Poisoned Kisses by Stephanie Draven

Author:Stephanie Draven
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: American Light Romantic Fiction, Romance - Paranormal, Fiction - Romance, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Nymphs (Greek deities), Contemporary, General, Romance, Fantasy, Shapeshifting, Romance - Contemporary, Fiction, Romance - Fantasy, Paranormal
ISBN: 9780373618453
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-10-15T23:05:55.015000+00:00

Kyra had never been this far into the heart of Africa. The city of Kinshasa was a teeming sprawl of shantytowns and urban decay spreading along the banks of the Congo River. Matonge was the city’s party neighborhood, a tangle of traffic, tattered storefronts and dingy outdoor tables that passed for restaurants. Prostitutes plied their trade, drunken men in tattered sneakers stumbled down the street to the music of Papa Wemba’s soukous band and pickpockets worked the crowd.

It felt wrong to be among the mortals without disguising herself; it would’ve made her feel less exposed to walk down the street naked. But if she came upon Marco, she wanted him to recognize her. She wanted him to see that she wasn’t hiding from him anymore. Or from herself.

The scent of grilled meat kabobs reminded Kyra that she was hungry, and she stopped at a vendor to buy a skewer. French was the official language of the country, so she held up Marco’s picture and asked, “Avez-vous vu cet homme? Have you seen this man?” It was twilight, and the vendor squinted over the smoke of his grill to look at the picture, then said no. “What about this man?” Kyra asked, showing him another photo of one of the many faces Marco wore. The vendor didn’t know that one, either, and Kyra was close to despair. It’d never been easy to find Marco, but she’d done it twice before. She could do it again, she told herself. She felt certain he would be here in the Congo.

The drumbeats from the rooftop of the nearby hotel called to her, an insistent throb at her temples. Guided by little but instinct, she made her way to the roof where revelers danced close together in the popular outdoor club. Laughter and flirting abounded, and Kyra was astonished to find that even in this country, amid the poverty and brutality, there were still pockets of city nightlife.

This mortal resilience of spirit was like a siren’s call to her. She ordered a beer, and pressed the cool bottle against her cheek when it came. Did she belong here, in this mortal world, all exposed, looking so human but not quite? Had the time for her kind passed? She stood out, and not simply because she was a nymph or because she was a lone white woman in Africa. She was also underdressed, wearing her street clothes—a tank top and shorts—whereas the dancers wore their best, some in western dress, some in traditional African garb. The press of bodies reminded her of the first time she met Marco in Naples. How she slid into his lap and something had ignited between them so naturally that it ached to remember.

But she did remember. She remembered everything about him—even the shape of his soul, the way it looked when her inner torch illuminated it. So her heart leaped a little to see that same shape now. He was coming toward her. Marco was wearing another man’s face, black-skinned and curly-haired, but she knew him, and she tried not to look as happy to see him as she was.

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