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Karen Marie Moning - The Fever 05 - sppn.info KB. Karen Marie Moning - The Fever 01 - sppn.info MB. Karen Marie Moning - The. In the blockbuster Fever series, Karen Marie Moning creates a darkly featuring heroine MacKayla Lane: Darkfever, Bloodfever, Faefever, Dreamfever, and Shadowfever. . Karen Marie Moning - Fever 8 - sppn.info Darkfever [electronic resource (EPUB eBook)] / Karen Marie Moning. Series: Moning, Karen Marie. Headquarters (ECRL) - eBooks (EPUB) - Adult Fiction.

Darkfever Karen Marie Moning Epub

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Darkfever: Fever Series Book 1 (Fever series) by Karen Marie Moning. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format. This content was uploaded by our users and we assume good faith they have the permission to share this book. If you own the copyright to this book and it is. Read online 32 or download free books by Karen Marie Moning In Pdf and Epub. Darkfever (Fever, #1). by Karen Marie Moning. of ,

Stasis was stagnancy. Change was velocity. Fate-a sniper that preferred a motionless target to a dancing one. But he knew better. Admitting there was no such thing as Fate meant acknowledging personal responsibility. He wasn't about to ante up on that hand. Still,,,every now and then one came along like him, like this city that defied all expectation, owned every action, flipped Fate the bird at each opportunity. One that didn't merely exist.

But lived. No price too high for freedom. He understood that. With a faint smile, he surveyed the city below. From the tower he could see all the way to the choppy whitecapped sea, its black and silver surface shadowed by the hulking shapes of abandoned ships and barges, and sleeker vessels bobbing on the storm-tossed waves, white sails snapping in the chilly gale. To his left rooftops stretched, another shadowy rain-pelted sea, sheltering what humans had survived the fall of the ancient walls that had kept the Fae hidden for millennia.

Somewhere down there where gutters routed streams of water to a vast underground drainage system riddled by long forgotten catacombs, Fae walked the streets both openly and hidden, and neon signs cast fractured rainbows on the pavement, was the prior owner of that bookstore, if such a place was ever owned; his Machiavellian ruthless brother; and an invisible woman who, like the building to which she now laid claim, was far more than she appeared to be.

Farther to the left down winding rural roads, if one traveled a solid hour of stark desolation through a second hour of Faery-lush vegetation, was another of those ancient places that could never be owned and the brilliant, powerful woman determined to command it. Barrons, Ryodan, Mac, Jada. The possibilities were enormous, dazzling, and he had a fair idea how things would go,,,but these moments were unpredictable, unscripted.

He threw back his dark head and laughed. I didn't always like them and I broke them when they didn't work for me, but they were sturdy things I could rely on to shape the way I lived and keep me-if not totally on the straight and narrow, at least aware there was a straight and narrow I could return to if I got to feeling lost.

Rules serve a purpose. I once told Rowena they were fences for sheep, but fences do more than merely keep sheep in a pasture where shepherds can guide them.

They provide protection in the vast and frightening unknown. The night isn't half as scary when you're in the center of a fluffy-butted herd, bumping rumps with other fluffy butts, not able to see too much, feeling secure and mostly normal.

Without fences of any kind, the dark night beyond is clearly visible. You stand alone in it.


Without rules, you have to decide what you want and what you're willing to do to get it. You must embrace the weapons with which you choose to arm yourself to survive. What we achieve at our best moment doesn't say much about who we are. It all boils down to what we become at our worst moment. What you find yourself capable of if,,,say,,, You get stranded in the middle of the ocean with a lone piece of driftwood that will support one person's weight and not a single ounce more-while floating beside a nice person that needs it as badly as you do.

That's the moment that defines you.

Will you relinquish your only hope of survival to save the stranger? Will it matter if the stranger is old and has lived a full life or young and not yet had the chance? Will you try to make the driftwood support both of you, ensuring both your deaths? Or will you battle savagely for the coveted float with full cognizance the argument could be made-even if you merely take the driftwood away without hurting the stranger and swim off-that you're committing murder?

Is it murder in your book? Would you cold-bloodedly kill for it?

Karen Marie Moning

How do you feel as you swim away? Do you look back? Do tears sting your eyes? Or do you feel like a motherfucking winner?

