worldcreation.info Programming The Darkest Night Gena Showalter Pdf

THE DARKEST NIGHT GENA SHOWALTER PDF

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Gena Showalter (Author) Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over fifty books, including the acclaimed Lords of the Underworld and Angels of the Dark series, and the White Rabbit Chronicles. She writes sizzling paranormal romance, hear. The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld, #1).epub. KB. The Darkest Lords of the Underworld 04 The - Gena worldcreation.info KB. To ask other readers questions about The Darkest Night, please sign up. the first book of the Lords of the Underworld series, is my first Gena Showalter book.


The Darkest Night Gena Showalter Pdf

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Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling a PDF except from my upcoming release, The Darkest Warrior. Editorial Reviews. Review. ""A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld Book 1) by [Showalter, Gena. Audible Sample. Audible Sample. Playing Playing Loading Loading. The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld) [Gena Showalter] on worldcreation.info * FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Though they carry an eternal curse, the.

Hurt, kill. He would have liked to obliterate the gods. One by one. Decapitate them, perhaps. Rip out their blackened, decayed hearts, definitely. The demon purred in approval. Of course it's purring now, Maddox thought with disgust. Anything bloodthirsty, no matter the victims, met with the creature's support. Scowling, he leveled another heated glance at the heavens. He and the demon had been paired long ago, but he remembered the day clearly.

The screams of the innocent in his ears, humans bleeding all around him, hurting, dying, the spirits having devoured their flesh in a rapturous frenzy. Only when Violence had been shoved inside his body did he lose touch with reality. There had been no sounds, no sights.

Just an all-consuming darkness. He hadn't regained his senses until Pandora's blood splattered his chest, her last breath echoing in his ears. She had not been his first kill - or his last - but she had been the first and only woman to meet his sword. The horror of seeing that once-vibrant female form broken and knowing he was responsible for it To this day, he had not assuaged the guilt, the regret. The shame and the sorrow. He'd sworn to do whatever was necessary to control the spirit from then on, but it had been too late.

Enraged all the more, Zeus had bestowed a second curse upon him: every night at midnight he would die exactly as Pandora had died - a blade through the stomach, six hellish times.

The only difference was, her torment had ended within minutes. His torment would last for eternity. He popped his jaw, trying to relax against a new onslaught of aggression. It wasn't as if he were the only one to suffer, he reminded himself. The other warriors had their own demons - literally and figuratively. Torin, of course, was keeper of Disease. Lucien was keeper of Death.

Reyes, of Pain. Aeron, of Wrath. Paris, of Promiscuity. Why couldn't he have been given that last one? He would have been able to journey to town anytime he wished, take any woman he desired, savoring every sound, every touch.

As it was, he could never venture far. Nor could he trust himself around females for long periods of time. If the demon overtook him or if he could not return home before midnight and someone found his dead, bloody body and buried him - or worse, burned him How he wished such a thing would end his miserable existence.

He would have left long ago and allowed himself to be roasted in a pit. Or perhaps he would have jumped from the fortress's highest window and smashed his brains from his skull. But no. No matter what he did, he'd merely awaken once again, charred as well as sore. Broken as well as sliced. Are you calm now, at least? There's something I need to show you, and don't try to deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for disturbing you along the way. Maddox remained in place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear around the corner.

Stop whining, Torin had said. Yes, that's exactly what he had been doing. Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood, and Maddox stepped from the gym into the hallway. A cold draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture and the crisp scents of winter. He spied Torin a few feet away and stalked forward, quickly closing in.

Interest," was the only response. The plastic "ladies" had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone who passed them. Things like that happened when Torin was bored. As Maddox kept pace, stone walls stretched at his sides; sconces glowed, pulsing with light and fire, twining shadow with gold.

The House of the Damned, as Torin had dubbed the place, had been built hundreds of years ago. Though they had modernized it as best they could, the age showed in the crumbling rock and the scuffed floors. He's out searching for a new woman.

Possessed as he was by Promiscuity, Paris could not bed the same woman twice, and so he seduced a new one - or two or three - every day. The only downside? If he couldn't find a woman, he was reduced to doing things Maddox didn't even want to contemplate.

Things that left the normally good-tempered man hunched over a toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach.

Though Maddox's envy abated at such moments, it always returned when Paris spoke of one of his lovers. The soft brush of a thigh Prepare yourself," Torin began, "because this is the main reason I hunted you down. Destroy, obliterate, Violence beseeched, clawing at the corners of his mind.

Even killed - a feat they had all discovered in the worst possible way. Slowly, he relaxed and gradually Violence receded. Cleaning a mess and throwing a fit? It was their way of maintaining some semblance of order amid the chaos of their own souls. Aeron's task was maid service, something he complained about on a daily basis. Maddox took care of home repairs. Torin played with stocks and bonds, whatever those were, keeping them well-moneyed. Lucien did all the paperwork and Reyes supplied them with weapons.

