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    Claimed by a Demon King is the second book in the Eternal Mates series and can be read as a stand- alone. This story is about Sable a huntress with Archangel. Edition - [PDF] [EPUB] Claimed By A Demon King Eternal Mates Paranormal Romance Series. Book 2 English Edition Readers are saying. Get Instant Access to PDF File: #d5af Claimed By A Demon King (Eternal Mates Paranormal Romance Series Book 2) B00ijyph70 By.

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    She reached down and snapped his neck before she got so caught up with the story that she forgot to doit. One woman clapped her hands in glee. Another breathed, "God bless 'n keep you, miss. Not an agent for good, nor for bad. Just serving fate-which could be either. After all, the next guard hired might be worse to them. Her head was shaved bald. They captured Sabine, then flew her to a height, dropping her to a cobblestone street.

    Yet her sister was there once more to heal her broken body, to snatch her from the arms of death. That one had been so close. The poor girl couldn't swim, and she drowned-" "Then take it, you bitch! Ah, the Queen of Silent Tongues was yielding to Lanthe. Sabine's skin prickled as the air began to sizzle with power. The sorceress jailed downstairs was surrendering her root ability. Lanthe would be able to talk telepathi-cally to whomever she addressed, within a certain dis-tance.

    That's all my accomplice is doing now. Except she's stealing something equivalent"-she made her voice dramatic-"to your soul! It was other Sorceri bent on stealing her goddesslike power. They poisoned her. But then she frowned at the memories. Like an arrowhead forged in fire, she was made sharp and deadly from constant pressure and blows.

    And she began to covet life as no other before her. Whenever she felt hers was in danger, a mindless fury swept through her, the need to lash out undeniable. She often unwittingly displayed illusions that mirrored her thoughts and emotions, even when dreaming.

    As she swiftly cleared the air, another patient said, "Good miss, wh-what happened after the poisoning? Was that too much to ask? Especially the boy. Because he hadn't reached his immortality by the time he made that leap, he didn't regenerate. He'd been broken, scarred and deformed from his injuries forever. Sabine was now sixteen and old enough to begin doing what any girl like her would. Commercial fishing. Which promptly earned her a death sentence for being a witch. That's a fallacy. No, sometimes a village had burned its quota, so they killed secretly, burying a group alive.

    To feel it compacting in her lungs? Their eyes had gone wide-she could hear a pin drop. Yet then she heard a ringing voice from above, commanding her to live and to rise from her grave. So Sabine mindlessly obeyed, digging against others' dead flesh, blindly stretching, desperate for another inch closer to the surface.

    Finally, Melanthe could find her sister. As she hauled Sabine out of her grave, lightning struck all around and hail pelted them-like the earth was angry to lose her catch. Since that fateful night, Sabine doesn't care about anything. She cares about nothing very much. Sabine jumped.

    Try to retain it. Her sister's persuasion had been exhausted keeping Sabine alive. It seemed that all those deaths had made Sabine even more powerful while weakening Lanthein both ability and resilience. The problem with communicating with animals was that there were rarely enough within earshot to be helpful. The crying female cried harder. He was a sorcerer who could never know death's kiss, and so he was instantly smitten with the girl so well acquainted with it.

    Sabine gave a bitter laugh. Had they actually once thought they'd be safe with him? Just then, Sabine heard the sound of wings outside. But we have to. And the sisters possessed no battle sorcery.

    Lanthe's gaze swept over the room, searching for escape. Suddenly she and Lanthe both looked like patients. That got him to raise an eyebrow, but still he said, "Not interested.

    He was on edge in this ridiculous place, feeling like the worst hypocrite. If his ne'er-do-well brother found out where he'd been, he would never hear the end of it. But Rydstrom's contact had insisted on meeting here. When a pretty nymph sidled up behind him to massage his shoulders, he picked up her hands and faced her. His eyes must have darkened, because the nymph quickly backed away. About to lose my temper with a nymph? Getting angered at one of her kind for touching him was like scolding a dog for tail wagging at the sight of a bone.

    Lately, Rydstrom had been a constant hair trigger's turn from succumbing to rage. The fallen king known for his coolheaded reason, for his patience with others, felt like a bomb about to explode. He'd been experiencing an inexplicable anticipa-tion-a sense of building, a sense that something big was going to happen soon. But because this urgency had no discernible source or alleviation, frustration welled in him. He didn't eat, couldn't sleep a night through.

