Meet the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Conquest - Nicholas Kingswood - by Cynthia St. Aubin
What's this dominating bad boy look like? Howsabout we let Moira tell us what she thinks?
She’d be damned if this puffed-up, self-important peckerwood was going to ruin her first airplane ride. Even if he did look like the devil’s own lawyer. Hair the color of a dark roux, eyes like sunlight through Jack Daniels, and body like a college linebacker—or at least the college linebackers of her acquaintance—Nicholas Kingswood had predator written all over him.
She’d seen more genuine smiles on a rat snake, and she had no intention of being another notch in his probably-imported belt.
True, she could have just moved, but he was awful fun to look at.
Even now, she stole a glance at the man fuming in her peripheral vision. He was remarkably big. She had seen enough of men that clothes didn’t hide much from her anymore.
War - Drustan Geddes - by Cindy Stark
Dru has the ability to control others’ perceptions, and throughout time, he’s used this skill to start the world’s most epic wars.
I admit to loving a tortured hero, and Dru is certainly that. Torn between duty and his attraction to Claire, things will only get worse for him in the next book!
Pestilence - Julian Roarke - by Kerrigan Byrne
It was what kept the people a bay. They didn't know what they were doing. They didn't even stare or particularly seem disrupted. They merely packed themselves tighter into their own space to avoid him.
Who could blame them, really? The sheer force of his presence rolled off him in ultrasonic waves, equally in all directions.
The perfect center to a perfect circle.
His liquid blue eyes pinned her with a look of intrigue that quickly heated to astonishment as words that had never been part of her MIT educated vocabulary filtered through as her brain tried to process him.
Regal. Dark. Lethal. Exotic. Ancient.
His eyes. His pale, lovely eyes held secrets darker than the underworld. Stories that began with "Once upon a time," could pour from sensuous lips. Though, judging by his appearance, the only role he could play was that of the villain.
God. She could slice her finger on those cheekbones.
Death - Killian Bane - by Tiffinie Helmer
He stretched out his long legs, clad in black denim and black leather boots, crossing them at the ankles. A sleepy seaside town with an artistic, hippie bent with a population had no idea Death had arrived.
He was tired of waiting. So fucking tired. He hoped to God or the Devil or the freaking Goddesses—since they were apparently dealing with witches this time—that this was finally the actual Apocalypse.
He was supposed to meet up with his brothers later, but he'd made good time and decided a few drinks—maybe a good lay—would put him into the right frame of mind to deal with the Three Horsemen who'd failed in their duty and now required he step in.
How hard was it to kill one witch? There were four to choose from.
Death was inevitable. Everyone, even these prophesized witches, had an expiration date. Didn't matter who you were or how you lived your life, Death came for you at some point.