Novels Of The Others #4
Daphanie has come home to New York for her sister's wedding, only to find that her new brother-in-law is not human. He is an Other. She meets an imp at the reception. She is curious about Others and gets Quigley to take her to an Other club called Lurk. Daph spills some root beer on a witch doctor and finds herself in big trouble. Asher, a Guardian, was on duty in the club. He has decided to protect her. But does she need protection from him?
Daph starts to have disturbing dreams - the same dream every night. She feels like her body is being taken over. Her sister's friends are concerned. A witch tells them that whoever is casting this curse has something of hers. They are trying to figure out what is happening and trying to find the man that cursed her. Will they figure it out in time? Can Asher save her?
I liked this book. But I felt I missed a bit of Daph's story because I had not read the 3rd book yet.
From the author:
Daphanie Carter is thrilled that her sister Danice finally found her Prince
Charming—even though he's not quite, well, human. Daphanie is trying to keep an open mind. Which is why she jumps at the chance to enter the hidden world of The Others when a friendly imp invites her to a non-human nightclub. Daphanie’s curious to see how the Other half lives—and parties—but soon, one handsome stranger has her bewitched, bothered, and beside herself…
Enter Asher Grayson. As a Guardian, it's his job to protect humans who get mixed up in the affairs of Others. When he spots Daphanie in a club, going head to head with a notorious witch doctor, he steps in to cool things off. Now the heat is on. Daphanie becomes the target of strange magical attacks, and Asher's got to undo the voodoo before it's too, too late. But soon he starts to wonder if this beautiful, beguiling mortal has put a spell on him—because every little thing she does is magic…
“You presume to lay a hand on me?! Filthy little whore! A curse on you!”
The deep-throated fury of the words reverberated through the room, echoing off the walls and ceiling as if they had been designed especially for their properties of acoustical amplification. Even the floor seemed to tremble slightly beneath Daphanie’s feet. A tiny little corner of her mind wondered idly if the glass in the entry doors had shattered from the vibration, but she couldn’t look to check. It would have been impossible to see through the thick, red fog clouding her vision.
What did he call her?
WHAT did he call her?
Daphanie watched, with curious detachment, as her left arm snaked out of its own volition. She never commanded it to move. She never intended for it to shift from its position at her waist, elbow bent and wrist relaxed. And she certainly never meant for the glass of red wine dangling from her hand to arc upward in slow motion, or for its contents to splash vividly and wetly direct into the big man’s face.
Nope, that had not been part of her plan.
But neither did she have any control over the warm surge of triumphant satisfaction that flowed within her as she watched the cabernet impact its target’s puffed up cheeks, pretentious goatee, and bulbous nose. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have repressed the happy glow her independently minded arm and an indifferent vintage had caused.
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