Category: Dark and Dangerous

His Twisted Fantasy – Excerpt – Obsession

On By Ana CalinIn Dark and Dangerous, dark romance, enemies to lovers romance, forced proximity romance, jealous possessive hero, over the top hero, stalker romance18 Comments

His Twisted Fantasy is going to hit the Zon in fourteen days! Here is anorher sneak peek. Check out the first chapter here, and another sneak peek here. Leave a comment and let me know what you think 🙂

Warning! Boxing scenes ahead! There is violence!

Jax’s POV

This is why I never train with anyone but Declan Santori, The Bull. He can take my punches, swift and vicious and damaging, without ending up whining on the octagon floor like a beaten pimp. He’s a pro, a UFC champion back in his fraternity days in college, and a legend of underground fighting, too. He can’t say no to an illegal fight, hence his mask and nick-name, The Bull. No one can ever know his true identity.

A famous billionaire that never misses a red carpet, he’s many a city girl’s wet dream. I don’t think he’d ever settle for one girl though because, like me, he’s a fucked up bastard, with fucked-up secrets. But he was a promising boy when he came to me for help years ago, and I just couldn’t let him go to waste.

I couldn’t let him fall down the same dark pit that had turned me into a monster.

So I covered up his screw-up, and he’s been a loyal puppy ever since, albeit one with grit, and dignity. Fearless and dangerous, The Bull doesn’t need to suck up to me, not anymore. Unlike all other men I know, he doesn’t offer his adoration because he’s secretly afraid of me. On the contrary, if anyone stands a chance against me on pretty much all levels, then him.

Sweat dripping down my back, I throw punches so hard that one of his mitts flies off.

“Whoa, not feelin’ very friendly today, are we?” 

I heave, my fists still up. I’m not wearing gloves, just the wraps, wanting to feel the impact of the blows full force. But now that I’ve thrown some punches, I know that what I need today is to be the punching bag.

“Hit me,” I growl. “Hard, in my face or my stomach, I don’t give a fuck, just make it hurt.”

The Bull hesitates, like he always does.  

“Dude…”

“Just do it, Declan.”

He knows better than to hesitate a second time. Dropping his mitts, his right fist hits me straight in the gut. It would send a large man bending from his waist and spitting his guts out, but all the years of training, all the fights to the death in prison, have taught my body to withstand much more than normal men. My muscles clench, and the blow bounces off of me like a fucking ball.

“Harder,” I push through my teeth, gritting them until my jaw hurts. 

Declan hits again, and I buck forward, my abs turning into a wall of concrete. He shoots another blow, and another, so fast that his fists whip the air. My fists strain against the chafing bandages. Before I know it, I respond to his blows, and we dance in a full-fledged fight in the octagon, a stark light from above falling in the middle of it. We keep to the circle of light, the way we did back in the octagon where we met seven years ago.

The only draw in my life. And in his.

Right now, I need the violence that only he can give me. Something to knock out the beastly lust inside that threatens to consume me. If anyone can make the lights go out, then Declan.

The last few blows send us both outside the cone of light, bouncing against the octagon net walls, heaving. We have another go at each other, another flurry of blows that scrambles both of our brains. Another groaning pause sees us bouncing from net walls, struggling to find balance on our feet again.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Declan hisses among labored breaths, his large chest heaving, Unlike me, the former frat boy doesn’t have any tattoos. It’s a thing of the elites, not to mar their own bodies. But on the inside, his soul is a scarred wreck.

“And don’t even try to tell me it’s nothing because I’m gonna beat the shit of you until you talk.”

“No.” My chest vibrates. “You’re going to try.”

He does. He launches himself at me with a war cry, his arms bouncing off my guard as I block his punches. He does finally land a jab to my jaw, and I groan at the pain that splits my head–loving it, embracing it. Snarling, I stick out my tongue like an enraged gladiator, ready for more. The Bull throws his next hammer-like punch to my face, knowing exactly what I want. What I need. Had he gone for the body, my muscles would have reacted by instinct and turned to concrete, shielding me from any real damage.

But as long as I keep my hands down, nothing can pad my face against the onslaught of violence.

I revel in his blows, my mind focusing on the cracks and splinters and lightning that cut through my head. I grin like a madman, leaning into his pummeling until Declan suddenly stops. 

“What are you doing?” I snarl. “Keep going.”

“Like hell I will. What the fuck dude, why are you doing this to yourself?” The sight of him swims in front of my blurry eyes, his fists unclenching at his sides. There’s blood on one of his bandages, which means the slick wetness above my eyebrow is from split skin.

“What you askin’ stupid questions for? This isn’t the first time we’re doing this. Go on.” 

He shakes his head and steps back, running a hand through his soaked hair. “This is different, man. Seriously different. I’ve never seen you like this before, and honestly, it scares me.”

I fall back against the octagon wall, trickling down to the floor, exhaustion sliding through me. I rest my forearms on my knees, eyes closed to take in the feeling. At least for a few minutes, the beast will be quiet, stunned by the blows, reeling as it tries to regain some focus. Ah, there’s that feeling, of having gotten what I deserved.

“Start talking,” he presses.

“Or what?” I retort, my head leaned back against the octagon wall, my eyes closed.

“Or else.”

A small laugh escapes me. Here it is, Declan’s unique way of cracking me open. I start unwrapping my bandages, focusing on the smooth movement as I speak. 

“It’s, I–” What the hell do I say? I’ve never talked about women with a guy, simply because I was never interested in one. 

Luckily, Declan has this uncanny ability to sense stuff.

“It’s a chick, right?”

My eyes fly up, meeting his eerily black irises. A grin curls up his lips. 

“Well, well, well, the great Jax Vaughn has fallen for a girl. Who knew he even could.”

“It’s not like that,” I grunt.

“By the way you just tried to have it beaten out of you?” He clicks his tongue, pointing a finger at me. “It’s totally like that.”

“What would you know?” I grumble, ripping a piece of my bandage, folding it, and dabbing at the cut above my eyebrow.

Declan’s face tightens. Damn it. It’s been so long since we talked about it that it slipped my mind. 

