Come Hell or High Water
A Broken Heart Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
Things get a little devilish in the sixth Broken Heart novel from New York Times bestselling author Michele Bardsley.
Everybody makes mistakes my first one was named Connor, a heart-stealing Scottish hottie. I thought our night together was...
Everybody makes mistakes my first one was named Connor, a heart-stealing Scottish hottie. I thought our night together was...
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Things get a little devilish in the sixth Broken Heart novel from New York Times bestselling author Michele Bardsley. Everybody makes mistakes my first one was named Connor, a heart-stealing Scottish hottie. I thought our night together was the beautiful beginning to a love story, which turned out to be my second mistake. I, Phoebe Allen, lifelong Broken Heart resident and vampire, am now mated to a half-demon.
Thankfully Phoebe's four-year-old son Danny is safely away at Disneyworld with his human father. Because Phoebe's right in the middle of major paranormal drama, helping Connor and his rag-tag group of friends retrieve part of an ancient talisman in order to ward off Connor's vicious stepmother, an uber-demon named Lilith. Phoebe swears she isn't falling for any of Connor's demon charm. But still, he's willing to do anything to protect her and prevent demons from storming into Broken Heart. And her undead heart can't resist a bad boy with identity issues...
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Chapter One "Off to the ol' coffin, Phoebe?" asked Connor Ballard. He'd finished his shift at the Old Sass Café a few minutes early and had helped me finish mine. We'd wiped down tables together, and flirted all the while. He was Scottish, so every one of his words sounded like melted sugar.
"Ha. Ha." I'd been a vampire for nearly four years now. A few weeks after my son, Danny, was born, I was killed. I woke up undead, sporting a shiny new set of fangs and no heartbeat.
Oh, it gets better. Not only had I become a vampire, but I had the ability to control demonkind. Y'see, every bloodsucker gets the basic package: glamour, strength, speed, the inability to tan. Then each of the seven vampire Families has a different superpower.
I'm from the Family Durga. I can summon demons, send them back to the Pit, make them clean my house. They really hate scrubbing toilets. (Who doesn't, right?) I'm joking. I wouldn't let a demon in my house on purpose. Woe to the Pit dweller who even tried.
Thanks to the Consortium, we lived in a safe paranormal community protected by an invisible force field. Technology and magic at their finest. Ever since the Invisi-shield went operational, we've enjoyed some peace and quiet. The town's prospered. Vampires, dragons, witches, sidhe, lycanthropes, and even a few ailuranthropes, or were-cats, had settled down here.
Connor and I leaned against my car, which was parked in front of the café, and flicked glances at each other. It was a few minutes past four a.m., which was closing time for most of Broken Heart. Nearly all the lights on Main Street were off, including the neon sign for the café. Broken Heart businesses usually closed about three hours before dawn; that way we could get our kids and ourselves tucked in in plenty of time.
... mehr
According to Connor, he was Ghillie Dhu, a Scottish fairy. Once, they lived in birch trees and used their powers to protect the forests. But the Ghillie Dhu numbered too few these days. So he'd moved here and I'd hired him as a short-order cook. It seemed to me he should've been a gardener, or maybe even joined the security team. God knows he was built like a warrior.
Even though I managed the place now, I'd been waitressing at the café since I was sixteen. I didn't figure death should stand between me and a paycheck. Besides, the café was like a second home to me.
I went by my maiden name, Phoebe Allen, though I'd been Phoebe Tate for all of two minutes. A quickie marriage to the guy who'd knocked me up turned out to be a big-ass mistake. Don't get me wrong: Jackson Tate was nice enough, and definitely a good daddy. But we sucked as a couple and called it quits before our kid was born. We shared custody of Danny, and since it was the summer, my son was with his father. Jackson had taken him to Florida yesterday, the start of a two-week vacation at Disney World. I was in that mommy limbo of feeling relief (four-year-old's absence equals sleep and quiet and tidiness) and the ache of missing my kid, shaded by irrational panic that something might happen to him if I wasn't there to protect him.
"Am I borin' you, lass?"
"No," I said, laughing. "I'm just thinking 'bout stuff."
"You miss your boy."
I was surprised he'd guessed my thoughts. Connor had never struck me as the familial type. I looked at him beneath my lashes. His face was slashes and angles. Hard-edged. Even the look in his eyes was all knives. The only softness I detected was the lushness of his mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, lips that showcased perfect white teeth. And there was the dimple, of course. He had chocolate brown hair that he wore long; the ends brushed his shoulders. His eyes were the color of Crown Royal, rich amber, filled with secrets.
Wickedly handsome.
He exuded a caged strength I'd wanted so badly to see unleashed in bed.
Whe
According to Connor, he was Ghillie Dhu, a Scottish fairy. Once, they lived in birch trees and used their powers to protect the forests. But the Ghillie Dhu numbered too few these days. So he'd moved here and I'd hired him as a short-order cook. It seemed to me he should've been a gardener, or maybe even joined the security team. God knows he was built like a warrior.
Even though I managed the place now, I'd been waitressing at the café since I was sixteen. I didn't figure death should stand between me and a paycheck. Besides, the café was like a second home to me.
I went by my maiden name, Phoebe Allen, though I'd been Phoebe Tate for all of two minutes. A quickie marriage to the guy who'd knocked me up turned out to be a big-ass mistake. Don't get me wrong: Jackson Tate was nice enough, and definitely a good daddy. But we sucked as a couple and called it quits before our kid was born. We shared custody of Danny, and since it was the summer, my son was with his father. Jackson had taken him to Florida yesterday, the start of a two-week vacation at Disney World. I was in that mommy limbo of feeling relief (four-year-old's absence equals sleep and quiet and tidiness) and the ache of missing my kid, shaded by irrational panic that something might happen to him if I wasn't there to protect him.
"Am I borin' you, lass?"
"No," I said, laughing. "I'm just thinking 'bout stuff."
"You miss your boy."
I was surprised he'd guessed my thoughts. Connor had never struck me as the familial type. I looked at him beneath my lashes. His face was slashes and angles. Hard-edged. Even the look in his eyes was all knives. The only softness I detected was the lushness of his mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, lips that showcased perfect white teeth. And there was the dimple, of course. He had chocolate brown hair that he wore long; the ends brushed his shoulders. His eyes were the color of Crown Royal, rich amber, filled with secrets.
Wickedly handsome.
He exuded a caged strength I'd wanted so badly to see unleashed in bed.
Whe
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Michele Bardsley
Michele Bardsley is the New York Times bestselling author of the Broken Heart series.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Michele Bardsley
- 2010, 384 Seiten, Maße: 10,6 x 17,1 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 0451228782
- ISBN-13: 9780451228789
- Erscheinungsdatum: 18.07.2011
Sprache:
Englisch
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