Carnage Kabuto

Aurora Cade: I am a true hybrid; half witch, half werewolf, my parents two opposing sides in a bloody war. A war which sent my mother fleeing to the human empire in order to protect me, her unborn child from the carnage, only to abandon me eleven years later. She bound my magic to my wolf, so it would go undetected until I turned eighteen, and she altered my appearance so I would be able to blend in with the humans. She gave me what I needed to survive, but the empire she left me in had other plans for me. Now I’m a prisoner, surrounded by enemies who could easily kill me before I’m strong enough to save myself. Samael Dema: I am the vampire king of Dema Mortem; the only king in the Dema line to ever be given the crown without a queen to rule by his side. My family, my council, and all those around me push and push me to choose a queen, but I refuse all candidates; none would have the stomach for the job anyway. I will not marry for political gain or status. Simply put, a pawn will never occupy my queen's throne. TRIGGER WARNINGS!: This book contains some dark material including, explicit descriptions of rape, violence, psychological abuse, gore, torture, murder, abortion, and drug use. There are also detailed sex scenes, some including kinks such as, breath play and knife play.

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.