Dark Storm (Carpathian Novel, A)
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Return to the “steamy and dreamy” (Publishers Weekly) world of Christine Feehan’s New York Times bestselling Carpathian novels as thundering passions signal a dark force on the horizon…
Buried alive for hundreds of years in a volcano in South America, Dax worries that he has become the abomination that every Carpathian male fears, a victim of the insidious evil that has crept relentlessly into his mind and body over the centuries. But Dax isn’t the only one emerging from the darkness…
His name is Mitro, and he once stood by the side of the prince of the Carpathian people. Now he is the epitome of malevolence, and perpetrator of one of the most shocking killing sprees known to man. No one escaped the bloodshed, including his lifemate, Arabejila.
Now, between Dax and Mitro, a violent game has begun—one that has marked Riley Parker, the last descendent of Arabejila, as the reward.
glanced down at the murky water and saw the silver fish churning around the boat. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? It almost looked as if piranha were following the boat. But, piranha didn’t follow boats. They went about their business. She stole a glance at the guide who muttered to the two porters, Raul and Capa, ignoring their charges—a far cry from the familiar villager who usually took them upriver. The three looked very uneasy as they continually studied the water. They, too, seemed a
living without you. You’re here fighting him. I have to fight him in my own way. I look at that horrible woman sitting up there all smug, knowing she marked six women to be murdered, their babies sacrificed before they were even born, and it sickens me. She’s marked Jasmine now, too. Riley was passionate about her argument. She was angry and determined this was going to end. She might not be a warrior, but she was a child of the earth. She could heal the soil and plants before Mitro returned if
the room. She felt Dax’s arms, so strong, offering her shelter. His skin was so hot, burning against her cheek. She turned her head and nuzzled the heat and fire and defined muscles that were so synonymous with him. His fingers massaging her scalp and neck eased some of the tension. Take what I offer, sivamet. His voice was pure temptation. She had been unable to eat anything. The most she’d done was drink water. There was that small part of her that was still human enough to hesitate, but she
long arc cradled the lush plains of the kingdom of Hungary. (The kingdom of Hungary flourished for over a millennium—making Hungarian the dominant language of the Carpathian Basin—until the kingdom’s lands were split among several countries after World War I: Austria, Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia and modern Hungary.) Other peoples from the Southern Urals (who shared the Carpathian language, but were not Carpathians) migrated in different directions. Some ended up in Finland, which
posed to the world. But they would only succeed if they could act as one, rather than fighting each other for control. Above them, higher up the volcano’s slope, Mitro had turned his attention to the bubbling fury of the earth’s hot core. The ground began to tremble as Mitro directed the volcano’s heated gases and acids to the surface. Steam began to rise from the cracks and fissures in the rocks. The main blast of the volcano had exploded on the other side of the mountain, but now Mitro was