Midnight Special (Meat Market Series: Book 1)

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My kingdom for a burger! We got you and your company covered with up to seatings in the restaurant, so we can fit even the biggest burger-loving groups. So get your hunger-game on, grab your best friends, and be sure to have your table reserved and ready for you! Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia. Community Reviews. Showing Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Sep 15, C Joy rated it really liked it Shelves: ebooks , erotic-fiction , contemporary-fiction.

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This is the first book in the Meat Market series, and also the first I've read from this author. It's free on Smashwords so I checked it out, because I never turn down a paranormal erotica. Though this book is under those categories, I haven't seen the paranormal side yet. There are hints but Marcus's character is still in an enigma.

Taryn, a schoolteacher, was celebrating her best friend's Lexi's birthday with her brother and was lead to believe they're just about to have a good time. She didn't This is the first book in the Meat Market series, and also the first I've read from this author. She didn't know about any auction so she just went along.

The erotica here is limited since this is more of a teaser to the next two books in the trilogy, and I can't wait to read the next ones. The little piece of hotness was enought to fan myself. Aug 03, Kathryn Parry rated it it was amazing.


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I am on tenderhooks to foind out the ending, I can't wait to read the rest. J rated it liked it Jul 25, I still remember this last gaze yonder, which I threw upon the poor houses at the bottom of the hill the village's temple was enthroned upon. After the dissonant orchestration of lute music, animated laughter and popping of corks, an almost eerie silence had laid itself upon the village. Only here and there a lonesome figure could be seen and heard moving through the cool mist, and even the bakery's chimney remained still. I feebly smiled into the face of the village I had grown up in.

Enderal:The Butcher of Ark, Volume 1: Follow the fire

My father, who actually wasn't my father, claimed to have found me wrapped in linen and lying in a basket near a wayshrine on the Mist Road. However, before his untimely death, only ten years later, I never got rid of the feeling that his compassionate act was due to the fact that he found me right underneath a statue of Malphas, and not because of his wish for a child. Gilmon the Tanner, as the villagers called him, was a delicate man with pockmarked skin and a slim nose.

In his own opinion, the whole world conspired against him, which was the sole reason for his misery. We never talked much, but when we did, our conversations followed a general pattern. With his sawing voice, he called me to his fireplace room, where he rigidly sat most of the time, along with two empty tankards of beer. It started right when I sat down. Tjalmar the Hunter had sold him rancid oils. An evil cutthroat, my father called him, but after all, it was in the nature of the Aeterna, he said, and in Enderal this fact was not as well known as in Nehrim.

Or Matressa Zulja, who had served him bitter wine. A mean crone she was, he said, oh yes, but thanks to Malphas he had perceived her plan and cut her down to size. And then, of course, Rashik the Smith's twin boys. Rascals they were, both of them. No respect they had for path-abiding, hard-working people like him. But no manners were to be expected from a coal man and his breed.

These conversations, his persistently sour breath, and the smell of raw hides, leather and animal fats in the workshop made up a great deal of my childhood. Friends I had only a few to none, mostly due to the fact that my father made me work hard in the tannery as soon as I reached the age of five. Maybe the strange experience at that misty morning would have never happened. Yet she noticed, and that is how it came that on the day of my path consecration the aged priest proclaimed my holy path in a solemn voice.

Of course, back then I did not fully comprehend what that meant, but the other children's awestruck reactions made me realize it was a good thing. Thus I left the bleak tannery and only entered the old house at the end of the village to sleep there.

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Looking back, I think that the amiable Mater was the only real caregiver in my life. She taught me to read and write, and she taught me the essentials of herbal lore. With empathy and toughness she taught me what I needed to know to become part of the Endralean clergy. Ten winters later, I received priesthood and began to serve in the small temple.

I did what an obedient priest had to do: I held services, I prayed, I maintained the temple and I heard the villager's confessions. A year later my father passed away, an event that, to my surprise, affected me deeply. Then, everything became lethargic routine, until that very day. The man that I was then — was he a happy man? I am not able to tell. When I try to recall the first twenty-eight years of my life, my memories seem to be like fading words on an old parchment. My reason tells me that I was blessed, in a way.

The life of a priest was pleasant and constant, without highs and lows. I had enough to eat, I had a home and enough pennies to afford the services of a wandering whore from time to time. I knew that, according to the Holy Verses, at the end of my days I would enter the Eternal Paths, my Path trodden, my task fulfilled. But things turned out differently. After I had taken off my robes and wearily laid down under the sheet of sheep's wool, I noticed a strange and dull feeling in my stomach.

Today I know that this unremarkable moment was the first time I encountered the fire. It was small, insignificant, only a weak glow, but it was there, knowing that I would wake up as a different man. However, on this gray morning I was too tired to pay attention to it. Exhausted, I wrapped my sheet around myself and was fast asleep a moment later. I found myself on an idyllic forest glade, surrounded by green oak trees, whose leaves were moved gently by the wind.

The setting sun stood at the horizon like molten blaze and threw a red light over the scenery.

Enderal:The Butcher of Ark, Volume 1: Follow the fire

I savored the spicy, fresh air, which tasted of wet moss, morning dew and old secrets, mysterious, wild and clear, like life itself. In contrast to what we all know from the nightly journeys that we call dreams, I was fully aware of the unreality of the scenery. So I accepted it as if it was as natural as time's passing.

I was stark naked, as on the day of my birth, but I was not ashamed. On the contrary: I felt strong, clear and free. When I took my eyes away from the sky and looked in front of me, I saw her. She stood in an old ruin that was overgrown with ivy and whose collapsed walls and arches told of ancient times.

She wore a gray, flowing robe that only allowed a glimpse of her femininity beneath.


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Her hood hung deeply over her face so that only the tender and delicate parts of her cheeks and chin were visible — a sight that could have come from the imagination of a Qyranian painter. Her dense, midnight black hair was tied into snake-like braids and fell down to her shoulders. Various things were interwoven in her hair: old, faded coins that must have been minted by lost civilizations; small, finely polished bones from animals unknown to us; and strange ribbons whose colorful threads created an artful pattern.

But it was not all this that hypnotized me and drew me towards the veiled figure in the ruin. It was her smile. With every step I took towards her, I fell deeper into its charm. It was not a lovely smile, as some might assume. It was a mixture of melancholy, rage, hope and love, a symphony of contradicting feelings which I thought to be irreconcilable. It was a smile that was able to speak great wisdom as much as orders that would mean the death of thousands. A smile born from truths recognized in otherworldly existences.