“I’m sorry.” I’m a bastard. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it’s just–” I refold the bandage and press it harder to my brow, until it forces me to hiss. “I haven’t fallen for her, this is something else.”

“Oh, but there’s no way you can tell, is there?” Declan says. “You’ve never been into someone before. You have nothing to compare it to.” 

I throw a stray glove at him with my free hand. It happens swiftly, his hand raising a split second too late, and the glove hits him in the face.

“The fuck man,” he protests, hurling it back at me across the octagon. I catch it in the air, and drop it next to me. “It’s not my fault a woman is finally getting to you. I’m just trying to help here. I’m not even sure how, but I know beating the shit out of you isn’t a long-term solution.”

“Why not? I’m not a glamorous character in public life, like you, I don’t need to pamper my face.”

“No, but it still is a pity to see you roughed up. You’re a pretty boy, you know. Besides, what will that girl of yours say if you turn up looking like Kitschko run over by Muhammad Ali?”

“She’s slipped under my skin, man.” The words just slide out of my mouth. I rub the folded bandage into my wound, gritting my teeth. “I’m capable of doing the most horrible things for her.”

Declan stares at me keenly. “But not to her.”

“Never,” I react quickly, out of my gut. “But to anyone that tries to take her away from me. Like her ex, he kept texting her the other day, and I just lost it. I considered getting him in a dark alley and breaking every bone in his body. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“What is then?”

“She’s only been there for one night and one morning, and I already told her about Dominic.”

His face freezes. He knows what this means. “How about what happened in prison?”

I shake my head, wet strands whipping against my forehead. “Not yet.” And not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t face the disgust that would have twisted her features. She must never know what I did. 

“I don’t know dude,” Declan says, rubbing the five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. “On the one hand it sounds great. You’re a hard boulder to crack, and being able to talk to someone like that, it’s priceless. Not something one wants to lose.”

“But something one definitely should let go of when they’re a–”

“Don’t say it,” he cuts me off. 

“It’s what I am.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to be–” He’s careful about the use of the word, but he goes for it in the end, “you know, happy.”

“Happy.” I spit out the word. “That’s not in the cards for me. The prison shrink said as much when he declared me a menace to society after what happened. I’m incapable of good feelings. I destroy everything I touch.”

“You know damn well that’s bullshit.” Declan is usually a controlled guy, but there’s no missing the anger lacing his tone now. “You come from a shitty background, where everyone predicted you’d become an addict and a goon. Hell knew all the other boys down your lane did. Instead, you never touched drugs, got your first job at sixteen, brought all your money home to your mother, and even enjoyed the pure slavery they subjected you to on those construction sites because it gave you purpose. If there ever was a good man, Jax, then you. You made something great of yourself even in those terrible circumstances, just imagine what you could have accomplished if you were born to a couple of posh narcissists like my folks.”

I scoff bitterly, wishing I could believe that I am a good man, at least in essence. But Declan is biased because I helped him when he was at his lowest. 

“Even if I were a good man, prison changed all that. In a sense, I never came back out.” I slap the bloody folded bandage on the floor. 

“I can’t fall for her, Declan,” I say, my voice the closest thing to a whisper. “I would squeeze the life out of her, cage her in, and go mad with jealousy every time she stared with melancholy out the window, suspecting she might be thinking of some other guy. The only person I can tolerate around her is her friend Mia.  And don’t even get me started on the effort it cost me to agree to those few dancing classes a week that she gives.”

When Declan fails to latch onto that, I look up from the floor. If I were to define melancholy, it would be the look on his face right now. 

“Everything all right?” I probe.

“Yeah, it’s just–” He stares into nothing, his mouth hard. “That name.”

I soften my voice, speaking carefully. “Was it her name?”

He nods, his throat working as if he just swallowed a word he couldn’t say out loud. 

A good friend would probe deeper. But a brother knows better. 

“You know, if you ever feel like talking about her, I’m here.”

Declan bursts into laughter, coming back to himself, and throwing a mitt at me. “If I ever felt like talking about the woman that destroyed my life, it wouldn’t be with an emotionally crippled bastard who’s just tasting merciless passion for the first time. But as the more experienced of us I can tell you, Jax–the experience will hurt. There’s no avoiding that. Yet every second of it will be worth it, and you’ll crave more.”

His Twisted Fantasy – First chapter

On By Ana CalinIn beauty and the beast romance, Dark and Dangerous, dark romance, enemies to lovers romance, Fiction Entertainment, Free Reads, tiktokbooks10 Comments

Hello, people! As some of you may know, I’m working on a new book, under a new pen name, since I’m starting a series of contemporary dark billionaire romance novels and novellas. His Twisted Fantasy is going to hit the Zon mid March, and this is the first chapter. Let me know if you are interested in an ARC (a reader e-copy you get a week before release) so that you can post a review on Amazon on the day of release. Comment on this post, leave your e-mail address if possible, and let me know.

Please keep in mind this is the first draft.

Blurb:

I go into tycoon Jax Vaughn’s office looking for a job. When I come out, it’s with an offer I should definitely refuse.

But the most powerful man in America doesn’t give choices. He twists arms.

The Devil

Not everybody has a price. But everybody has a weakness, and I’ll dig up Adalia Ross’s, if that’s what it takes to make her mine.

The curvy little angel refused my proposition and my money, but we both know, it’s only a matter of time until I’ll have my twisted way with her.

From the moment I saw her, dirty thoughts flooded my brain. Blood raged through me, making me rock hard. It’s been a long time since a woman affected me like this, too long.

This little angel opened up Pandora’s box, and there’s no closing down that lid again.

I’m a ruthless, relentless bastard, and now, I’m obsessed. 

But then, she uncovers something that should have stayed forever hidden.

This changes things–it changes her contract. If she ever dares break it, someone will end up in pieces. Most likely any man whose attention she invites.

So welcome to the devil’s den, little angel. One way in, no way out, if that’s what it takes to keep you. Because who would choose to stay with the broken monster you’re about to discover in the dark? 

The Angel

The only thing harder than Jax Vaughn’s perfectly sculpted face and bulging muscles is his heart. Cold, stony, impossible to break. Want can’t move him.

