laughter carry.
Stay sane...need to dull the rage. Until the endtime.
Inside. "Whiskey." His voice is low, crude from disuse.
The bartender'due south confront falls. Like last dark. Others grow skittish. Can they sense that I anguish to impale? The whispers effectually him are like metal on slate to his ragged nerves.
--"Conrad Wroth, once a warlord...madder than any vampire I've seen in all my centuries."
--"A killer for rent. If he shows upwards in your town, then folks from the Lore there'll become missing."
Missing? Unless I want them found.
--"Heard he drains 'em then savagely...nothing's left of their throats."
So I'thousand not fastidious.
--"I heard he eats them."
Distorted rumors. Or is that one true?
Tales of his insanity spreading again. I've never missed a target--how insane can I exist? He answers himself: Very fucking much so.
Memories clot his mind. His victims' memories taken from their blood toll inside him, their number ever growing. Don't know what's existent; can't determine what's illusion. Virtually of the time, he can scarcely understand his own thoughts. He doesn't go a twenty-four hour period without seeing some type of hallucination, hit out at shadows effectually him.
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