PRISONER OF NIGHT
The
Black Dagger Brotherhood series
by J. R. Ward
On Sale:
January 7, 2019
Gallery
Books | E-book Original
E-ISBN: 9781501195174
| $5.99
Thank
you so much for joining me on my leg of this tour! I have been a fan of J.R.
Ward’s for the last few years, so I was excited when I heard about this latest
addition in The Black Dagger Brotherhood
series! J.R. Ward writes paranormal romances that grab your attention from the beginning
to the end. Read on to discover more about Prisoner
of Night; including a special excerpt!
About
the Book:
From #1 New York Times bestselling
author J.R. Ward comes an unforgettable story of passion and vengeance in the
Black Dagger Brotherhood world.
When Ahmare’s brother is abducted, there is nothing she won’t do to get him
back safely. She is unprepared, however, for the lengths she will have to go to
save his life. Paired with a dangerous but enticing prisoner, she embarks on an
odyssey into another world.
Duran, betrayed by his father, imprisoned in a dungeon for decades, has survived only because of his thirst for vengeance. He has been biding his time to escape and is shocked to find an unlikely and temporary freedom in the form of a determined young female.
Battling against deadly forces and facing unforeseen peril, the pair are in a race to save Ahmare’s brother. As time runs out, and the unthinkable looms, even true love may not be enough to carry them through.
About the Author:
J.R.
Ward is the author of more than thirty novels, including those in her #1 New
York Times bestselling Black Dagger Brotherhood series. There are more
than fifteen million copies of her novels in print worldwide, and they have
been published in twenty-six different countries around the world. She lives in
the South with her family.
Buy the Book:
Excerpt:
Twenty-One Years, Three Months, Six Days Ago . .
“Where is it! Goddamn you, where’s it at!”
Duran spit blood out of his mouth and spoke over the ringing in
his ears. “I’ll never tell you—”
Chalen the Conqueror swung his open palm again, nailing Duran’s
lacerated face like a bat hitting a fastball. But it didn’t hurt as much as the
other shit they’d been doing to him in this castle’s great room. They’d already
pulled out his fingernails, broken all of his toes, and whipped his back until
strips of his own flesh flapped against his ribs. At the moment, he didn’t have
the strength to keep himself on his feet, but no worries there—two guards, with
grips locked under his pits, were holding him up off the floor.
As his head flopped back into its lolling hang, he shook it to
get the sweat and blood out of his eyes. In the hissing, kicking light of the
hearth, the male in front of him was stocky of build and ugly of feature, an
oak stump with a bulldog’s muzzle and a hungry bear’s bad fucking attitude.
“You are going to tell me the location.” Chalen took Duran by
the throat with one of his meat hands. “And you’re going to do it now.”
“Sorry, not . . . a big talker—”
The conqueror
grabbed onto the lower half of Duran’s face, squeezing so hard his jaw split
and the inside of his mouth was forced between the hard-and-sharp of his
molars. More blood welled, spilled, fell on his bare chest.
“Why are you
protecting the male who put you here?” Chalen’s opaque eyes searched Duran’s
expression as if he were trying to extrapolate a map of Maryland in the
features. “All you need to do is tell me where that facility is.”
Duran waited for
that grip to release. When it did, he spit more blood out. “I’m not . . .
protecting him.”
“Then what are
you doing?”
“Making sure you
don’t cheat me of what’s mine.” Duran smiled, aware he must look deranged. “You
kill him . . . I don’t get to.”
Chalen crossed
his strong-man arms over his barrel chest. He was dressed in weapons, whatever
clothes he had on underneath the holsters of guns and knives largely hidden by
metal. No daggers, though. He’d never been Black Dagger Brotherhood material
and not just because he was a mutt according to his lineage: Even among black
market thieves, there was a code of conduct.
Not for Chalen.
He had no code. Not in the Old Country, and not during his last century here in
the New World.
There was only one male who was worse.
“I will break you,” Chalen said in a low voice. “And I will
enjoy it.”
Duran laughed in a wheeze. “You have no idea what I’ve already
been through—”
Chalen swung that palm wide again, the crack so heavy Duran lost
his vision, everything going checkerboard. And then there was a drop in blood
pressure, his brain emptying of oxygen, floaty disassociation riding in, a
foggy savior buffering the suffering.
The sound of chains moving and gears shifting brought him back
to reality. A section of the sweaty stone wall rose by inches, the great weight
ascending like a gate, revealing a corridor . . .
Revealing a male who was naked but for a black hood that covered
his head.
“I will make you pray for death,” Chalen said. “And when you
give me what I need, you will think back to this moment. When you could have
saved yourself from so much.”
Duran exhaled in a gurgle. His body was on fire, the pain
burning through his veins, turning him into a semi-living, kind-of-breathing,
sort-of-conscious incubator for agony.
But fuck Chalen.
“Do what you will,” he mumbled. “I’m not going to give you a
goddamn thing.”
“I will make you wish you were never born.”
As the hooded male came forward, Duran was dragged over and
slammed face-first down onto a table, his torso bent parallel to the floor.
Turning his face to the side, he smelled the spoiled meat and rancid fat
embedded in the fibers of the planks.
“Already there, asshole.”
Join
the Addiction:
No comments:
Post a Comment