But on the rare occasions when he desires something, there’s no scenario in which he doesn’t get it. And now what he wants is me, doing things with him that would have any decent lady clutching her pearls.

Except I’m not a decent lady. I’m a far cry from the innocent girl that came with big dreams to New York five years ago. Those dreams shattered, and now I have dirty secrets and bad habits. By the look of it, I’m also developing an obsession with a man way out of my league. A predator that wants nothing more than to consume me, and break me. In the end, he will succeed.

But I sure af won’t make it easy on him.

Chapter I – First Sight

Addie

Vaughn Corp Tower is one mean, impressive motherfucker. My neck hurts as I stare up at the monolith of glass and steel that scrapes the clouds. Even though it’s standing in the heart of Manhattan among others of its kind, it still dominates the landscape, demanding special attention and respect. 

Which it kinda sorta deserves.

In the last few years, the V.C. Tower has become as much a symbol of this city as the Empire State, and all because Jax Vaughn, the man who runs it, is a whole new level of mobster. A dangerously smart one. He emerged from prison onto the stock market ten years ago, and bulldozered through everything in his path. Soon, organized crime bowed to him, and politics was quick to follow. Yes, I’ve done my homework, seeing that I’m now applying for a job at one of the crook’s companies.

Don’t judge. It’s a job I can do well–social media marketing–and one of his start-up brands is paying a banker’s wage for it. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to quit my nightclub job, and pay back all of mom’s debt, too. Practically a fairy tale, but with work. I can’t afford not to grab this chance.

I take comfort in the idea that Jax Vaughn must be old, ugly, and probably bald to make up for his money. Nobody knows for sure what he looks like, because there are no pictures of him online, but who builds something like this in their thirties, right?

I prance towards the building, trying to look confident in my two-piece suit and high heels, but as soon as I step through the rotative door, my jaw drops.

Fuck, how many people signed up for this?

I let my eyes run over the crowd in the lobby. Men and women, all looking crisp and competent, the kind of people with their ambitions forged in Manhattan, are stepping on each other’s toes.

What was I thinking? I should have expected hellish competition for this. Not many people are truly good at social media marketing, but everybody thinks they are, so it’s only logical they’d try for something this well paid. 

“Ma’am,” a dry voice reaches me. My eyes find a tall lanky man in a suit, glasses down on the tip of his nose. Salt and pepper hair, in his fifties, high-brow. He holds out a device. “Your name and registration number.”

“Of course.” I pull out my phone, transferring the information by holding it to his device.

“Thank you.” He motions to a line I can now make out snaking through the crowd. Apparently, the people clustered together have already taken the interview, and are now exchanging notes. From what I hear, there are a number of openings on this job, not just one. I breathe out in relief. Maybe there actually is a chance.

“It will be around fifty minutes,” the man says.

More like five hours by the look of it. 

I join the line.

“Also,” he adds, “No pictures, no matter what. Keep your phone tucked away at all times. When you hear your name, you walk up to that door.” He shows me a large black door across from the elevators and walks away, moving on to the next people entering the Tower. 

I wonder why he didn’t demand that I give up my phone, but I guess it would be too much trouble collecting the gadgets from everyone here. I haven’t seen a lobby this packed since Jason Momoa stayed at the Crowne Plaza. Plus, there are cams in every corner, at the top of every marble column, so whoever breaks the rules sure won’t get away with it. 

Half an hour later, there’s barely any progress, the crowd only getting thicker, the air hotter, and my feet are killing me. I’m shifting from one leg to the other, cursing under my breath. I better get this job, because it will be days before I can go back to dancing in my cage at the nightclub.

The red-head in front of me flips her hair for the hundredth time, whipping it over my face. The space between us has tightened so much I can smell her sweat mixing with Chanel No. 5. Why the hell did they have to put us in a line when we’re being called in by name? Maybe Jax Vaughn likes it this way. I imagine the heartless bastard watching us mere mortals through his cameras, swarming like cockroaches for the crumbs under his table, taking sick pleasure in it. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” I bite out when the red-head fails to excuse herself. She turns around, arching an eyebrow. She’s got so much fill-up in her glossy lips that it must take a huge amount of effort to move them when she speaks. She gives me a once-over before her features distort in arrogance.

“Excuse you,” she says, waving a hand with pointy, black-polished fingernails like I’m trash standing too close. “Some distance would be great, thank you.”

“No, can’t do.” I throw my thumb behind me with a wink. “Peer pressure. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a tsunami back there. So why don’t we just be considerate of each other?” She glances over my head at the sea of people behind, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. 

Narcissistic much?

Every piece she’s wearing is designer made, and expensive as fuck. She scoffs and turns her back to me again, giving me the chance to measure her up and down, noticing she’s wearing only V.C. owned brands. Of course she’d try to impress like that. I would have done the same, if I could afford it.

Except maybe she doesn’t either. Shit, I should have rented, too. There is a place just down the street. Now here I am, dressed in my room-mate’s best two-piece suit that’s too small for me, wearing the most uncomfortable heels that ever existed. The suit jacket didn’t reach over my bust, so I had to leave the lapels open, enabling a view of my breasts that always borders on indecent no matter how hard I try to cover them. I don’t have the breasts of a porn star, but I do have those of a wet nurse, and they did get me my job at the nightclub. There’s no hiding them. It’s been five years since I dropped out of Julliard, and I’ve put on more weight than any ballerina would ever tolerate on her bust and thighs, so it surely wasn’t my dancing skills that got me into the cage. When Snake hired me, he said that I looked like a MILF at twenty-five, which was what his clients liked to watch. 

And he was fucking right. None of the bastards drooling around my cage with drinks in their hands is right in the head, you can tell that much by midnight. They have crazy eyes, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the glittery Swarowsky mask that permanently covers my face, ensuring anonymity. If I took it off and went with them to the hotel, I’d probably have paid off all of mom’s debts and the mortgage by now, but I’d also be a suicidal alcoholic, and I can’t afford that. Let’s be honest, mom’s problems are never over, and she’ll never stop needing me.