But the Greeks hadn't spoken to any of them since the day of Pandora's death. And why am I just now hearing about this? We were watching a movie when suddenly he straightened in his seat, expression dead, as if there were no one home. Then a few seconds later he tells us he's been summoned.

None of us even had time to react - one minute Aeron was with us, the next he was gone. You said you didn't care, remember?

I'm Disease, not Stupid.

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Maddox did not want to contemplate what this was, but could not stop the thoughts from forming. Sometimes Aeron, keeper of Wrath, lost total control of his spirit and embarked on a vengeance rampage, punishing mortals for their perceived sins. Was he now to be given a second curse for his actions, as Maddox had been all those centuries ago?

He forced himself to relax. Lucien is out collecting souls. Reyes, is gods-know-where, probably cutting himself. Even though Maddox suffered unbearably each night, he pitied Reyes, who could not live a single hour without self-inflicted torture. Maddox wondered, striding past the entertainment room.

Their sanctuary. The chamber they'd spared no expense creating was filled with plush furniture and all the comforts a warrior could desire. There was a refrigerator crammed with special wines and beers.

A pool table. A basketball hoop. A large plasma screen that was even now flashing images of three naked women in the middle of an orgy. Torin did not reply, but he did quicken his steps, never once glancing toward the screen.

Directing Torin's attention to anything carnal was unnecessarily cruel. The celibate man had to crave sex - touch - with every fiber of his being, but he would never have the option of indulging. Even Maddox enjoyed a woman upon occasion. His lovers were usually Paris's leftovers, those females foolish enough to try to follow Paris home, hoping to share his bed again, not knowing just how impossible such a thing was. They were always drunk with sexual arousal, a consequence of welcoming Promiscuity, so they rarely cared who finally slid between their legs.

Most times, they were all too happy to accept Maddox as a substitute - even though it was an impersonal joining, as emotionally hollow as it was physically satisfying. It had to be that way, though. To protect their secrets, the warriors did not allow humans inside the fortress, forcing Maddox to take the women outside in the surrounding forest.

He preferred them on their hands and knees, facing away from him, a swift coupling that would not rouse Violence in any way or compel him to do things that would haunt him forever and still another eternity.

Afterward, Maddox would send the females home with a warning: never return or die. It was that simple. To allow a more permanent arrangement would be foolish. He might come to care for them, and he would definitely hurt them, which would only heap even more guilt and shame upon him. Just once, though, he would have liked to linger over a woman as Paris was able to do. He would have liked to kiss and lick her entire body; he would have liked to drown in her, completely losing himself, without fearing his control would snap and cause him to wound her.

The Darkest Night

Finally reaching Torin's quarters, he blocked those thoughts from his mind. Time spent wishing was time wasted, as he well knew. He glanced at his surroundings. He'd been in this room before, but he did not remember the wall-to-wall computer system or the numerous monitors, phones and various other equipment lined throughout.

Unlike Torin, Maddox eschewed most technology, for he had never quite gotten used to how quickly things seemed to change - and just how much further each new advancement seemed to pull him from the carefree warrior he'd once been. Though he would be lying if he claimed not to enjoy the convenience such gadgets provided. Survey complete, he faced his friend. Just watching it. It's the best way to protect us, and the best way to make a little coin.

One of the blank monitors lit up, the black screen becoming intertwined with grays and whites. Here's what I wanted you to see.

The indistinct blur gradually became thick, opaque lines. Trees, he realized. Torin flicked him a wry glance. I have heat sensors and cameras hidden throughout our land so that I always know when someone trespasses. Then there was a swift flash of red, there one moment, gone the next. He wasn't a surveillance expert. No, his skill lay in the actual killing. But even he knew what that red slash represented.

Body heat.

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Tap, tap, tap and the red slash once again consumed the screen. The silhouette was small, almost dainty. Too big to be a child, too small to be a grown man. Or even during the day. Whether it was too spooky, too gloomy or a sign of the locals' respect, Maddox didn't know.

But he could count on one hand the number of deliverymen, children wanting to explore and women prowling for sex who'd braved the journey in the last year. Deliverymen always come with boxes and Paris's girls always race straight toward the front door. This one looks empty-handed and she's gone in circles, stopping every few minutes and doing something against the trees. Planting dynamite in an attempt to injure us, maybe. Cameras to watch us. Maybe they finally found us.

First Aeron's shocking summons and now the uninvited visitor. Mere coincidence? His mind flashed back to those dark days in Greece, days of war and savagery, screams and death. Days the warriors had been more demon than man. Days a hunger for destruction had dictated their every action and human bodies had littered the streets.

