PublicBookshelf Book Club
Weekly tips on great novels to read.
The human-turned-demon, Deidre, awoke groggily. Her fangs had dug into her lower lip while she slept, and she tasted blood. The light, metallic scent made her stomach roar in a way that left her a little ill at the reminder of her newfound status as a demon bride. Pushing herself up from the cold, uneven stone floor, she struggled to see far into the cell in the dim light streaming in from the single window overhead.
Harmony and her cronies had knocked them out upon entering Death's underworld. She assumed they were in a prison somewhere. It was impossible to see how wide the room was through the darkness, but it was shallow, with the back wall about ten feet from a door that looked like wood and shone like polished stone.
Petrified wood. It was beautiful, or would be, if she were anywhere other than a dungeon. She shifted to lean against the back wall of the cell. Her head was pounding and her stomach cramping. With a small groan, she wrapped her arms around her belly and leaned over.
"Cramps are the first sign."
It took her a moment to process the male's voice.
Deidre straightened and squinted into the dark side of the cell. She heard chains rattle a moment before a lanky figure emerged far enough for her to see him. Tall and blond, the steely-eyed demon had fangs little longer than hers.
"Of what?" she asked.