    For the last couple of weeks, he'd awakened to find himself thrusting against the pillow or the mattress or even into his own fist, desperate for a soft female below him to ease the strangling frustration he felt.

    Gods, I need a woman.

    Yet he had no time to woo a decent one. Just another conflict battling within him. The kingdom's needs always come before the king's. So much was at stake in the fight to reclaim his crown-from Omort the Deathless, a foe who could never be killed. Rydstrom had once faced him and knew from bit-ter experience that the sorcerer was undestroyable. Though he'd beheaded Omort, it was Rydstrom who'd barely escaped their confrontation nine hundred years before. Now Rydstrom searched for a way to truly kill Omort forever.

    Backed by his brother Cadeon and Cadeon's gang of mercenaries, Rydstrom doggedly tracked down one lead after another. The emissary he was to meet tonight-a seven-foot-tall pus demon named Pogerth-would be able to help them.

    He'd been sent by a sorcerer named Groot the Metallurgist, Omort's half brother, a man who wanted Omort dead almost as much as Rydstrom did.

    Groot was little better than Omort, but an enemy of my enemy. Just then, a demoness dressed in black leather with cheap makeup on her horns gave Rydstrom a measuring look as she passed, but he turned away.

    He was. No, Rydstrom wanted his queen, his own fated female, a virtuous demoness to stand by his side and grace his bed. For a demon, sex with one's female was supposed to be mind-blowing compared to the random tup. After fifteen centuries, he'd waited bloody long enough to experience the difference. He exhaled. But now was not the time for her. So much at stake. He knew that if he didn't defeat his enemy this time, his kingdom and his castle would be forever lost.

    My home lost. His hands clenched, his short black claws digging into his palms. Omort and his followers had desecrated Castle Tornin. The sorcerer had set himself up as king and welcomed Rydstrom's enemies, granting them asylum. His guards were revenants, walking corpses, the dead raised to life, who could only be destroyed once their master died. Tales of orgies, sacrifices, and incest in Tornin's once-hallowed halls were legion. Rydstrom would die before he lost his ancestral castle to beings so depraved, so warped he considered them the most revolting beings ever to walk the earth.

    Gods help anyone who crosses me this eve. A ticking bombAt last, Pogerth arrived, teleporting inside the bar. The pus demon's skin looked like melted wax and smelled of decay. The gauze he wore under his clothes peeked out at the collar and cuffs of his shirt. He wore rubber boots that he would empty outside in regular intervals, as was polite. When he sat at Rydstrom's table, it was to a squishing sound. The head belonged to Oracle Three Fifty-Six-as in the number of soothsayers that had been in office since Sabine had come to Tornin.

    The scent of blood cloyed as revenants mindlessly cleaned up the matching body. And Omort, her half brother and king of the plane of Rothkalina, was wiping off his bloody hands-which meant he'd torn the oracle's head from her neck in a fit of rage, piqued no doubt by whatever she'd foretold.

    Standing tall and proud in front of his ornate gold throne, he wore a raised armor guard over his left shoulder and a dashing cape on the right. A sword scabbard flanked his hip. Atop his pale hair sat the intricate head-wear that served as both a crown and an armor helmet.

    He looked suave and sophisticated, and utterly incapable of yanking a woman's head off her body. Omort had stolen so many powers-pyrokinesis, levitation, teleporting-all seized from his other half siblings before he killed them.

    Yet he couldn't see the future. The lack often enraged him. Growing soft? Lining the halls were members of many of the factions who allied with the Pravus, Omort's new army. Among them were the centaurs, the Invidia-female embodiments of discord-ogres, rogue phantoms, fallen vampires, fire demons with their palms aglow. Almost all of them would love to see her dead. Sabine could scarcely be expected to feel sympathy for another.

    For far too many times she'd dragged herself up from a pool of her own blood. She studiously avoided the mysterious Well of Souls in the center of the court, taking in other details of the opulent throne room. Her brother had drastically changed it since the rule of the mighty Rydstrom.

    He'd replaced the demon's austere throne with one made of blazingly bright gold. Tonight, blood lay splattered over the gleaming metal- from the oracle's squirting jugular. Been there. On the walls, Omort had hung his colors and his banners emblazoned with his talisman animal: Anything simple, he'd made lavish. And yet, this place still didn't suit the outwardly sophisticated Omort.

    According to legend, the premedieval Castle Tornin had been created by a divine hand to protect the well, with six bold towers encircling it, and the central court.