With a little luck today though, we both will gain some stability.

I glance at my fuzzy reflection in the glossy marble column, clear enough for me to check my hair-do. It’s anywhere but in place. It’s too hot and too clammy in here, so there’s hardly anything left of my chignon. Blonde strands have rebelled everywhere, making me look like a secretary that just got fucked. 

Who am I kidding? I’m so not ready for this, and I don’t stand a chance anyway. I mean, come on, how many people are in here? A hundred? Two? I should freaking go. This is a waste of time.

I turn to leave, but a piercing ‘ding’ makes me spin around. Elevator doors open, and men in black pour out of it. One of them holds his hand up, his face dead serious.

“No pictures,” he croaks.

When the last man steps out of the elevator, the others line up to flank him. 

Even among his bodyguards–because that’s what they are, since the last guy is clearly the boss–he is seriously massive. He arranges the cuffs of his Brioni suit with a sleekness that is both refined and dangerous. Damn, his elegance could rule both the jungle and the city.

Which it actually does.

No doubt, this is him. Jax Vaughn. There’s no other reason why every member of staff should freeze in the straightest posture a human could take, or why dead silence sweeps over the entire room. And fuck me, he’s not old, ugly, or bald. In fact, he runs a hand through his thick brown hair as he prowls towards the exit, and the side of his face that I can see is so perfectly sculpted, it’s not fair to the rest of mortal men. 

My jaw slackens, and so do my hands, a loud whump following–My bag, all of its contents spilling onto the floor. The sound echoes through the silence, causing the bodyguards to stop, and Jax Vaughn’s head to snap right to me.

One second, and the world tips.

Our eyes lock. 

The wildest green I’ve ever seen pops against the backdrop of skin like caramel.

What a beautiful animal…

And he’s staring right at me, fully aware that I exist. My heart pounds crazily, heat flooding my cheeks until annoyed huffing rips through the magic. The red-head, arms crossed under her tits in a way that pushes them up, stares at me like I’ve just pooped on the floor.

“Clumsy much? Or just desperate for attention?” She sneers. 

I look down at my stuff, and shame grips my guts. Not only have a few tampons spilled from their package, but my new battery-operated friend that Mia gifted me during lunch peeks out, too. One glance at Jax’s eyes, and I know he’s seen it. Good God, he’s seen it.

I drop to my knees, scooping my stuff quickly back into my purse, the red-head’s laughter so shrill that it echoes against the luscious walls. All the attention weighs like a boulder on me, even though it’s obvious she’d rather hi-jack it for herself. I can only hope that this is all too unimportant for Jax Vaughn, and that he’s already moved on, his schedule way too tight for him to waste another thought on either me or the red-head, but no. 

I meet his eyes again the moment I look up, except this time there’s more than just surprise in them. He seems angry, his masculine face bristling with aggression. He doesn’t like this, not one bit, but then why isn’t he leaving? He should be out by now, people like me are nothing but ants to him.

Sweat runs down my spine while all sorts of thoughts plague my head. Is he thinking about having his men throw me out? No, why would he do that, I mean, only over a few tampons and a dildo? 

Holy shit, he saw my dildo! Is this how I’m going to stay imprinted in his memory? On my knees, desperately trying to conceal the thing?

On the other hand, there’s no shame in single girls having their fun with their battery-operated friends, is there? Even though I would do anything to turn back time, and make sure Mr. Fucking Universe doesn’t find out I use one.

I should get up and bolt out the door right now, minimize the damage, but I can’t move, not under Jax Vaughn’s cold scrutiny. He pins me down with those green eyes like a wild animal does prey in the jungle.

Barely anyone in the room dares breathe.

It feels like an eternity until he finally signals his men to follow with a jerk of his head. But even as he exits the building, I can’t help feeling that he’s still aware of me.

Judging me. Despising me.

Probably laughing at me, like the red-head. I turn to stare daggers at her, but it doesn’t faze her any more than the competition did before, when she ran her eyes over the crowd. She’s just glad she used me to catch his eye.

Delusional bimbo. Jax Vaugh has a dozen like her lining up to suck his dick at a snap of his fingers, she’s nothing special to him. None of us are. Men like him are so spoiled for choice, only the sickest things can still arouse or interest them–I dance in a cage at a nightclub for a living. I should know.

“Really?” the red-head shrills. “Staging yourself in a pornographic position to get the billionaire’s attention? Come on, I’m sure you can do better than that.”

Anger shoots up to the tips of my ears.

“I didn’t stage anything.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

How satisfying it would be to punch the sneer off of her face, but I don’t need any more trouble at Vaughn Corp. I’ve had enough for a whole fucking lifetime. Making sure my purse is firmly shut, I prance out of the building in my heels with completely fake confidence. On the inside, I’m dying.

I wish I could block out the crowd’s whispering as I walk by, but my senses are only sharper. The adrenaline worked like a radioactive spider, so there’s no protecting myself from all the, “I’ve heard chicks do some crazy shit to get the guy’s attention, but this?” “How fucking lame.” “Stupid broad.” “Come on, it was funny.” “Who cares about the hoe, have you seen him? Oh. My. God.” Hand slapping chest. Giggling takes over before I even step between the glass blades of the rotative door, smoothing the hair off my face, leaving the swooning over Jax Vaughn to the girls who still have some dignity left.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to tell myself that life goes on, but the moment I step out, the tall man from before blocks my way. He looks down at his device, double checking my information, then at me.

“Miss Adalia Ross?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Follow me.”

Oh shit. Is it that bad?

***

Jax

She stared at me like a deer in the headlights, and my cock stood up to attention for the first time in what? Months? Years? It’s been so long since a woman turned me on that I lost count. 

But the moment I saw her, I could barely keep my cock down.

Women have been throwing themselves at me for years. I’ve seen and experienced literally everything, and I was sure nothing could impress me anymore. Yeah, I can fuck, rough and hard, if a bitch insists, but I never initiate. I’m never the first one horny.

Until the woman on her knees inside the lobby of my Tower.

