The Last Slayer: A Fantasy Romance Novel

by Nadia Lee

Overview

Ashera del Cid is a talented demon hunter, but when she kills a demigod's pet dragon, the hunter becomes the hunted. Her only potential ally is Ramiel, a sexy-as-hell demon. Now the two must work together to battle dragons and demigods…and the chemistry crackling between them.

Ramiel has his own reasons for offering Ashera his protection. He knows her true identity and the real reason the demigods want her dead. What he can't predict is how she'll react when she discovers he knew who she was all along...

Ashera is shocked to discover that she is the only daughter of the last slayer. To claim her destiny, she and Ramiel must join forces to face down danger and outwit their enemies. Only then will she be able to truly accept her legacy...

102,000 words

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781426892929
Publisher:	Carina Press
Publication date:	12/26/2011
Sold by:	HARLEQUIN
Format:	eBook
Sales rank:	114,261
File size:	1 MB

Read an Excerpt

"Here, have some Sex."

I looked up from my desk at the sound of Valerie Johnson's voice. Thirty years old, she was my sister—well, foster sister. Anyone looking at us would know we didn't share a drop of common blood. Valerie was the only child of my benefactor and a partner at the firm founded by her great- great- great—repeat that many, many times—grandfather. I'd just made junior partner the year before, the youngest such in the firm's illustrious five-plus centuries of history. We took care of all types of supernatural matters: hunting trespassing demons, casting made-to-order wardings, detoxing demon poisons, brewing specialty potions, performing exorcisms and divinations.

Valerie tossed a vial at me and leaned against the doorframe. With her hip cocked, she looked like a model who'd just stepped off a glossy page in a fashion mag. There were artful red streaks in her auburn hair, and a ruby halo formed around her head under the fluorescent lights.

I caught the small bottle and wrinkled my nose. "Fresh?"

"The very best."

Damn. The higher the quality, the worse it tasted.

"Don't be a baby, Ashera. You know you need it after a hunt." She quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you're planning on getting it from the source?"

That was a joke. Everyone knows that the ultimate source of Sex is the Federation of Mageship, and Valerie was well aware that I was on their shit list. I sighed, opened the vial and sniffed. Strong musk and lemon, a combination I didn't care for. But there was something else. "What the—is this flavored?"

"Cinnamon. I thought you might like it better."

I could feel my face scrunching. I swallowed the murky goo and clenched my teeth to keep it down. There was way too much spice, and it burned my throat.

"Quality stuff, huh?" Valerie said, a smile in her voice.

"Ugh! Next time stick to the regular unflavored kind."

"Can't. Supplier wants to sell those. We get seventy-five percent off retail."

"Still twenty-five percent too expensive."

She shrugged. "Everyone else liked it."

Translation: everyone else who didn't have to take this swill regularly. Valerie never had to drink it since she didn't hunt. I should've moved to some seedy place with lots of strip joints and streetwalkers. And learned how to collect and store Sex—assuming the Magical Enhancement Agency would take me. I was more likely to get hit by a falling plane than be accepted into their ranks.

"Now that that's taken care of, we need to talk." Valerie's large green eyes were blank and pleasant.

Uh-oh.

"I was getting ready to leave, but come on in," I said, keeping my voice as blank and pleasant as her eyes. Much as I loved her, she had a nasty habit of springing bad news on me at the last minute, and I didn't want to give her any advantage.

She entered my office and closed the door behind her, completing the sphere of wardings cast around the space. Every single darkmotif was Valerie's original design; wardings are her specialty. They protected us from uninvited demons—oops, supernaturals—didn't want to offend anyone. Some people could be ridiculously politically correct about stuff like that.