Karen Marie Moning : Des Highlanders à Jericho ...euhh à Fever

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/“I heard Cruce hated the king, wanted his concubine, and cursed the Silvers to keep the king away from her, that he planned to take the king’s woman, and all the worlds inside the Silvers for himself,” I said.

V’lane shook his head, golden hair shimmering in the sun. “It was not so simple. Things rarely are. To use a human word, Cruce loved the king, first and above all. The creator of the Unseelie is a being of unbearable perfection. If he is indeed Fae, he is from the most ancient, most pure line that ever existed. Some say he is The Father of All. Some say he had outlived hundreds of queens before the time of the queen he slew. Many of the forms he can take are beyond even Fae ability to absorb. He has been described as having enormous black wings that can enfold the entire Unseelie Court.”

I shivered. I’d seen the hint of those wings in the White Mansion. I’d felt the concubine’s awareness of them, had empathically shared her fascination with their feathery touch on her naked skin. “I thought the queen was the most powerful of your race.”

“The queen is heir to the magic of our people. It is a different thing. That magic has never accepted a male of The True Race, although…”

“Although what?”

He gave me a sideways look from beneath his lids. “I tell you too many things.” He sighed. “And enjoy it too much. It has been a long time since I knew another worthy of confidences. There is an ancient myth that should all the contenders for the matriarchal throne be no more, the magic would likely gravitate toward the most dominant male of our race. Some say our rulers are your Janus head, your yin and yang: the king is the strength of our people, the queen is wisdom. Strength draws from brute force, wisdom draws from true power. In harmony, the king and queen lead a united court. Opposed, we war. We have been opposed since the day the king killed the queen.”

“But other queens came along. Couldn’t the king make peace?”

“He did not try. Again, he abandoned his children. Upon finding his concubine dead, through his act of atonement, he did what he had sworn never to do. By pouring all his dark knowledge into the pages of an ensorcelled tome, he inadvertently created his most powerful “child” yet. Then he vanished. It is rumored among Seelie and Unseelie alike that he has been trying to—as you humans would say about a lame horse—put it down ever since. The Hunter you saw the other night was allegedly the kings’ own for hundreds of thousands of years. It carried him from world to world, hunting his nemesis. The king, like any Fae, loves nothing so much as his own existence. As long as the Book is free, he knows no peace. I suspect if his Hunter is here in your city, the king is, too.”

I gasped. “In Dublin?”

V’lane nodded.

“In human form?”

“Who could say? There is no predicting one such as he.”/
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- La fameuse bête IYD ("If you are dying") est-elle en réalité Jerricho, et dans l'affirmative, devons-nous nous préparer à lui dire adieu? perspective que je ne peux envisager. Mais si c'est bien Jerricho, Ryodan était-il au courant? Si oui, pourquoi avoir cherché à le tuer?
- Question récurrente depuis le début : bon sang mais qui est (ou qu'est-ce qu'est) Jerricho Barrons???????? Est-il le roi des Unseelies ? Si oui, comment s'est-il retrouvé dans cette situation? Si non...c'est quoi, un démon? Une autre "race"? Et ses fameux 8 comparses, dont Ryodan, sont-ils de même nature que lui?
- Et Mac, qui est-elle (cf. V'lane lui disant qu'elle n'avait pas encore conscience de qui elle était réellement)? C'est quoi cette histoire de prophétie?
- Si ce n'est pas le LM qui a tué Alina, qui est-ce?
- Quel jeu joue Rowena? Ne serait-elle pas en fait une traîtresse à la cause des sidhe-seers?

- Quand on se rend compte que la situation plaît bien à Jerricho et que par certains côtés, il aimerait bien que Mac reste tout le temps ainsi!
- Quand on voit qu'il prend soin d'elle, l'entoure de photos, lui prépare un sapin de Noël
- Quand il danse avec elle.

"Evil is a completely different creature, Mac.
Evil is bad that believes it's good."
MacKayla Lane was just a child when she and her sister, Alina were given up for adoption and banished from Ireland forever.

Twenty years later, Alina is dead and Mac has returned to the country that expelled them to hunt her sister's murderer. But after discovering that she descends from a bloodline both gifted and cursed, Mac is plunged into a secret history: an ancient conflict between humans and immortals that have lived concealed among us for thousands of years.

What follows is a shocking chain of events with devastating consequences, and now Mac struggles to cope with grief, while continuing her mission to acquire and control the Sinsar Dubh--a book of dark, forbidden magic scribed by the mythical Unseelie King that contains the power to create and destroy worlds.

In an epic battle between humans and Fae, the hunter becomes the hunted when the Sinsar Dubh turns on Mac, and begins mowing a deadly path through those she loves.

Who can she turn to? Who can she trust? Who is the woman that haunts her dreams? More importantly, who is Mac and what is the destiny she glimpses in the black and crimson designs of an ancient tarot card?

