Bitten By Kelley Armstrong - Free download as PDF File .pdf) or read online for free. An erotically charged, addictive thriller from the future queen of suspense. Read "Stolen" by Kelley Armstrong available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first download. Book 2 in the #1 New York Times bestselling. Armstrong/Stolen/Prologue. 2. with his grandmother while his siblings went hiking and camping. He was lost here. Completely lost. The hound would find him.
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Stolen. byArmstrong, Kelley. Publication date Topics Werewolves. PublisherNew York Borrow this book to access EPUB and PDF files. It was in Bitten, Kelley Armstrong's debut novel, that thirty-year-old El.. I first started reading this ebook in October/November but I put it aside around the. Dokument: pdf ( MB) —Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat "With a howl, Kelley Armstrong's Bitten plunges headlong into a murderous plot rife with violence.
I pick up scents of fresh asphalt and rotting tomatoes and window-pot mums and day-old sweat and a million other things, mixing together in an odor so overwhelming I cough and shake my head. As I turn, I catch distorted fragments of my reflection in a dented trash can.
My eyes stare back at me. I curl my lips back and snarl at myself. White fangs flash in the metal. I am a wolf, a pound wolf with pale blond fur. The only part of me that remains are my eyes, sparking with a cold intelligence and a simmering ferocity that could never be mistaken for anything but human.
I look around, inhaling the scents of the city again. Im nervous here. Its too close, too confined; it reeks of human spoor. I must be careful. If Im seen, Ill be mistaken for a dog, a large mixed breed, perhaps a husky and yellow Labrador mix. But even a dog my size is cause for alarm when its running loose.
I head for the back of the laneway and seek a path through the underbelly of the city.
My brain is dulled, disoriented not by my change of form but by the unnaturalness of my surroundings. I cant get my bearings and the first alley I go down turns out to be the one Id encountered in human form, the one with the two men in the faded Sony box.
One of them is awake now. Hes tugging the remnants of a filth-encrusted blanket between his fingers as if he can stretch it large enough to cover himself against the cold October night. He looks up and sees me. His eyes widen. He starts to shrink back, then stops himself. He says something. His voice is crooning, the musical, exaggerated tones people use with infants and animals. If I concentrated, I could make out the words, but. I know what hes saying, some variation of nice doggy, repeated over and over in a variety of inflections.
His hands are outstretched, palms out to ward me off, the physical language contradicting the vocal. Stay backnice doggystay back. And people wonder why animals dont understand them.
I can smell the neglect and waste rising from his body. It smells like weakness, like an aged deer driven to the fringe of the herd, prime pickings for predators. If I were hungry, hed smell like dinner. Fortunately, Im not hungry yet, so I dont have to deal with the temptation, the conflict, the revulsion. I snort, condensation trumpeting from my nostrils, then turn and lope back up the alley.
Ahead is a Vietnamese restaurant. The smell of food is embedded in the very wood frame of the building. On a rear addition, an exhaust fan turns slowly, clicking with each revolution as one blade catches the metal screen casing.
Below the fan a window is open. Faded sunflower-print curtains billow out in the night breeze. I can hear people inside, a room full of people, grunting and whistling in sleep.
I want to see them. I want to stick my muzzle in the open window and look inside. A werewolf can have a lot of fun with a roomful of unprotected people. I start to creep forward but a sudden crackle and hiss stops me. The hiss softens, then is drowned out by a mans voice, sharp, his words snapped off like icicles. I turn my head each way, radar searching for the source. Hes farther down the street. I abandon the restaurant and go to him. We are curious by nature. Hes standing in a three-car parking lot wedged at the end of a narrow passage between buildings.
He holds a walkie-talkie to his ear and leans one elbow against a brick wall, casual but not resting. His shoulders are relaxed. His gaze goes nowhere. He is confident in his place, that he has a right to be here and little to fear from the night.
The gun. He stops talking, jabs a button, and slams the walkie-talkie into its holster. His eyes scan the parking lot once, taking inventory and seeing nothing requiring his attention.
Then he heads deeper into the alley maze.
This could be amusing. I follow. My nails click against the pavement. He doesnt notice. I pick up speed, darting around trash bags and empty boxes.
Finally, Im close enough. He hears the steady clicking behind him and stops. I duck behind a Dumpster, peer around the corner.
He turns and squints into the darkness. After a second he starts forward. I let him get a few steps away, then resume the pursuit. This time when he stops, I wait one extra second before diving for cover. He lets out a muffled oath.
Bitten By Kelley Armstrong
Hes seen somethinga flash of motion, a shadow flickering, something. His right hand slips to his gun, caressing the metal, then pulling back, as if the reassurance is enough.
He hesitates, then looks up and down the alley, realizing he is alone and uncertain what to do about it. He mutters something, then continues walking, quicker this time. As he walks, his eyes flick from side to side, wariness treading the border of alarm. I inhale deeply, picking up only wisps of fear, enough to make my heart pound, but not enough to send my brain spinning out of control.
Hes safe quarry for a stalking game. He wont run. I can suppress most of my instincts. I can stalk him without killing him. I can suffer the first pangs of hunger without killing him. I can watch him pull his gun without killing him. Yet if he runs, I wont be able to stop myself. Thats a temptation I cant fight. If he runs, I will chase.
