Burned (Fever #7)

by Karen Marie Moning

I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it. I’m not easy to fool. Well, sans blond hair and curves enough to happily smother a man. She’s dark Fae. Twisted buggers, one and all, some more than others. And she wanted me to call her Princess … Unseelie. Princess. I narrow my eyes, staring up at her. Nah. The dark king never got around to making them. They’re a myth. They don’t exist. Damn good thing, too. The Unseelie Princes are problem enough. Oh, honey, she purrs in my mind, we certainly do. Trapped in a library for a small eternity. One of yours let us out. Good thing, too. Men have too much power on this world. We will fix that. “Get the fuck off me.” You called me mistress. You said you would die for me. I own you. I laugh. “Yeah, right. Try pursuing that thought.” I shove her off me but my hands go the wrong way, fly up over my head, and abruptly I’m slammed flat on my back, with both wrists manacled to one end of the desk. Links snake around my throat. My waist. My ankles. Fuck me. I’m chained. I lunge up, testing the links, snarling. Magic doesn’t work on me. Neither does glamour. Yet both seem to be. What the hell is going on? We are a singular recipe. His final creation. Improved by the Sweeper. She smiles and there are those frigging shark teeth again. I’m immobilized, pants at my ankles, dick sticking straight up, and this bitch has shark teeth. I’m beginning to think this might not be one of my finer nights. “Say it again,” she says, but now she’s all icy, imperiou...