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Blurb for Nightmare Rising
DARK & EPIC, EROTIC PARANORMAL ROMANCE
There’s more than one way to end the world, Zara, the street-smart nobody girl, discovers.
Our nightmares and dreams have torn their way into our real world and they yearn to be inside us, where they can bask in the immoralities of our flesh.
Zara has always hidden from danger, until the day she’s possessed by the remnants of a woman called the Cucitrice.
The street-smart nobody girl is now the girl with paranormal powers and the knife that stitches nightmares and dreams into skin. She sets out on a path of vengeance. Valor, badass, gun-toting CIA agent – tags along with her and they become lovers.
But inside Valor is the Nightmare King.
The Nightmare King wants the knife, he wants Zara, and he wants out.
And as he would say: You can’t make an omelette without killing someone.
Two lovers with enemies inside them – if they can survive, maybe they can save us all.
If you don't know where dark romance can go, this might not be the book for you.
Naked, she was the dream mankind imagined her to be. If she lived through the night, he would never clothe her again. Better yet, with her unwrapped, he could smell her cunt—the earthy musk of her. The Nightmare King breathed it in. Such a heady mix, knowing he was going to fuck both flesh and fantasy.
Oh, he really wanted to keep this little bird.
And he wanted her to hate it.
To beg for it.
“I’ll make you a deal.” He leaned forward. “You keep your head if you come to me. Willingly.”
The flash in her eyes was brief, but he knew he had her. Control was easy when you understood the currency—while you fed humans fear, you fed creatures hope. That was the thing about living so long; they never quite believed the game could be over.
He didn’t need to wait for her yes.
“Crawl to me. For me.” His smile was hard and cruel.
She looked at him and then the broken glass between them.
He raised a brow. He offered her life, not the absence of pain.
She slipped onto her hands and knees, dragged them through the brittle glass fragments across the floor. Her face betrayed every bite.
If music were expression, her face would be a symphony.
He held up his hand. “Seduce me. I’ve put so much effort into the mood...” Sinking back, he watched her try to calculate her way across the room.
“Eyes on me!”
He hadn’t moved, but his command cracked with thunder. Her head whipped up as his men snapped to attention. “Do it. Slow.”
Her focus seemed to linger on his neck, and he laughed softly—she telegraphed her desire to kill him beautifully. A part of him hoped she’d try, just for the thrill of it. He stretched his neck to the side, ligaments cracking just to bait her with it.
Caught, a veil of composure smoothed her features. She moved again, like fluid, a slow drag of lithe limbs to reach his feet. Behind her, she left art, a bloody trail of knee and handprints.
“Is that good enough for you?” Her voice was husky with hurt.
“I’m almost convinced.” He reached forward, his finger lightly drawing over the cut on her cheek, painting her lips with her blood.