If I chase, either hell kill me or Ill kill him. As he turns the corner down a connecting alley, he relaxes. All has been silent behind him. I creep from my hiding place, shifting my weight to the back of my foot pads to muffle the sound of my nails. Soon I am only a few feet. I can smell his aftershave, almost masking the natural scent of a long days work.
I can see his white socks appearing and disappearing between his shoes and pant legs. I can hear his breathing, the slight elevation in tempo betraying the fact that hes walking faster than usual.
I ease forward, coming close enough that I could lunge if I want to and knock him to the ground before he even thought to reach for his gun.
His head jerks up. He knows Im there. He knows something is there. I wonder if he will turn. Does he dare to look, to face something he cant see or hear, but can only sense? His hand slides to his gun, but he doesnt turn. He walks faster. Then he swings back to the safety of the street.
I follow him to the end and observe from the darkness. He strides forward, keys in hand, to a parked cruiser, unlocks it, and hops inside. The car roars and squeals from the curb. I watch the receding taillights and sigh. Game over. I won. That was nice but it wasnt nearly enough to satisfy me.
These city backstreets are too confining. My heart is thudding with unspent excitement. My legs are aching with built-up energy. I must run.
A wind gusts from the south, bringing the sharp tang of Lake Ontario with it.
I think of heading to the beach, imagine running along the stretch of sand, feeling the icy water slapping against my paws, but its not safe. If I want to run, I must go to the ravine. Its a long way, but I have little choice unless I plan to skulk around human-smelling alleyways for the rest of the night.
I swing to the northwest and begin the journey. Nearly a half hour later, Im standing at the crest of a hill. My nose twitches, picking up the vestiges of an illegal leaf fire smoldering in a nearby yard.
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The wind bristles through my fur, chill, nearly cold, invigorating. Above me, traffic thunders across the overpass. Below is sanctuary, a perfect. I leap forward, throwing myself off.
At last Im running. My legs pick up the rhythm before Im halfway down the ravine. I close my eyes for a second and feel the wind slice across my muzzle.
As my paws thump against the hard earth, tiny darts of pain shoot up my legs, but they make me feel alive, like jolting awake after an overlong sleep. The muscles contract and extend in perfect harmony. With each stretch comes an ache and a burst of physical joy. My body is thanking me for the exercise, rewarding me with jolts of near-narcotic adrenaline.
By far one of my favorite series! Date published: Rated 5 out of 5 by Erika from Werewolves I love reading the pack. I may be a little overly excited since Elena turns and runs near my home ; That being said this is typical Kelley Armstrong, entertaining, exciting and easy to read. This is the first Kelley Armstrong book I've ever read.
This series is addictive. Amazing characters, plot, and a a def read. I have since moved on to her other series and none of them disappoint Date published: Rated 5 out of 5 by Ronda from Extraordinary writing Clay and Elena are the best.
Storytelling at its finest. Could not put the book down. Had to download the rest of the series to find out more about this couple.
Intriguing, well told stories. I highly recommend all of Kelley Armstrong's novels. An amazing writer. Date published: Rated 5 out of 5 by Nicole from Bitten, stolen, beginnings I really enjoyed all of these books.
Whilst he is prepared to join forces with the Council if necessary, it is only a temporary measure as the Pack has always fought its own battles. That night Clay arrives.
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The three werewolves are attacked by men working for Winsloe, but they are all killed. The Pack are suspicious because the only people who knew they were in the area where the members of the Council.
So, the following day, when they arrive at the meeting, they do so with the head of one of the men in a bag. They decline any offer to align themselves with the Council and leave. On the way back, Elena is kidnapped and taken to the compound.
There she becomes involved with many of the other residents, being 'befriended' by Leah and Sondra, as well as helping Doctor Carmichael in the infirmary. She discovers Ruth has also been kidnapped.
The witch is particularly interested in another prisoner, Savannah Levine. However, ' poltergeist activity', that many of those in the compound associate with Savannah, plays a role in the death of Ruth. Sondra Bauer becomes obsessed with turning herself into a werewolf and injects herself with some of Elena's saliva.
Her body reacts as if she has been bitten, and she is taken to the infirmary. While there, Bauer kills Carmichael and Elena is forced to sedate her. Bauer is transferred to the cell beside Elena's. Tyrone Winsloe takes an interest in Elena, wanting her to wear skimpy clothing as well as watch, and participate in, his 'hunts'.The downside in this book is the inordinate amount and graphic nature of the violence.
Then there are the things that grated on me somewhat.
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I would highly recommend her to anyone who enjoyed authors like Patricia Briggs and Kim Harrison. Dark Screams: It shouldnt end like this, dirty and furtive, amidst the garbage and filth of the city. Therefore, I offer this advice, as you read Stolen, try to think of it as the first book of a series that just so happens to include your favorite characters from Bitten.
More From Random House of Canada.
You really can't possibly fathom the existence of other supernatural races, even after the scads of evidence you have been presented with, and knowing that you yourself are a creature that the rest of the world believes to be a myth? My legs pick up the rhythm before Im halfway down the ravine.
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