The Warlord Wants Forever by Kresley Cole Read Free Book Online Page A

temps roulez…”

    New Orleans.

    Wroth shot up in bed, body drenched with sweat.

    My Bride’s a Valkyrie? he thought with a choking cough. His mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of it.

    He hadn’t known they even existed. A character from legends told around campfires was linked to him for eternity. From the dreams, he knew she was a milennias-old mystical being born of a fierce Pictish princess—who’d plunged a dagger into her heart rather than be taken alive by an enemy—and of gods.

    She didn’t eat because she took electrical energy from the earth and gave it back with her emotions in the form of lightning. She was a kiler and had been a Roman senator’s whore. She despised men and enjoyed tormenting them, just as she’d done with him.

    He glanced down at his throbbing erection. Even his hatred couldn’t battle his relentless need for her. The impulse to take his cock in his fist was there, but he fought it, knowing he could never bring himself to come, knowing it would only increase his pain.

    For five years she’d sentenced him to suffering from this constant, grueling ache. Before he’d learned there was no relief without her, he would’ve futilely stroked himself or thrust against the bed, imagining it was Myst clutched beneath him, but he never took release.

    Other females repeled him—because they weren’t her. Even if he believed he could find ease with another woman, he would never demean himself with another. He’d felt his Myst’s incredible softness, felt her wet with desire for him, her body squeezing around his fingers as she’d climaxed from his touch.

    He shuddered and his cock pulsed hungrily. Linked for eternity. To Myst the Coveted, a mythological being who despised him. The only way he’d keep her for eternity would be to punish her for that long.

    He knew he coveted her as none other had. And now he knew where to find her.

Chapter Five
    T he fumes of swamp, steamed hot dogs and soured beer wafted up to Myst and her sisters as they perched on a roof above the chaos that was
    Bourbon Street
    .

    There were rumors of vampires running about in New Orleans.

    Vampires in Louisiana? Unheard of.

    If there’d been only one account of leeches, then she and Regin and Nïx would stil be back at Val Hal, their bayou manor, playing video games. But a demon friend had sworn he’d seen one—and a phantom had whispered that there was not just one faction of vampires, but two.

    Myst’s eyes darted over the scene, trying to remain focused and not notice the couples franticaly grinding against each other in dark aleys. If Daniela was here she would blow them a kiss and cool them off, freezing hands to asses in mid-grope and making her sisters chortle and rol along the roof. Myst supposed that the Valkyrie were easily amused.

    But focus was proving futile ever since her heart had sped up at the idea of vampires here. If for some reason they had come to the New World—which the Horde
    historicaly found vulgar and beneath them—that stil didn’t mean him.

    Wroth. One of her true regrets in her life.

    Every day, she mused that she shouldn’t have left that vampire to suffer—she should have kiled him.

    Regin tossed her blade up, caught the point into her claw, then flicked it up once more. “You know, not that I believe there are actual vampires here—cause that’s just whacky speak—but if there were, they should know that this is our turf.”

    “Should we ask them to rumble? Or maybe mash?” Nïx asked as she swiftly braided her waist-length black hair. “I’ve heard those can be a graveyard smash.” Even
    sporting the old-fashioned hairstyle and an occasionaly confused glance—she saw the future more clearly than the present—Nïx stil looked like a supermodel.

    “I’m serious,” Regin said. “New Orleans may have once been the mystical melting pot of the world, but we control this place now.”

    “We can always send Mysty the Vampire Layer to battle