    Though the stones that made up the fortress were rugged, they'd been placed flawlessly. Tornin was perfectly imperfect. As rough-hewn as its former king was reputed to be. Omort drew back his cape before sitting.

    I recall that now. The sisters probably logged seven hours a day watching movies. Alas, cable wasn't forthcoming. As she passed the Viceroy centaur, Sabine peeked down and asked him, "How's it hanging? Low and to the left, I see. Your left, my right. She had far too much power here. She gave him a wink to remind him of just that, then continued to Omort, "I was going to be here on time. But I had something very urgent to take care of.

    Omort stared at her in fascination, his yellow irises glowing. But when she removed her own cape, he seemed to shake himself, casting a disapproving look at her garments-a scanty bandeau top of gold weave, a leather micro-skirt, claw-tipped gauntlets on her hands, and thigh-high boots. After raking his gaze over her body, Omort settled on her face. She'd drawn her bold scarlet eye paint in the shape of wings that spread out from her lashes up over her brows all the way to her hairline.

    In ages past, Omort had wanted to make it law that females of value were to obscure their faces with a tradi-tional silk Sorceri mask instead of mere paint mimicking one, and to cover their bodies entirely. He'd swiftly learned how Sabine felt about that idea. How easy it was for him to dismiss. He wasn't the one who needed it to keep from dying a horrific death. She must have run here as soon as she'd heard Sabine was at court, frantic to make sure Sabine didn't steal Omort from her.

    Hettiah was woefully confused on two points: Omort was Sabine's for the taking, and she would never be taking. Omort ignored Hettiah utterly, keeping his eyes on Sabine.

    This is bad news. One of the spies heard the emissary promising a sword forged to kill me. Omort exhaled wearily. It can't. And always he rose from a dirty mist like a phoenix, stronger even than before. His very name meant without death. He was rumored to be able to put any king on a throne-except his brother. For centuries, the two had worked together to reclaim Tornin.

    Which was now her home. Get over it, demons. Not moving. Hettiah cleared her throat. Clamoring still-after nine centuries. Sabine often wondered how he'd earned such fervent loyalty. Every five hundred years, that great immortal war took place, and they were on the cusp of it right now.

    Her gaze flickered over the mysterious well in the center of the court, strewn with sacrificesbloody and unidentifiable body parts. Her future depended on unlocking its power. And the demon was the key.

    When she faced Omort, his brows drew together, as if he'd thought she would balk at bedding a demon. In fact, she was eager to get this over with-and then to seize the power that was there for the taking. At last, something to want, to need. Hettiah asked, "What if the demon resists you?

    Hettiah wasn't without power. In fact, her ability was neutralizing others' powers. She could erase illusions as easily as Sabine could cast them. Don't forget that I faced him-and yet he lives. Sabine chuckled at Hettiah's statement, then her expression instantly turned cold when she faced her brother. Hettiah lifted her chin, but she'd paled. Sabine had in fact plucked an organ from her. On several occasions.

    She kept them in jars on her bedside table. But Sabine refrained from this as much as possible, because whenever she fought Hettiah, it seemed to overly excite Omort. Sabine blew her a kiss, the ultimate insult among the Sorceri, who stored poisons in their rings to be mixed into drinks-or blown into the eyes of an enemy.

    Not only was Rydstrom a demon, which most Sorceri viewed as little better than an animal, the fallen king was Omort's blood enemy. And the time had finally come for Sabine to surrender her virginal-hymenally speaking-body and her womb to the creature.

    No wonder Omort had gone into a fury with the oracle. Part of him lusted for the power Sabine could garner. And part of him lusted for her-or for women who resembled her, like the red-haired Hettiah. He rose then, descending the steps to stand before Sabine.

    Ignoring Hettiah's huff of dismayand the warning in Sabine's eyes-he slowly raised his hand to her face. His bloodstained nails were long, cloudy, and thick. When he pinched her chin, she said in a seething tone, "Now brother, you know I dislike it when men touch my face.

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    Omort hesitantly released her as the court attendees nervously stamped about. It will be a perfect trap. Unless she's already lost her thresholds power. But her ability was temporarily weakened each time, so she could only manage it once every six days or so.

    Sabine only hoped she hadn't burned one recently. For some reason, Omort had always loathed being near Lanthe and had decreed that the two sisters would never be together in his presence. She adored plottingdevising plans and subplans and contingencies-and half the fun was the anticipation of a trap about to be sprung. She would dream up scenarios for months, and yet now she had only mere hours. Before she could leave, Omort leaned down and murmured at her ear, "If there were any way around your sleeping with this beast, I would have found it for you.