I stare out the dark window of my car with my jaw clenched. My boxing-roughed knuckles rest against my mouth as I focus on keeping my cock in check, and on taming my bristling. 

I thought myself immune to this kind of shit, yet here I am, falling for the cheapest scheme a woman could pull. Dropping her bag with the dildo, and then pretending to gather her things by going down to a doggy style position, who does that? But ah, how her top stretched over her bouncing tits as she moved her arms to gather her things back into her purse…

I can’t get those messy blonde strands out of my mind, hanging over a perfectly plump mouth that looked ready to suck cock, her tits inviting jizz to spill all over them. Sweat glistened on her flushed chest as she stared up at me out of those milky blue eyes, making me wanna unzip for her.

I imagine those eyes on me while she masturbates with that dildo that slipped out of her purse.

My cock rages in my pants, this is insane. 

Against all odds, I’m alive again, awakened by an onslaught of twisted cravings.

So twisted, like a sickness rising. 

On an impulse, I reach for my phone, and text the chief of staff. ‘The girl that dropped her purse. I want her in my office when I’m back. Don’t let her leave even if you have to lock her in. I’ll deal with the legalities, if it comes to that.’

I tuck my phone back into my chest pocket, and rest my fist against my mouth again, trying to think about my upcoming meeting. It’s the first one with a secret group of underground tech rebels from the Middle East, and it took hell to arrange it. Yet here I am, thinking about fucking Ms. Clumsy’s mouth while she writhes on her dildo, instead of focusing on national security. 

Fuck.

I straighten up, and pull at the lapels of my jacket, sharpening my focus.

She wanted my attention. Well, now she’s got it. She opened Pandora’s box, and there’s no fucking way that lid is closing again, not until all that darkness has spilled over her, and consumed her. 

Tell me which bad boy you prefer, and I’ll tell you who you are

On By Ana CalinIn best fantasy romance, best paranormal romance, Dark and Dangerous, Personality tests, Psych Secrets, Psychology, Quizzes10 Comments

Time for a NEW personality test based on your favorite books, covers and characters, loves. As always, please don’t peek at the answers before you make your decision. Look at the covers and captions below (it’s important to consider the captions!), and decide which one speaks to you most. Ready? Here we go.

Ice fae king holding you captive.

Deal with the devil. He’ll make your deepest desire come true – for the tiny little price of your soul.

Vampire king with an obsessive need for your blood.

Celebrity vampire stalking you.

YOUR ANSWERS:

  1. (Lord of Winter). You have powerfully developed fantasy, and you crave a partner that is superior to you in that regard. That is often hard to come by. You love beauty, and may have certain dreams about how your ideal lover should look like. You need someone strong that can dominate you. If you have to choose between a love story and a life story, you will most probably choose the first. To you, a relationship without passion is not worth it. To you, there’s no point to stability and safety if your heart isn’t aroused in the only way that matters – through intensity and passion. Of course, that is also the kind of love that you offer, and will take nothing less in return.
  2. (Mister Dark). You don’t shy away from risk in matters of the heart. You’re definitely not afraid to play with fire, and you’ve probably done it often enough that you’ve learnt some stunts around it, too. A relationship with you is an adventure, often a rollercoaster ride. You can sure offer your partner some powerful sensations. It takes a daredevil to be with you, and some serious amount of Dark and Dangerous to get you going; a queen of the night at heart, whoever takes a chance on you is in for pleasant, electric surprises.
  3. (Prince of Blood). You’re not gonna believe this, but at heart, you’re the princess that every prince dreams of saving. You’re pretty traditional in matters of your heart’s desires, not trying to be original or pretending to want something else just for the sake of being “different” or “interesting” or even woke. You’re very clear about what you want and yes, it’s the vampire that craves your blood, because that means he’ll never want another woman besides you. What you crave most in a relationship is complete dedication. You would give up anything for a partner that can persuade you that you’re the apple of his eye. Problem is, you’re not very easy to persuade of that, are you? Your needs in order to feel emotionally safe are extreme, even if your demands might not be. You have no desire for freedom.
  4. (The Porcelain Prince). Let’s be honest here, you have a thing for painful relationships, don’t you? Maybe unrequited loves? But enough about the dark side of your emotional nature. You crave excitement in your love relationships, and periodically you need renewal. Stability? Yeah, it’s nice but not necessarily what you’re after. What you want is emotional stimulation. Having the undeterred attention of the one person you’re crazy about is your favorite way of feeling alive. It’s your own personal kind of high. To you, love should be something you can get drunk on, the one emotion that should replace any drug. You probably think that, if people had the love lives they truly craved, no one would turn to destructive substances. Of course, love can turn toxic and destructive too, but you probably think it’s worth it. Considering that you offer what you expect, you might be right, too.

Liked this? Check out the books in question, and it will be practically be like reading about yourself. Also, feel free to roam the site. THIS page has a wealth of personality tests for you to choose from, and please—let me know what you get. I’m super curious like that.

What is your secret Sin?

On By Ana CalinIn best fantasy romance, Dark and Dangerous, Dark Prince, Personality tests, Psych Secrets, Psychology, Quizzes10 Comments

NEW Personality Test by Ana Calin

Okay loves, same as all the tests before. Please DO NOT peek at the answers before you’ve taken a good look at the images, and taken your pick regarding which one speaks to you most! Look at the book covers below, and let your gut insitinct decide which one is The One to you. Try not to think about the answer, but feel it instead. So here we go:

Toxic – your secret sin is Lust. But hold on. You’re not only a lustful person, you’re also quite good at igniting lust yourself. If you’re not experienced in deed, you’re rich in fantasy, and you feel things on a  very deep level. When you trust a lover, you can reveal sides of yourself that they can become highly addicted to. There are probably only two types of people out there – those who fear to get too close, and those that are attracted like a moth to flame, unable to resist your innate magnetism. Because there is a magnetism about you that either freaks people out, or pulls them in.

