More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Towering six-foot-something frame, heavily muscled sun-bronzed skin with hints of . . . was that black ink teasing from the one open button of his flannel? Shaggy golden-blond hair practically begged you to run your fingers through it, and his chiseled jaw, covered in a slightly darker five-o’clock shadow, promised you’d feel his kisses for days after. Even narrowed in anger, his green eyes still made me want to discover their secrets. If his looks alone weren’t enough to make a woman drop her panties, all that big dick alpha energy would.
Kingston
This guy was a priest? He was hot as fuck. Dark, wavy hair, cropped close at the sides but long enough to run your fingers through. The harsh slashes of his defined brows spoke of someone used to commanding respect. And then there was the jawline. Sharp, strong, sexy. What a waste. Curiously, even though Kingston called the Irishman
Caleb (Preist)
vampire,
Caleb is a Vampire
“Call me Caleb when my hands are on you.”
“What will you do if I don’t show up? Spank me, Daddy?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Tall, pale, dangerous, with thick wavy black hair and disarming eyes the color of molten amber. He took my breath away in that this-guy-is-bad-news-guard-your-virtue kind of way. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him,
Noah
needing to inspect him and make sure he was real. Full lips? Check. Penetrating stare? Check. Chiseled jawline? Check. Vampire, able to kill me with the flick of his wrist? Check.
A hulking god of a man stood next to her. His eyes were framed by full, dark lashes, the irises blue, vibrant, and piercing even from a distance. His complexion was tanned from hours spent in the sun, and his dirty blond hair was pulled up into a bun, with a thick, full beard lining his chiseled jaw. He looked like sin and sex and every fantasy I’d ever had about being rescued by a handsome warrior.
Alek
Embrace them. They are the answer. Embrace. Them.
“You can do this, Kærasta.” Everything stopped the moment the endearment fell from my lips. Why was I calling her that? It wasn’t a word used lightly. For the men in my family, hailing all the way back to my grandfather’s time, it was the term reserved for their true mates. The woman who called to their soul. I had absolutely no business using it with Sunday. Did I?
Until next time . . . my dark and twisted priest.