    Omort would never willingly give her up, because he wanted Sabine all for himself and had since the first time he'd seen her. He'd said there was something in her eyes he'd never seen before-the dark knowledge of what it was like to die. Something he could never know. He covered her bare shoulder with a clammy hand, sounding as if he'd just stifled a groan at the contact. Sometimes she had to remind him that she was as treacherous as the serpents he worshipped.

    She turned immediately, giving him her back instead of taking three steps away before turning to exit the chamber. When she passed the well, she darted her gaze to it. How hard could it be to capture a demon? Rydstrom sped his McLaren down a deserted levee road, his headlights cleaving through the swamp fog. That crazed energy within him, the inexplicable tension, had spiked to a fever pitch.

    Omort could be killed. One hundred miles per hour. One hundred and ten. With a sword forged by Groot the Metallurgist. Rydstrom had waited so long for this, he had a hard time believing it was happening now. Although he didn't trust the demon Pogerth, Rydstrom trusted his ally, Nix-the Valkyrie soothsayer who'd arranged their meeting. Nix had said that this campaign was a chance to kill Omort-Rydstrom's last chance. Either he would succeed in destroying the sorcerer or he would fail forever.

    By all the gods, it was possible. But for payment, Groot had asked for the impossible. Or so it would seem. One hundred and forty miles per hour. Though Ryd-strom had hung up the phone with his brother minutes ago, he was still slack jawed. Cadeon-the most untrustworthy and least dependable being Rydstrom had ever known-had informed him that he was already in possession of the prize Groot demanded in exchange for the sword.

    Cadeon had reluctantly agreed to meet Rydstrom at their customary place north of New Orleans with the payment in tow, but Rydstrom still had half an hour to reach him. There was plenty of time for Cadeon to back out-if he hadn't already. At that thought, Rydstrom floored the gas, surging to one hundred and sixty miles per hour.

    Not fast enough. He would give his right hand to be able to trace once more. Yet Omort had bound that teleportation power in him and in Cadeon. Rydstrom had never felt as frustrated by that curse as right now.

    Yes, Cadeon had already found the prize. But he would not be keen to give it up. He'll run. Rydstrom had to get to him before he could. Long moments passed with him deep in thought over his brother. Knowing Cadeon would let him down, he accelerated even more. One seventy. Rydstrom would die for his people. Why wouldn't CadeonEyes stared back at him in the headlights. Not an animal, a woman. He slammed on the brakes and swerved, the vehicle skidding out of control.

    But somehow he was righting it. Sabine raised her hands and muttered, "1 don't think so, demon. He sped directly into it. An explosion of sound erupted-the groaning of metal, the shattering of glass.

    Smoke tendrils snaked upward, and gaskets hissed. The previously shining black car was totaled. The damsel in distress.

    The Kiss of the Demon King

    Unable to fix her own engine. A ridiculous cliche. But necessary. When he hadn't slowed, she'd waved her arms, and still he'd continued speeding along. Refusing to let him slip past her, she'd cast forward an illusion of herself, directly in his car's path. He'd swerved to avoid her likeness. Of course, Sabine had read all about Rydstrom and knew details of his history.

    He was fifteen hundred years old. He'd had five siblings, with two sisters and one brother still living. He'd been a warrior long before he'd unexpectedly inherited the crown of Rothkalina. And she knew details of his appearance: As a rage demon, his horns would flow back instead of jutting for-ward. One of his had been damaged before he reached his immortality. And she'd be taking this demon into her body in mere moments, if her plan worked.

    If not, she had her poison ring. Under a ruby was a sleeping powder prepared by the Hag in the Basement, their resident poison and potion preparer. Demons were highly susceptible to both. Drugging Rydstrom wasn't Sabine's preferred plan, but if it came down to it, she would use all means necessary to get him into the dungeon cell they'd prepared for him-one he couldn't break free from despite his demonic strength.

    It was mere feet from them. Directly within the cell, Lanthe had created the seamless portal that opened up to the road. To conceal it, Sabine had woven one of the largest, most intricate illusions of her life, making the dungeon look just like a part of the scenery along the road. It seemed an eternity passed before Rydstrom finally lurched from the smoking wreck.

    She released a breath she hadn't known she held. And there he was. He certainly was big-approaching seven feet tall with broad shoulders. His hair was as black as night.