Scarred – your secret sin is Pride. But wait. That also means that you are royally generous, you care about the needs of those you love, and you are fiercely loyal. Yes, you’re particularly sensitive to humiliation, but you’re also dependable, you never tire of finding creative ways to help and lift up those you love, not to mention you have a gift for bringing luck, good fortune and good vibes into your loved ones’ lives. You invest yourself completely in your relationships, and you’re particularly hurt when the other party holds back. You go all in. There are few people in the world more dedicated than you, but probably also few that have been betrayed worse than you.

Ward – your secret sin is Greed. But there are two sides to that coin. You may be demanding, and your expectations soaring, but you’re also highly artistic, you have a way of enchanting people, and those that get tangled in the web of your charms rarely ever find their way back out. You’re interesting, and probably compelling and fascinating. You see shades and hues to things that others can’t, and you’re often disappointed and impatient with other people’s shortsightedness. Mathematical and analytical types are offensive to you through their crudeness. You appreciate good style, not only on the outside, but also in matters of inner life and intellectual abilities.

Forbidden Fae – your secret sin is Escapism. But there’s more to that than meets the eye. You may have a soft spot for forbidden fruit stories, which probably caused you a lot of pain in your love life. You have very rich imagination, and quite the ability to picture things in your head as if you would live them out in reality. Deep down, you could harbor the secret conviction that those fantasies could actually happen. You have a fascinating inner world, and people gravitate towards you because there’s something irresistibly intriguing about you, no matter what you look like. Still, it may rarely be the people you want. You tend to dream about what you can’t have. Be careful that it doesn’t become a psychological issue.  

Liked this? Let me know in the comments, I always love to hear from you.

What does it feel like to be loved by you? What kind of lover do you attract? A personality test by Ana Calin.

On By Ana CalinIn Ana Calin, Dark and Dangerous, Dark Prince, Fae Romance, Fairies and Dragons, Personality tests, Psychology, Quizzes, Vampire and Shifter Romance, Vampires13 Comments

NEW personality test by Ana Calin. Be warned – this one is for dark, complex souls.  It’s one of those articles in which we’re exploring our demons (you know, because that’s what I do all day writing sexy shifters, vampires and fae princes). So here we go.

Please read the following sentences and decide without much thought, within a few seconds, which one holds truest for you. Try to feel the answer rather than think it, and please, do NOT even peek at the interpretations before you’ve made your decision.

  1. I’ve been spending my life waiting for a drop of tenderness.
  2. True love isn’t a sweet delight, it’s a decadent pleasure.
  3. I take my love stories with a bed of roses and a dash of poison.
  4. There’s no crueler hell than unrequited love.

Interpretations:

  1. Yours is a bottomless soul with a tragic story. You were probably subjected to emotional abuse in your early life. You might be prone to develop the Stockholm Syndrome. Your love stories are profound, but they always have an element of pain to them. It’s that element of pain that attracts you, and that makes you attractive. You might be inclined to create victim-abuser scenarios. Try reading villain romances, bully romances, you might like them. You love a bully if you feel he is a hurt soul in need of rescue.
  2. Your love stories are probably toxic and glamorous, which is why you might be highly addictive to your partners. You love hard, but you hate even harder. You tend to take matters into your hands, and you probably go after the men or women you like, too. You’re mentally very robust, but you can still go stalkerish on your love interests. Your lovers are either so affected by you they can never forget you, or they run away from an intensity they can’t handle. You simply burn too hot for them.
  3. You might be slightly (or seriously) masochistic, and here I don’t necessarily mean your sensual preferences, even though those could be as interesting and elegantly twisted as your personality. You’re interested in sophisticated and demanding lovers that challenge you on multiple levels, helping you grow. You’re most probably that kind of lover, too. You know how to make your SO feel special, but you can crush them, too. You don’t mind being the one crushed either, because to you, that is sometimes the price of a love story that’s worth living.
  4. You are a natural giver. Your love is like a deep, mysterious ocean that yet hides more sorrow than golden treasure. You have a tendency to fall in love with emotionally unavailable people, or may have an attraction towards forbidden love scenarios. You may have a subconscious pattern of putting yourself in painful situations. Subconsciously, you may fetishize being emotionally mistreated. It’s very possible that you have deep-seated worthiness issues. You may gravitate towards people who seem indifferent to you in an effort to feed your self-deprecating self-image. But make no mistake—being loved by you is like being cradled by ocean waves; it’s a one of a kind experience.

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Also, if you’re in the mood for a romance as dark and creamy as chocolate with sexy demons, vampires, fae and shifters, check out this page. It’s got over thirty titles that might be just the kind of entertainment you need tonight. I always love to hear from you, so don’t hesitate to leave me a comment, share what you think.

Vampire Rockstar Fragment

On By Ana CalinIn best fantasy romance, best paranormal romance, Dark and Dangerous, Dark Prince, Vampire and Shifter Romance, VampiresLeave a comment

Hello folks! As I haven’t told anybody, my new vampire romance Vampire Rockstar is coming out by the 22nd of this month. This is my Halloween contribution to the world, as I like writing intense dark stuff, so here is a fragment I particularly enjoyed writing. Let me know what you think, and oh! If you can’t wait until the book is out, you can enjoy the first two books of this series (Vampires), The Porcelain Prince and Vampire Idol on Amazon. The books are free in Kindle Unlimited, and every book in this series (Vampires) can be read as a standalone, in case you were wondering. So here’s what Vampire Rockstar is about, and the fragment I promised.

Blurb Vampire Rockstar

Gigi
One job to make it big—get pictures of the world’s most famous boy band at one of their private events in London, and sell them to the tabloids. But things don’t go as planned, and I end up in a dark alleyway with a stalker on my tracks. Hours later, I’m the captive of Diesel van San, rockstar, holder of the ‘sexiest man alive’ title and, as it turns out, vampire.
Diesel wants me to use my connections to the London underground to locate his biggest enemy, and he’ll be keeping me under his complete control until I get him that. But his desires become more personal as we go, and it’s impossible to resist them. I keep reminding myself that Diesel van San is a player, a predator, a young god in piercings and tattoos that no woman can hold down. But he’s also got powers no woman can resist, and he’s determined to bring me to my knees.  He wants to own me, do me, make me his own personal call girl, but that’s not all. The last bit of Diesel’s proposition goes beyond indecent. It’s dark, twisted, and God knows I should say no. And yet…

Fragment Vampire Rockstar (Where things begin to heat up):

People move out of our path as our bodyguards make way for us among them like cutting through butter. Most people here are wasted or high, but they snap out of it as they realize what they’re seeing. We must make one hell of a couple, Gigi and I, she like a classy business woman out for some weekend fun, in the company of a rock star, a bad boy, all studded leather, tattoos and piercings.