Hunters had soon risen from the tortured masses, a league of mortal men intent upon destroying those who'd unleashed such evil, and a blood feud had erupted. The battles he then found himself fighting, with swords clanging and fires raging, flesh burning and peace something of lore and legend Cunning had been the Hunters' greatest weapon, however.

Here, they were allowed to come and go without having to face a barrage of questions. Why don't you age? Why do screams echo through the forest every night? Why do you sometimes look like a monster? Here, the locals maintained their distance, awed, respectful.

If they only knew. Maddox's nails elongated slightly, digging into the stone. Budapest was a place of majestic beauty, old-world charm and modern pleasures, but he'd always felt removed from it. From the castle district that lined one street to the nightclubs that lined the next.

From the fruits and vegetables hawked in one alley to the living flesh hawked in the other. Maybe that sense of disconnection would vanish if he ever explored the city, but unlike the others who roamed at will, he was trapped inside the fortress and surrounding land as surely as Violence had been trapped inside Pandora's box thousands of years ago.

His nails lengthened farther, almost claws now. Thinking of the box always blackened his mood. Punch a wall, Violence beckoned. Destroy something. Hurt, kill.

He would have liked to obliterate the gods. One by one. Decapitate them, perhaps.

The Darkest Night

Rip out their blackened, decayed hearts, definitely. The demon purred in approval. Of course it's purring now, Maddox thought with disgust. Anything bloodthirsty, no matter the victims, met with the creature's support.

Scowling, he leveled another heated glance at the heavens. He and the demon had been paired long ago, but he remembered the day clearly. The screams of the innocent in his ears, humans bleeding all around him, hurting, dying, the spirits having devoured their flesh in a rapturous frenzy. Only when Violence had been shoved inside his body did he lose touch with reality.

There had been no sounds, no sights. Just an all-consuming darkness. He hadn't regained his senses until Pandora's blood splattered his chest, her last breath echoing in his ears.

She had not been his first kill - or his last - but she had been the first and only woman to meet his sword. The horror of seeing that once-vibrant female form broken and knowing he was responsible for it To this day, he had not assuaged the guilt, the regret. The shame and the sorrow. He'd sworn to do whatever was necessary to control the spirit from then on, but it had been too late.

Enraged all the more, Zeus had bestowed a second curse upon him: The only difference was, her torment had ended within minutes. His torment would last for eternity. He popped his jaw, trying to relax against a new onslaught of aggression. It wasn't as if he were the only one to suffer, he reminded himself. The other warriors had their own demons - literally and figuratively.

Torin, of course, was keeper of Disease. Lucien was keeper of Death. Reyes, of Pain. Aeron, of Wrath.

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Paris, of Promiscuity. Why couldn't he have been given that last one? He would have been able to journey to town anytime he wished, take any woman he desired, savoring every sound, every touch. As it was, he could never venture far.

Nor could he trust himself around females for long periods of time. If the demon overtook him or if he could not return home before midnight and someone found his dead, bloody body and buried him - or worse, burned him How he wished such a thing would end his miserable existence.

He would have left long ago and allowed himself to be roasted in a pit. Or perhaps he would have jumped from the fortress's highest window and smashed his brains from his skull. But no. No matter what he did, he'd merely awaken once again, charred as well as sore. Broken as well as sliced. Are you calm now, at least?

There's something I need to show you, and don't try to deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for disturbing you along the way. Maddox remained in place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear around the corner. Stop whining, Torin had said. Yes, that's exactly what he had been doing.

Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood, and Maddox stepped from the gym into the hallway. A cold draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture and the crisp scents of winter. He spied Torin a few feet away and stalked forward, quickly closing in. Interest," was the only response. The plastic "ladies" had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone who passed them. Things like that happened when Torin was bored.

As Maddox kept pace, stone walls stretched at his sides; sconces glowed, pulsing with light and fire, twining shadow with gold. The House of the Damned, as Torin had dubbed the place, had been built hundreds of years ago.

Though they had modernized it as best they could, the age showed in the crumbling rock and the scuffed floors. He's out searching for a new woman. Possessed as he was by Promiscuity, Paris could not bed the same woman twice, and so he seduced a new one - or two or three - every day. The only downside? If he couldn't find a woman, he was reduced to doing things Maddox didn't even want to contemplate. Things that left the normally good-tempered man hunched over a toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach.

Though Maddox's envy abated at such moments, it always returned when Paris spoke of one of his lovers. The soft brush of a thigh Prepare yourself," Torin began, "because this is the main reason I hunted you down. Destroy, obliterate, Violence beseeched, clawing at the corners of his mind. Even killed - a feat they had all discovered in the worst possible way. Slowly, he relaxed and gradually Violence receded.