    His horns curved out from just past his temples to run along the sides of his head, their shell-like color stark against his thick hair. Indeed, one was damaged, the end broken off. Though he reeled a couple of steps, he didn't look too injured. No visible blood. Sabine arched a brow just as Lanthe silently said, "Your demons just.

    For a time. How odd, since he was supposed to be a bastion of reason, a wise leader who liked to solve conflicts and discover solutions to complex puzzles. Rumor in the Lore held that a lie had never left Ryd-strom's tongue. Which must be a lie in itself. He might go demonic over his capture. Nothing says 'darnel' like pastel. She'd thought it wouldn't hurt to appear virtuous, which she assumed a good demon king would prefer.

    He had better like her shuddersome new look. Except for her ring, not a single ounce of gold adorned her body. No makeup, either. She'd left her hair unplaited, curling almost to her waistwithout a headdress. And it felt wrong. Once he staggered back to survey the damage to his car, crunching over glass and debris, the demon whistled in a breath at the sight, but his attention quickly turned away from the wreck. With each second that he shook off the accident, his shoulders went farther back, his chin lifting, his demeanor unmistakably kingly.

    It was pleasingly deep-toned, with the British-tinged accent common to noble rage demons. When he loped in her direction, he snagged a cell phone from his pocket and peered at the screen. She heard him mutter, "Bugger me. He wore a dark jacket over a thin black sweater that molded over his broad chest.

    His clothes were simple in cut but expensive-looking. Tailored, of course. No off-the-rack garments would fit his towering build and wide shoulders. The battle scar on his face carved across his forehead, then jagged down his cheek. He had to have received that injury before the age when he'd been "frozen" in his immortal body-she guessed when he was thirty-four or thirty-five years old-or else it would have healed seamlessly.

    The scar gave him a dangerous air that clashed with his royal bearing and rich-looking clothing, as did his horns, his fangs, his black claws When he glanced back up, he met eyes with Sabine. His were the most startling green she'd ever seen.

    Once 1 capture him, report my success to Omort. In front of all the fools at court. Go get 'em, tigress. His gaze narrowed as she made the night appear dreamlike. The stars shone brighter for him, the moon seeming heavier in the sky.

    Brows drawn in confusion, he started toward her. She could see him assessing her, his gaze flickering over her long hair, and over the modest gown that for-tunately had grown damp in the humid night and clung to her breasts.

    When he peered hard at the outline of her jutting nipples, he ran a hand over his mouth. Time to get him through the portal. When she began sauntering along the road away from him, he said, "No, wait! Are you all right? Do you live near here? He joined her there-and Sabine sensed the portal g closing. The trap had worked, and he'd never felt a thing. I "I have to get to the city," he said. He noticed and seemed to be waiting for her to react.

    The scar didn't bother her as much as it clearly did him. She could use that against him. All in all, he wasn't anything like she imagined. He was.. And if she looked at those intense eyes long enough, she could almost forget what he was. When she arched closer to him, he drew back, suspicion in his expression.

    She hastily said, "Help me now. As if he didn't realize what he was doing, he cupped her flesh with a growl. Yet still he seemed on the verge of leaving her. She delved to read his mind, but demons could deflect her probes. She only heard his stray thoughts, and only because they were so strong. And was this brute truly thinking to deny her? For responsibilities! The rejection was intriguing. She knew that demon males loved to have their horns touched, relished having their females steering them sexually.

    His had straightened and become duskier with his arousal, so she raised her hands and wrapped her fingers around them. He shuddered as if in ecstasy. When their lips met, he groaned from deep in his chest. Now he'll come to heel. He began taking her mouth, twining his tongue against hers slowly. She got the impression that he was endeavoring to be gentle for her.

    He probably feared he'd scare her off. But when she met his tongue and gave it teasing laps with her own, his hands landed hard on her ass to rock her against his sizable erection. So the rumors about demon males weren't exaggerated. When she felt him subtly thrusting that shaft against her, she thought, This is better. Once males got to this state, they ceased to think. As she relaxed somewhat, she began to find his kiss enjoyable.

    He tasted good, his lips were firm, and he knew how to use them. More of his delving kisses, more squeezing and exploring her body. But when heavily aroused, Sabine unwittingly cast illusions of fire.

    If he saw them, he could guess her identity. Just when she began to worry that her reaction to him might get that intense, he broke away from her. I have to meet someone. Much rides on this. Under this tree, in the moonlight. I'm aching for you. I have obligations. Apparently, she could add selfless to that list. When he backed away, her lips parted in wonderment. He's going to deny me. She'd offered up her body, all but begged him to take it, and he'd declined. How surprising.

