The Curse (Belador #3)(101)
“I can’t help what I am,” she whispered.
He made a noise she took as underscoring his aggravation with her. He said, “I thought I was angry when I saw Isak kiss you, but that was nothing compared to when you left Treoir without speaking to me first.”
“I couldn’t face you.” There. She’d admitted she was a coward after all.
“Now I realize you left without speaking to me because you thought I wouldn’t want you after seeing what you’d shifted into. That didn’t matter to me.”
Tears threatened to ruin Lanna’s hard work on Evalle’s mascara. She choked out, “Stop being nice, Storm. I saw the shock on your face when I was in beast form. I don’t blame you.”
He cursed. “When are you ever going to trust me? I was shocked that you killed the demonic troll. I went insane when Tzader had Beladors pin me down and came close to shifting. Do you have any idea what I was going through watching you almost die, again, at the hands of a troll and I couldn’t get to you?”
She took his words into her heart and dared to hope. “You really aren’t repulsed by what I turned into?”
He swung her around in his arms and brought her close, nose to nose. “You are the most beautiful woman between earth and heaven to me in any form. I don’t care what you can turn into … as long as you end up in my arms.”
A tear slipped out and ran down her face. He’d called her beautiful. Lanna would probably take credit for that, which Evalle had no problem with. To be thought of as beautiful by Storm, if only for one night, was like all her wishes coming true at once.
He lifted her chin and used his thumb to wipe away her tear. His sexy voice smoked over her. “Know what happens now?”
She smiled, shaking her head.
“My favorite part, where we kiss and make up.” Then he kissed her without restraint.
She’d come to realize how carefully Storm handled her, but tonight he opened the gates to his desire, holding her with fierce possession.
Was she ready for everything his kiss offered?
Would she disappoint him if he overwhelmed her?
What if—
He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Stop worrying and start trusting that I’ll never hurt you and never ask more than you can give. Can you do that tonight?”
“Yes.” She relaxed, willing to trust herself alone with Storm, and looked forward to spending time with him that didn’t involve trolls, demons, or teleporting.
That could wait until she convinced him to help her track down Tristan.
Building a unique world with rich details often requires using unusual names and terms. These are sometimes fictional as well as being drawn from actual mythology.
Below is a list of pronunciations.
Asháninka [ash – AH – neen – kah]
Batuk [bah – TOOK]
Belador [BELL – ah – door]
Birnn demon [beern demon]
Cú Chulainn [KOO – ku – lin]
Ekkbar [ECK – bar]
Evalle [EE – vahl]
Flaevynn [FLAY – vin]
Gixxer [JICKS – er]
Kizira [kuh – ZEER – ah]
Kujoo [KOO – joe]
Loch Ryve [lock reeve]
Medb [MAEVE or MAVE]
Nhivoli [neh – VO – lee]
Nihar [NEE – har]
Noirre [nwar – EH or nwar – A]
Treoir [TRAY – or]
Tzader [ZA – der]
Vyan [VIE – an … first part rhymes with BYE]
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
RISE OF THE GRYPHON
BOOK 4 IN THE BELADOR SERIES
BY SHERRILYN KENYON AND DIANNA LOVE
Coming soon from Pocket Books
Dependable intel made the difference in either walking away alive from a dangerous situation … or not.
Evalle Kincaid stared down the rocky slope at bad intel.
She’d dug up one slim lead in forty-eight hours of racing to find Tristan, an Alterant like her, right down to his glowing green eyes. Except he hadn’t been gifted with her natural night vision, an ability she’d needed while hiking up this mountain in the middle of the night.
She muttered, “That’s no coven meeting.”
“No,” Storm agreed, his breath puffing white clouds against the chilly October air. He saw just fine, too, with preternatural night vision. “Looks more like a midnight festival for all things strange and dangerous.” Coal-black hair grazed his shoulders and blended into his black leather jacket. Soft hair she loved caressing. The coppery skin and sharp angles on his cheeks had been handed down through a mix of Ashaninka and Navajo genes, along with his Skinwalker ability to shift into a deadly black jaguar.
Evalle leaned forward where they hunkered down behind an outcropping of boulders, and searched the area fifty yards away where moonlight cascaded across a valley. At least twenty people—nonhumans—had gathered, and more were coming. “You see any female in that bunch that might be a witch?”
Storm shook his head. “Only male human forms so far. Not even sure what some of those things are that have both animal and human parts.”
One creature with an eight-foot-long orange lizard body, two sets of human arms, and a vulture’s head skulked through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea in front of him. Most of the beings meandered around a thirty-foot-wide circle created by torches stuck in the ground. A ceremonial circle?