From the luxury of the Lord Master's penthouse, to the sordid depths of an Unseelie nightclub, from the erotic bed of her lover, to the terrifying bed of the Unseelie King, Mac's journey will force her to face the truth of her exile, and make a choice that will either save the world...or destroy it.

“You killed my sister!” The dark lake in my head begins to boil. I hear rustles behind me, leathery wet sounds and I whirl. The freaks that killed my sister are taking advantage of the distraction and trying to leave.


Not a chance in hell. This is what I’ve been living for. This moment. My revenge. First the ones that killed her. Then the one who delivered her to them.

I lunge for them, screaming my sister’s name.

I slice and rip and tear.

I begin with my spear and end with my bare hands.

I fall on them like the beast-form of Barrons. My sister died in an alley with these monsters working on her and now I know it wasn’t fast. I can see her, white-lipped with pain, knowing she’s going to die, scratching a clue into the pavement. Hoping I’ll come, afraid I’ll come. Believing I could succeed where she failed. God, I miss her! Hatred consumes me. I devolve into vengeance, I embrace it, I become it.


When I finish there are no pieces larger than my fist.


I’m shaking, gasping, covered with bits of flesh and gray matter from smashing their skulls.


I double over and hit the pavement, puking. I puke until I dry-heave then I dry-heave until my ears ring and my eyes are stinging.


I don’t have to look behind me to know the street is empty. My sister’s murderer is gone.


I finally got what I came to Dublin for.


I know who killed my sister.

I curl in a tight ball on the cold pavement and cry.

"Flanking V’lane’s caste—which I assume is the highest ranking by how the other castes seem to protect it—are the stuff of fairytales. There are rainbow-colored, delicate Fae that dart like hummingbirds on gossamer wings; silvery nymphs that dance on dainty feet; and others that I can’t even see, except for blinding trailers of light they leave behind as they move. They’re so brilliant and fiery, they could only be earthbound stars.


I scoff at the delicacy of his army. They’re ethereal, born to wisp about, seduce, and be served.


Mine is earthy, solid. Born to gorge, kill, and rule.


We stalk toward each other, down a snow-filled street.


Where Seelie feet touch the earth, the snow melts with a hiss. Steam rises and flowers push up through cracks, blooming brilliantly, anointing the air with the scents of jasmine and sandalwood. The Seelie end of the street is bathed in golden light.


Where my army’s hooves and scaled bellies pass over the stones—a crust of black ice forms. The night embraces us; stealthy shadows, we ooze forward from the blackness.

"Her pace quickens and she races down the corridor, passing soundlessly over obsidian floors, laughing with joy.


I know that sound. I love that sound. It means her lover is near.
He is coming. She feels his approach.
He is so powerful! It's what first drew her to him. She’d never encountered anyone like him.
She was awed that he chose her.
She is awed every day that he continues choosing her.
The stuff of him explodes through from his side in the Court of Shadows, telling her he comes, filling her home (prison) where she lives a fabulous life (a sentence not of her choosing) surrounded by everything she wants (illusions, she misses her world, so far away and all of them long dead) and waits for him with hope (ever growing despair.)


He will carry her to his big, dark bed and do things to her until his black wings open wide, so wide, eclipsing the world, and when he is inside her nothing else will matter but the moment, their dark, intense lust, the endless passion they share.


No matter what else he is—he is hers.


What is between them is without blame.


Love knows no right or wrong.
Love is. Only is.

"It's funny the things people say when someone dies.


He/she is in a better place.

How the f#ck do you know that?

Life goes on.

That's supposed to comfort me? I'm excrutiatingly aware that life goes on. It hurts every damned second. How lovely to know it's going to continue like this. Thank you for reminding me.

Time heals.

No, it doesn't. At best, time is the great leveler, sweeping us all into coffins. We find ways to distract ourselves from the pain. Time is neither scalpel nor bandage. It is indifferent. Scar tissue is not a good thing. It is merely the wound's other face.


I live with the specter of Alina every day. Now I will live with this ghost, too. Walk between them, one on my right, one on my left. They will talk to me incessantly. I'll never escape, bridged between my greatest failures."

Et nooooon Jericho il est pas mort

Non, je pense (j'espère pitiéeeeeee) que Jerricho n'est pas mort. KMM se tirerait une balle dans le pied si elle décidait de le tuer. Une grande partie du succès de la série semble reposer sur la fascination que les lecteurs éprouvent pour ce personnage!

Quelle tension dès le début!!
Je n'ai rien de constructif à dire pour le moment mais je viens de quitter la rencontre V'Lane/Mac/Jericho...Ils me feront toujours rire ces 3 là quand ils sont réunis ^^ Par contre on en apprend un chouia-minusculement-minuscule sur le pourquoi du comment V'Lane a peur de Jerciho
Et pis cette phrase à la fin de la rencontre à propos du GSM téléphone portable "Vous n'avez même pas essayé" bouhhhhhhhh