    The only thing Sabine loved as much as a good juicy plot was a surprise. He'd resisted her-his own female. The road and the moonlit night gradually disappeared, revealing the sealed and locked cell. As he twisted around, his eyes narrowed with recognition. Now he appeared disgusted with her. Clearly struggling to control his temper, he asked, "Why have you done this to me, Sabine? Thoughts ran riot in his mind-suspicions arose and were dismissed.

    A bed and chains. She'd failed to seduce him to willingly bed her. Was she now intent on taking what she'd wanted? When he felt a confusing surge of lust at the idea, he realized she must already be enthralling him. Of course she was. He'd seen the road disappear, had seen the bridge abutment move. She had unthinkable power, and for some reason she'd targeted him. He surveyed the dimly lit space.

    She'd lured him directly into a large dungeon cell. And one he recognized, because he'd kept prisoners here when he was master and king of Castle Tornin. She's trapped me in my own goddamned dungeon. When he faced her once more, she met his gaze.

    Her eyes were unusual-with light amber irises surrounded by a ring as dark as coffee. He couldn't seem to look away from them. I'm in my own dungeon, a prisoner of my worst enemy.

    Between gritted teeth he said, "And when will I1 get to face him? You need not.

    All you need is me. He'd never responded so strongly to any woman before her. He'd been kissing her, lost in pleasure, actually thinking, She might be my queen. Rydstrom had worried what such a beauty would think about his scar, about how much larger he was than she. For her, he'd tried to gentle his touch and kiss. All the while she'd been luring him into a trap.

    Her very words made his shaft shoot hard as steel as every primal demon instinct inside him seemed to stir to life. This female with her plump breasts and sweet lips desired his seed, wanted to mate with him.

    She's spellbinding me. She must be. He'd studied Omort's family, had read about hundreds of his half siblings. Omort had murdered most of them after stealing their powers. But a few he kept close. What have I read about this sorceress7.

    She was aptly called the Queen of Illusions. Rydstrom had just fallen prey to one of remarkable detail. Though she looked to be in her early twenties, she would have to be centuries old.

    She was reputed to be even more diabolical than Omort. Grappling for patience, he grated, "Sabine, let's discuss this like rational beings. Rydstrom had thought that the sorcerer's sadistic regime had broken any true momentum. Omort had ora-cles, basically his own Nix at his beck and call. Sabine could know more than I do. Rydstrom shook his head hard, even as his mouth went dry.

    In fifteen hundred years, he'd never felt so attracted to another female. What if she were his? To find his queen after waiting so long?

    To find her as Omort's sister? After the foretelling, Omort searched for me specifically because of what I am to you.

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    And then I merely waited here at Tornin for the right time. Why do this now? But we learned of a plot between you and Groot. I had to prevent you from joining forces with your brother, Cadeon the Kingmaker. Tonight, Rydstrom had told his brother that should Omort learn of his quest to get the sword, he would stop at nothing to thwart them. Rydstrom hadn't known his enemy had a sorceress like this aiding him.

    That Rydstrom had been intent on speeding to meet Cadeon so they could go barter with the psychotic Groot for the weapon? She must.

    Cadeon would be at their meeting place right now, wondering where in the hell his older brother was. The brother who was never late, who never missed a meeting. Taking her soft body, learning that perfect pale flesh Resist her. Her mane of glossy red hair tumbled forward, and her scent swept him up. Because he was drawn to her as no other woman before.

    And there was only one way to determine if she was truly his. And I'll accept it. No ceremony, no witnesses, just a pact between two to become one. He would vocalize his claim on her, and if she accepted his right to her, then she would forever be his queen. Considering your reaction to me"-she delicately pointed to his erection-"do you really think I'll need to use sorcery on you? He'd never said the phrase in his life. Even she tilted her head at the words.

    But then she slowly smiled-and it was beguiling and took his breath away. Had she noticed? You will never get my vow from me. She would tease him, sexually tormenting him until he gave up the words. Why did the thought make blood surge to his groin? This creature taking him to the brink, over and over. Imagining the power struggle between them, the complication of it. Fantasies arose in his mind, thoughts he usually buried at once.

    Secrets long kept- and forever denied. Never had Rydstrom been this close to all he wanted. He had to escape to get to his brother before he did something monumentally selfish. Cadeon was a cutthroat mercenary who had just come into possession of what he'd yearned for most in the world.