Impending death has a funny way of popping the shiny, happy bubble of who we think we are. A lot of things do. I live in a world with few fences. Lately, even those are damned rickety. I resented that. There was no straight and narrow anymore. Only a circuitous route that required constant remapping to dodge IFPs, black holes, and monsters of every kind, along with the messy ethical potholes that mine the interstates of a postapocalyptic world.

I stared at the two-way glass of Ryodan's office, currently set to privacy-floor transparent, walls and ceiling opaque-and got briefly distracted by the reflection of the glossy black desk behind me, reflected in the darkened glass, reflected in the desk, reflected in the glass, receding into ever-smaller tableaus, creating a disconcerting infinity-mirror effect.

Although I stood squarely between the desk and the wall, I was invisible to the world, to myself. The Sinsar Dubh was still disconcertingly silent, and for whatever reason, still cloaking me. I cocked my head, studying the spot where I should be. Nothing looked back. It was bizarrely fitting. That was me: tabula rasa-the blank slate. I knew somewhere I had a pen but I seemed to have forgotten how to use it.

Or maybe I'd just wised up enough to know what I held these days was no Easy-Erase marker of my youth, scrubbed off by the gentle swipe of a moistened cloth, but a big, fat-tipped Sharpie: black and bold and permanent.

Dani, stop running. I just want to talk to you,,, Dani was gone. There was only Jada now. I couldn't unwrite our fight.

Bloodfever Fever 2 In her fight to stay alive, Mac must hunt the Sinsar Dubh—a book of the blackest magic imaginable. Pursued by assassins and surrounded by mysterious figures she knows she cannot trust, Mac finds herself torn between two powerful men: Dreamfever Fever 4 When the walls between Man and Fae come crashing down, Mac is caught in a lethal trap.

See a Problem?

Captured by the Fae Lord Master, she is left with no memory of who or what she is: Clawing her way back from oblivion is only the first step Mac must take down a perilous path, from the battle-filled streets of Dublin into the realm of the Fae, where nothing is as it seems.

Shadowfever Fever 5 In an epic battle between humans and Fae, the Sinsar Dubh turns on Mac, and begins to mow a deadly path through those she loves. Who can she trust? But more important, who is Mac?

Does an ancient prophecy reveal her destiny? The Fae are free and hunting us. Do what it takes to survive. Possessing rare talents and the all-powerful Sword of Light, Dani is more than equipped for the task. But now, amid the pandemonium, her greatest gifts have turned into serious liabilities. Dodging bullets, fangs, and fists, Dani must strike treacherous bargains and make desperate alliances to save her beloved Dublin—before everything and everyone in it gets iced.

Power is another thing. MacKayla Lane would do anything to save the home she loves. When the wall that protected humans from the seductive, insatiable Fae was destroyed on Halloween, long-imprisoned immortals ravaged the planet.

Now Dublin is a war zone with factions battling for control. As the city heats up and the ice left by the Hoar Frost King melts, tempers flare, passions run red-hot, and dangerous lines get crossed. The only one Mac can depend on is the powerful, dangerous immortal Jericho Barrons, but even their fiery bond is tested by betrayal. In an epic battle against dark forces, Mac must decide who she can trust, and what her survival is ultimately worth.

Feverborn Fever 8: When the immortal race of the Fae destroyed the ancient wall dividing the worlds of Man and Faery, the very fabric of the universe was damaged and now Earth is vanishing bit by bit. Only the long-lost Song of Making—a haunting, dangerous melody that is the source of all life itself—can save the planet.

But those who seek the mythic Song—Mac, Barrons, Ryodan and Jada—must contend with old wounds and new enemies, passions that burn hot and hunger for vengeance that runs deep. The challenges are many: Now the task of solving the ancient riddle of the Song of Making falls to a band of deadly warriors divided among—and within—themselves.

Once a normal city possessing a touch of ancient magic, Dublin is now a treacherously magical city with only a touch of normal.He liked it that way. She weaves brilliantly, unapologetically, and without exception, and she has threaded the needle into me and I've been pulled, over and over, into her tapestry, and I don't think I'm ever getting out.


Stasis was stagnancy. Dreamfever Fever 4 When the walls between Man and Fae come crashing down, Mac is caught in a lethal trap.

When the wall that protected humans from the seductive, insatiable Fae was destroyed on Halloween, long-imprisoned immortals ravaged the planet. It made for interesting times.