The Warlord Wants Forever Read Online Free PDF Page A

her light, quick breaths warm on his stomach. He’d never truly felt the sting of envy in his life, had never envied other men except those who enjoyed peace in their land. He’d been born affluent, his family aristocratic, and fortune had folowed him until the latter years of his mortality. To envy was to lack.

    So why did he want to destroy any vampire who might be blooded by her?

Chapter Three
    W here the hel is my freaking warlord?

    Myst jerked upright, waking from the first real sleep she’d enjoyed since she’d been taken by the Horde four nights ago. She was alone in his bed, her clothes washed and folded at the foot. She smiled to realize he’d drawn a blanket over her.

    She needed to keep up with Wroth until her sisters broke her out of this pokey. She swore again that this was the last time she would be bait—and this time she meant it.
    Rumor was rife in the Lore, but tales of Ivo the Cruel making dark aliances proved worrisome enough for them to “reconnoiter,” or undertake Operation: Myst Gets Nabbed.
    Yet she’d learned little about Ivo for her troubles—the acting, the getting too close and then letting herself get caught, etc.—only that he was definitely planning something major.

    She chuckled—that is, until General Wroth punked his ass out of a castle.

    No, she hadn’t learned much about Ivo, but this Kristoff and the general would make good dish. What if this king realy wanted to kil Demestriu and stop vampires from terrorizing everyone else? Was it possible that not al vampires had a predisposition toward sociopathic evil? What if the Valkyrie didn’t have to war with these Forbearers?
    However, it was doubtful. Her sisters wouldn’t discriminate between the two vampire factions. Kil first and then say, “Gosh, were you actualy good? My duh!” Vampires as a species were simply too powerful to go unchecked.

    Demestriu and his vampire Horde had been brutal to al the Lore, but especialy the Valkyrie. Fifty years ago, Furie, their queen, the strongest and fiercest of them al, had tried to assassinate him. She had never returned. Tales abounded that he’d chained Furie to the bottom of the sea to drown again and again only to have her dogged immortality surge her to life for more torment. When the covens finaly found her and freed her, Furie would be as none other on earth, awash in rage. She wouldn’t check for vampire affiliation before she slaughtered and would expect her covens to folow her example.

    So, until Myst’s covens decided on their plan of action with this new power, she’d go about business as usual, which meant she needed to find Wroth. Before he’d come, Myst had been powerless here. She could handle weapons as wel as most in the coven, though a sword and bow were not her strengths.

    Her preferred weapon was men. And now she had one—a big, scarred one with gorgeous eyes, and with skin that she wanted to lick until her tongue got tired—in her clutches.

    Or she’d had him.

    Manipulating them, playing them, making them believe she lived for them alone in order to have them do her bidding were her m.o. Furie had once asked her, “Why would you ever send a man to do a woman’s job?”

    Confused, Myst had answered, “Because I can.”

    The problem with Oblak’s vampires was that they had no appreciation for her whatsoever. At least Wroth liked to look at her.

    For them, the blood superseded al, and she could neither withhold it nor capitalize on it. Though the eyes of every creature in the Lore turned a certain species-related color with intense emotion, theirs were permanently, wholy red from sucking the life from their victims to the very marrow—not from merely drinking as these Forbearers feared. One kil put them in a downward spiral, because with the kil came the bloodlust riding them to do it again and again. Then the subsequent accumulation of their victim’s memories over the years drove many of them mad.

    Yet for the last four nights, Ivo and