    [PDF] Claimed by a Demon King (Eternal Mates Paranormal Romance Series Book 2) Popular Colection

    She stood, her shoulders back. The gown slid over her pert nipples down her narrow waist and shapely legs to pool at her feet. All that remained on her exquisite body was a sheer scrap of white silk covering her breasts and the tiniest panties he had ever seen.

    His lips parted, and his cock felt like it could rip through his pants. With her eyes flashing, she raised her chin, well aware of her effect on him and prideful of it. If this female weren't so evil, she'd be glorious. In that instant, he decided, I'll claim her as my war prize when I escape.

    And he would use her to get free. L anthe shuffled to court, listening to her iPod, deep in thought. A few months ago, she'd been off-plane, sitting in an electronics store watching coveted cable. She'd caught a show about dolphins in captivity. When the animals got lethargic and bored, their trainers would put fish into a container so that the crea-tures would have to work to get them, figuring out how to open it.

    Lanthe remembered likening Sabine to one of those burned-out dolphins who couldn't swim freely or hunt for their meals. Sabine had been made a killer but had no one to destroy, a survivor with no calamity to endure.

    Which made her a burned-out sorceress. She had been for centuries. Yet tonight when Sabine had locked her gaze on the demon, Lanthe had realized her sister had just been given a demon-size container of fish. To get from the dungeon to court, Lanthe had to walk outside, and the night sky above seemed to mock her, rekindling old fearsWhat the hell was that? She'd thought she'd heard something swooping over her music. With her gaze darting, she snatched her ear buds free, then froze for several heartbeats.

    Only silence. Losing it. Her nerves were getting to her-that had to be it. It hadn't helped that the shuffle function had selected songs like "Don't Fear the Reaper" and Jem's " Or, gods forbid, he'd discover a way to cross over into the plane of Rothkalina.

    When Sabine had created that extensive illusion tonight, Lanthe had wondered how it couldn't have drawn the Vrekeners. Though her sister responded to fear with anger, Lanthe just got scared. Something was on the horizon for her, and she sensed her outlook wasn't good. Once she reached the main hall, she hurried toward the entrance to court. There, two revenants stood guard outside the towering double doors. As she approached, they mindlessly opened them for her.

    She hated going to court almost as much as she hated staying away from it. As she passed members of the Pravus, they whispered about her behind their hands, treating her like an outcast, though she was a blood relation to Omort. Lanthe was a princess of the realm, and one of the six great towers of Castle Tornin was her own. Still, they followed her half brother's lead in deciding how to treat her.

    The Invidia-with their wild antler headdresses, whips on their belts, and star patterns over their nipples- laughed at her. The Undines, evil nymphs with paint dusted bodies, openly scorned Lanthe. The Libitinae, four raven-winged bringers of death, frowned at her with tilted heads.

    For fun, they forced men to self-castrate or die. They simply couldn't com-prehend Lanthe's need for male companionship. Lanthe supposed she hadn't helped her respect quotient by doing ninety-four-point-seven percent of all the males present, excluding the revenants that lined the walls, of course. Mathematically, this meant that Lanthe was the equivalent of the high school slut. She'd never been to high school, but she'd watched movies like Grease, The Craft, and Varsity Blues-and they all dealt with school sluttitude.

    I'm your girl. She'd liked none of her ex-lovers, but she loved sex, 1 lots of it, and well, call her crazy but once a male stole her sorcery when she was in the throes, she didn't let him hit it again. Sabine had begged her not to sleep with Sorceri, but vampires only wanted her blood, and demons and centaurs were considered animals.

    De Klerk and the Nationalists. Our institutions are what provide unity to a people. I plan on doing a pact with a demon this coming Friday. We break curses, spells, hexes, etc. Most of the music from the earlier albums are about Jonathan's [frontman] life. The strength of your mind, aura, will, focus, and hatred determine the outcome of any destruction ritual.

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    When one is new, Satan and his Demons often grant favors, but the essence of true Satanism is self-empowerment. In some cultures, these may be simply forces of nature like hurricanes.

    All of the 50 volumes have been converted into electronic versions and are available as free PDF e-books: HolyBooks. Collection of works on General Occult. These spells make the pleasure of sex all the more better or worse. It is assumed that the student will have read and achieved success in the allied works or have studied higher meditative practices, astrology, and have some knowledge of the Kabbalah.