Cleaning a mess and throwing a fit? It was their way of maintaining some semblance of order amid the chaos of their own souls. Aeron's task was maid service, something he complained about on a daily basis. Maddox took care of home repairs. Torin played with stocks and bonds, whatever those were, keeping them well-moneyed.

Lucien did all the paperwork and Reyes supplied them with weapons. But the Greeks hadn't spoken to any of them since the day of Pandora's death. And why am I just now hearing about this? We were watching a movie when suddenly he straightened in his seat, expression dead, as if there were no one home.

Then a few seconds later he tells us he's been summoned. None of us even had time to react - one minute Aeron was with us, the next he was gone. You said you didn't care, remember? I'm Disease, not Stupid. Maddox did not want to contemplate what this was, but could not stop the thoughts from forming. Sometimes Aeron, keeper of Wrath, lost total control of his spirit and embarked on a vengeance rampage, punishing mortals for their perceived sins.

Was he now to be given a second curse for his actions, as Maddox had been all those centuries ago? He forced himself to relax. Lucien is out collecting souls. Reyes, is gods-know-where, probably cutting himself.

Even though Maddox suffered unbearably each night, he pitied Reyes, who could not live a single hour without self-inflicted torture.

Maddox wondered, striding past the entertainment room. Their sanctuary. The chamber they'd spared no expense creating was filled with plush furniture and all the comforts a warrior could desire. There was a refrigerator crammed with special wines and beers. A pool table. A basketball hoop. A large plasma screen that was even now flashing images of three naked women in the middle of an orgy. Torin did not reply, but he did quicken his steps, never once glancing toward the screen.

Directing Torin's attention to anything carnal was unnecessarily cruel. The celibate man had to crave sex - touch - with every fiber of his being, but he would never have the option of indulging. Even Maddox enjoyed a woman upon occasion. His lovers were usually Paris's leftovers, those females foolish enough to try to follow Paris home, hoping to share his bed again, not knowing just how impossible such a thing was. They were always drunk with sexual arousal, a consequence of welcoming Promiscuity, so they rarely cared who finally slid between their legs.

Most times, they were all too happy to accept Maddox as a substitute - even though it was an impersonal joining, as emotionally hollow as it was physically satisfying. It had to be that way, though. To protect their secrets, the warriors did not allow humans inside the fortress, forcing Maddox to take the women outside in the surrounding forest.

He preferred them on their hands and knees, facing away from him, a swift coupling that would not rouse Violence in any way or compel him to do things that would haunt him forever and still another eternity. Afterward, Maddox would send the females home with a warning: It was that simple.

To allow a more permanent arrangement would be foolish. He might come to care for them, and he would definitely hurt them, which would only heap even more guilt and shame upon him. Just once, though, he would have liked to linger over a woman as Paris was able to do. He would have liked to kiss and lick her entire body; he would have liked to drown in her, completely losing himself, without fearing his control would snap and cause him to wound her.

Finally reaching Torin's quarters, he blocked those thoughts from his mind. Time spent wishing was time wasted, as he well knew. He glanced at his surroundings. He'd been in this room before, but he did not remember the wall-to-wall computer system or the numerous monitors, phones and various other equipment lined throughout.

Unlike Torin, Maddox eschewed most technology, for he had never quite gotten used to how quickly things seemed to change - and just how much further each new advancement seemed to pull him from the carefree warrior he'd once been.

Though he would be lying if he claimed not to enjoy the convenience such gadgets provided. Survey complete, he faced his friend. Just watching it. It's the best way to protect us, and the best way to make a little coin. One of the blank monitors lit up, the black screen becoming intertwined with grays and whites.

Here's what I wanted you to see. The indistinct blur gradually became thick, opaque lines. Trees, he realized. Torin flicked him a wry glance. I have heat sensors and cameras hidden throughout our land so that I always know when someone trespasses. Then there was a swift flash of red, there one moment, gone the next. He wasn't a surveillance expert. No, his skill lay in the actual killing. But even he knew what that red slash represented. Body heat. Tap, tap, tap and the red slash once again consumed the screen.

The silhouette was small, almost dainty. Too big to be a child, too small to be a grown man. Or even during the day. Whether it was too spooky, too gloomy or a sign of the locals' respect, Maddox didn't know. But he could count on one hand the number of deliverymen, children wanting to explore and women prowling for sex who'd braved the journey in the last year. Deliverymen always come with boxes and Paris's girls always race straight toward the front door.Hence the nickname.

The Red Queen. Jun 25, Two days ago, he would not have thought such a thing was possible. Here, they were allowed to come and go without having to face a barrage of questions. Blog Instagram Twitter Perhaps he could have coaxed the females to continue, but his disgust with himself had been too great. I'll try to power through them today: Why do you sometimes look like a monster?

Maddox took care of home repairs.