The attention of the thugs on us thickens, men in balaclavas appearing around the walls. I take Gigi’s hand in mine to make extra sure no unnecessary space is created between us. It startles her, and her first impulse is to shake out of my grip, but I clasp her tighter.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, knowing that my vampire senses allow me to hear her even over the pounding music. “They’re gonna think that we’re—”

“That ship has sailed already anyway,” I say, leaning down to her ear, not releasing her hand. “You’ve been seen at the hotel. Now you’ve been seen here with me. There’s no chance in hell that people won’t be snapping a thousand pictures of us here tonight, so there goes nothing.”

“How can you say that? Maintaining the illusion that you’re single is crucial to your career.”

“And we will keep that illusion.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” She glances down at our interlocked hands.

“By making it look like we’re just a fling to each other.”

She scoffs. “There’s no way in hell—”

“Remember your brother, and all the things I can do for him.”

We reach the table at the back of the club that my people reserved for us, and the bodyguards take their positions around it, like they’ve been instructed to. They do it in such a way that Gigi and I can still be seen at the table where whiskey, Red Bull, champagne and ice has already been arranged for us. The sight of alcohol seems to make her feel sick, or maybe it’s what I just said to her.

“Did I say anything to disgust you?” I inquire through my teeth as I invite her to take a seat on the cream sofa.

“You still ask? You just suggested we make it look like I’m your whore.”

“Or like I’m your fuckboy. You look like a badass business woman out for some fun.”

She looks up at me with startled eyes, and I burst into laughter. “I see you’re not very keen on that idea.”

“If I were a badass business woman, I sure as hell wouldn’t be taking a lover like you.”

“No?” I drop down on the sofa next to her, man-spreading and resting an arm on the back of the sofa behind her shoulders. I know I’m overstepping boundaries, but I don’t give a fuck. “And what kind of lover would you take, milady?”

“Certainly not a conceited asshole that’s become an emotional cripple after having fucked hundreds of women.”

“Asshole? We’re calling each other names now?”

Fury blazes in her cheeks. She’s wearing make-up this time, so the fire under her skin is perfectly covered, but I can smell it on her blood, and it makes me hard.

“I’m sorry for that,” she forces herself to say, pursing her red lips. I imagine smearing that red lipstick all over her face with my cock. “It’s just, it was offensive, implying that we might use each other for, you know.”

“For sex?” I spell it out for her. She nods, looking away from me and sweeping the club. She wants to drop the subject and bring it back to Shanker, the reason we’re here, but I’ll be damned if I let it.

“You know, you’ll be under my protection indefinitely, and that means there won’t be any men around you to scratch that itch. You might as well strike an arrangement with me, especially since there’s so much I can do for you.”

She scoffs without looking at me, still sweeping the club for faces she might recognize through the shisha steam and the intermittently flashing lights. The music isn’t as loud here, so we can understand each other without her having to yell. She makes to inch away from me, but I wind my arm around her shoulders and pull her back, eliciting an outraged reaction from her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m serious, Gigi. I could do much more for your brother than get him out of jail. I could fuck up those who set him up. And those are just some of the things I could do for you.”

She blinks rapidly like she can’t quite believe what she’s just heard.

“Diesel, are you seriously proposing an affair?”

My response is a long hard look at her. She stops breathing, and her heart beats so hard I can hear it as loud as the bass in the speakers.

“Wait a minute, are you going to make that a condition for getting Ronan out of jail?”

“No. I already made a promise related to that.”

“All right, then I guess the answer is a loud and clear Fuck No.”

But I won’t take no for an answer. I know how to get a yes when I want it, so I bring my mouth so close to her ear that my lips brush the shell. She feels trapped against me, her whole body is on fire, but there’s nowhere to go for her.

“Have an affair with me, and I’ll never feed on another human again.”

Her head snaps at me, her smokey eyes wide. She resembles a stricken goddess, one that I’m going to make mine and subject to my most hidden desires.

“You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“You have to feed somehow. If you don’t feed, you waste away, Aimee told me.”

“I would be feeding. On your blood exclusively.”

“What the hell are you saying?” She tries to jolt away from me, but my arm turns to stone around her.

“There’s no way in hell you just made this proposition to me.”

“I did.”

“Then there’s no way in hell I’m accepting.”

I look around the club, and fix one particularly ugly pimp just outside the circle the bodyguards make around us.

“Then prepare to get a lot of blood on your hands tonight.”

Go on reading here.

Owned by the Cruel Prince CHAPTER I

On By Ana CalinIn About the books, reading, Ana Calin, best fantasy romance, best paranormal romance, Dark and Dangerous, Fae Romance, Fairies and Dragons, Fiction Entertainment, Mythology9 Comments

The time has come! Owned by the Cruel Prince is going to hit the Zon by the end of this month! It’s been a few good months since the title was supposed to come out, which is why I decided to share the first chapter here with you. You’ve waited enough, and I thank you so much for your patience! Okay, so here we go. Let me know what you think, I’m always glad to hear from you, so feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts.

Blurb:

Sandros

It’s true, what they say about me. I am half fae and half demon, which to the fae kind means that I have a predilection to evil. If they didn’t need me as desperately as they do now, they’d try to f*cking lynch me.

And they’d f*cking fail.

I’m a centuries-old warlord, I’m not easy to kill. I’ve been bred for war, and now that the Antichrist is ready to take over the world, I could destroy the fae, or I could save them. So I’m faced with a choice—join the devil, or fight against him.

A choice that would be easy to make if it weren’t for her—Edith Snowstorm.

My fated mate, and the woman who betrayed me.

I came to the human realm for her, determined to get her back.