    Satan was watching God commit these horrible acts, and saw God getting tired. Start studying Social Work Chapter Vocabulary. However, there is one spell which I want to tell you about in this article.

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    Choose this spell to become wealthy or to make someone else become wealthy for free. This excellent book was written by a former cult programmer who goes by the name Svali. Doing good flows out of the love the Spirit gives us for others. How To Make A Juju. Harry Potter Spells Lest you think that there is no harm in Harry Potter's witchcraft, consider that there are numerous charms and spells that appear in J.

    Many laypeople take "the occult", "occult magic", "ritual magic" to mean something unholy, evil, demonic, Satanic. Choose this spell to cast a strong Erotic Attraction Spell on the one you desire or to cast it on two other people for free. Welcome to Hoodoo Hill named for my Boxer buddy who is never too far from my side. We have over books by Dr D. I go out today with joy and I am led forth with peace; I walk in victory and dominion over Satan, the cohorts of darkness, and the circumstances of life.

    John A. The occult sciences allow mere humans, who are ordinarily the slaves of circumstance and causality, to surpass the normal limits of human potentiality, and to literally become Godlike. This page is a collection of spells and rituals, gathered from the Sumerian, Akkadian and Babylonian periods.

    I do not use occult magic to cause intentional harm. She escaped from the Illuminati cult in Which is why all of our voodoo spells are backed by an unconditional one-year guarantee or your money back. There is both spiritual freedom and spiritual discipline in Christ.

    Names of Satan and His Demons. Do not take it lightly. His work was available in Cuba and Puerto Rico by the s. Once I summon the Kongo spirits and pass on your request…there is no turning back and things may change quickly. But in Satanism, there is the 6th and 7th book of Moses. Then, for at least a few months after the third night, I recommend that you say the prayer of acknowledgment of Satan's rulership either by itself or as the first of two or three devotional prayers, not as part of a full-fledged formal ritual every night just before you go to bed, then again soon after you wake up, and again before meditation The Picatrix is an ancient Arabian book of astrology and occult magic dating back to the 10 th or 11 th century, which has gained notoriety for the obscene natural of its magical recipes.

    Whether you are a devout Catholic or just starting to explore your faith, these study guides, prayers, history, and personal accounts can help illuminate your journey. Amulet comes from the Latin word amuletum, meaning an object that protects a person from trouble.

    Almost everyone is now taking drugs for one reason or another. Just don't be afraid to jump in and do some magick. In search of the real church. More Than Life is dedicated to providing helpful articles, resources, checklists, guides and information to help you plan for your end of life event in a thoughtful and structured way.

    Hearing her teach and reading her books brings impartation, clarity, and empowerment to anyone who is ready to live in total victory over satanic powers and shift into the next realm and dimension in their lives. Something very strange is going on in the United States, and the spirits that are hard at work are now bringing forth a power that is designed to captivate the entire world.

    I feel the icy hand of fear, now I sense the time is near to pass into the next world So as they ready me for salvation, there'll be spells The History of Ancient Egyptian Magic Ancient Egypt provides us a treasure trove of religious, social, engineering and health related literature unsurpassed anywhere in the world.

    Give it a century to fester and you're going to end up with an all-American reboot of Mithraism. See more ideas about Book of shadows, Magick and Witchcraft. Learn vocabulary, terms, and more with flashcards, games, and other study tools. The book is said to contain proof of demonic evocation and occult spells as well as the process whereby newly elected popes are slowly won over by Satan's greatness. Beneath Elhaz, I placed Thorn. This testimony will help you understand the power with which the so-called great pastors, great prophets and other so-called generals of "god" operate.

    Issuu is a digital publishing platform that makes it simple to publish magazines, catalogs, newspapers, books, and more online. Envy is the biggest hurdle to financial independence, as well as doubts or incorrect behavior towards money. I see worship of fire — fire god. Ancient practices are coming into vogue again as people seek to find these ways and to tap into a spirit realm, to delve into what they do not know, because they think they will find a shortcut to wealth and happiness and eternity.

    I had a book on which was written "incantations. How to Gain Godlike Power. Now all you need is a little bit of magic and a little bit of practice. Learn from a philosophical system profoundly opposed to. Using the Greek numerology of the time, it probably referred to Nero who was opressing the early Christians. This is because they are the primary tools of a Witch — virtually every Witch has one. If you cannot divorce yourself from hypocritical self-deceit, you will never be successful as a magician, much less a Satanist.

    It is important to briefly mention how witchcraft became mixed up with Satanism in the minds of many people.