Devil's Gate (Elder Races, Book 4.6) by Thea Harrison

By Thea Harrison

"When it involves love among a medusa and a Vampyre, it's each guy, lady, and snake for themselves. "

"A Novella of the Elder Races"

As a coroner, medusa Seremela Telemar has regularly felt more well-off chatting over a lifeless physique than over beverages. but if her wild niece, Vetta, runs off to Devil's Gate, a lawless city that has sprung up in a single day in a modern day gold rush, she understands she has to extricate her sooner than the rebellious woman will get into genuine hassle. although she's convinced in her head snakes' skill to protect her opposed to attackers, Seremela continues to be a piece worried approximately braving this modern day Wild West by means of herself.

Vampyre Duncan Turner isn't approximately to permit his new co-worker move into that chaos by myself. His Vampyric energy and legal professional smarts make him the fitting best friend, and the truth that he already had his eye on Seremela for more...personal purposes, doesn't damage concerns. Any romantic concepts pull up brief, in spite of the fact that, once they arrive at Devil's Gate and examine Vetta is decided to hold by way of morning.

In order to save lots of Vetta and themselves, Seremela and Duncan are going to need to struggle hearth with strength and magic with fangs. And pray they make it out of Devil's Gate alive.

Warning: includes mom effin' snakes in planes, vehicles, tents, and beds. fortunately, our scorching Vampyre hero doesn't brain them one bit...

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Extra resources for Devil's Gate (Elder Races, Book 4.6)

Example text

Good black suit, a little too small, clutched briefcase, freckles of gray in the hair. No rings. He did not seem startled or doubled over with desire as they sometimes were. He was calm, his answering smile measured and almost sweet, like a photograph of a soldier lost in a long-ago war. Coolly, without taking his dark eyes from hers, he turned over his left palm and rested it on the creamy brown edge of his briefcase. His hand was covered in a mark she first thought horrible—it snaked and snarled, black and swollen, where fortune-teller’s lines ought to have been.

At the end of each day they tell her all they have learned of living. It is necessary work. No family has been so often formally thanked by the city as hers. _______ On the other side of the street: a fortune-teller’s shop. Palm fronds cross before the door. Inside are four red chairs with four lustral basins before them, filled with ink, swirling and black. Orlande lumbers in, a woman wrapped in ragged fox fur. Her head amid heaps of scarves is that of a frog, mottled green and bulbous-eyed. A licking pink tongue keeps its place in her wide mouth.

It folds itself, origami-exact, in midair: it has papery eyes, inky feathers, vellum claws. It stares down the long avenues, searching for mice. This is the life cycle of Palimpsest fauna. Yumiko leans against the door post, holding her arms out like a sister who had never hoped to see her dear one again. She is not wearing her schoolgirl’s dress any longer, but a red scrap that clings to her waist like a spool of yarn pulled tighter than breathing. With a local girl’s surety she guides Sei inside—a little scalloped bell chimes, and Imogen looks up from her parchments with a stern face, her black hair soft around a neck just slightly too long for a woman to wear in company.

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