For months I’d been fantasizing of subduing her again, of owning her, of doing to her the things she hates to love.

But I found her with another man.

Don’t f*cking ask how I resisted the urge of slitting him open right in front of her. But that would have been too little of a punishment for the two of them.

Edith opened Pandora’s box, and now she’s gonna pay for it.  I’ll enslave her, watch her fall apart under me, I’ll make her tremble with guilty pleasures, and hate herself for it. I’ll have her know the taste of sin, I’ll have her writhe for it, because I know this one thing—she might not love me, but she sure as hell wants me. She always has, and she’s not even trying to deny it.

So I might as well chain her to me for the time I have left, since chances are, the fires of hell are gonna consume my soul anyway. But there is also a small hope, that she might save it. And, along with my soul, the world.

CHAPTER I

Edith

Here we are again, Sandros Nightfrost and I. Right back where we started, with my puppy brown eyes raised to his beastly golden irises as we face each other across the table. He’s as heartbreakingly unattainable as he was years ago, when I was first placed “under his wing”. Or, better yet, in his power. After all, he was the “master” and I his servant, even if it was on a battlefield where we acted as one, telepathically bonded.

Things have changed since then. A lot.

Now I’m the lady of a French castle, the trophy wife of Lord Durion Mithriel for all the town’s high society is concerned. To them, I’m an ethereal blonde with waves of white-blonde hair cascading down her back, always designer dressed and a bit drunk. I play the part best with a glass of champagne in my hand at social functions. I never actually drink it, but no one ever notices. As long as it suits the image they’ve made of me, my true identity is safe.

The opulence of my dresses and jewelry is also necessary. The physical appearance of the fae is unusual for humans, and believe it or not, the best way to keep suspicion at bay is by flaunting it. People often refer to this effect as ‘surreal beauty,’ even though I personally don’t consider us more beautiful than humans. We’re just more like what they desire for themselves. So Durion and I freely display the luxury we live in, our expensive clothing, the cars, the chateau. This way, people just assume we ‘bought’ our looks too—good crèmes, the best pills, the right surgeons, some even consider bioengineering. I heard them whispering at the last function we attended.

We also have to display a relationship that doesn’t actually exist. Though we play the married couple, in the months Durion and I have been exiled here in the human realm I’ve come to loathe him. He treats me like his possession, and there’s always an undertone of menace in his communication toward me. But I have no choice but to put up with him, otherwise I know he’s got ways to hurt me.

Sandros doesn’t know all this, of course. He doesn’t know that the closeness between Durion and I is a ruse. He didn’t give me the opportunity to explain, neither the first time we saw each other at the mayor’s birthday party two days ago, nor during the two minutes we had to ourselves in this room before Durion stepped in, stiff and square-shouldered like a royal rooster with his full head of golden curls and his chest pumped forward. He’s come to take this charade of the two of us being a married couple of noblemen dangerously seriously and now, as we sit here across from Sandros, more so than ever.  The possibility of his sliding his hand under the table on my thigh hovers like a dark cloud over my head. It’s a possibility that Sandros feels, too.

Despite Sandros’ hostility towards me, our bond is still there. It’s an inescapable connection, one that he obviously hates being tangled in. He doesn’t love me, while I always have loved him, ever since the very beginning, even as he treated me like shit.

Because I’m an idiot like that.

This time Sandros doesn’t face us as the army general that everyone used to fear, the beast in studded leather armor that every woman at the winter court secretly wanted to fuck but would never dream of admitting it. No, this time he’s sitting across from us in a fitted suit that wraps his amazing body in a mouthwatering way, classy but also wild with his sharply chiseled face and long black hair. No wonder the plates clatter on the server girls’ trays as they scurry around with starters and drinks.

“So, you’re telling me that Nessima sent you here to speak to her benefactor on her behalf,” Durion says, his face filled with suspicion.  “I’m sorry, but I find that highly improbable.”

“And why is that?” Sandros rumbles, his voice like low, distant thunder.

“You stayed back at her estate as her prisoner. Two months later you emerge her right hand? I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“I found a way into her heart, and from thee, into her trust zone.”

I fidget in my seat. Bastard must know he just plunged a knife into my heart.

“We’re together now,” he twists the knife. “I’m sure that, if you think about it, it’ll make sense that she’d let me handle some of her more serious affairs.”

“As I am sure you understand my reservations. This isn’t some Shanghai CEO that she sent you to meet, it’s not Bill Gates or the President. It’s the fucking Antichrist.” Durion’s last word makes me flinch, which isn’t lost on Sandros. His golden eyes move between Durion and me as Durion places a hand over mine.

“It’s taken Nessima centuries to gain access to him,” Durion continues. “It seems unlikely to me that she should share that power, no matter how in love she is. Especially after what happened with her first husband.”

“Officially, Eldan Blackfall is still her husband.”

“So you and her can’t really be together?” Durion says. “And yet she’s given you more power than she ever even took for herself?”

“She actually asked me nicely to take it,” Sandros rumbles, his golden eyes glinting like honey and hellfire. “As a warrior, I have a reputation. She wanted that reputed skill and influence on her side.”

That sounds so true it cuts yet deeper.

My pulse rises to the point that I can’t breathe. It’s hard to put up with the tension between the two men, and even harder to withstand the waves of hostility that hit me from Sandros. I’m painfully focused on his presence, and I can’t shake it. Everything seems to fade around him, even this chateau with its paneled walls and luxury fittings. There’s no comfort in the expensively holstered chairs or the intricately carved ornaments of the great fireplace, not even in the intimate light of the candelabra, or the statues and expensive art surrounding us.

The flames from the fireplace cast a golden light on the sharp angles of Sandros’ face, licking his caramel-bronze skin. Maybe I’ve lived among humans for too long, and gotten so used to their appearances, that this fae warlord now seems as surreal to me as he does to them.  Even looking at him hurts.

“Suppose we believe you, Edith and I,” Durion tells him. “Say we accept that Nessima sent you here to act on her behalf. Did she give you his identity then? Because we’ve been here for months, and still haven’t got the slightest clue. It could be anyone from the town mayor to the baker.”

“Yes. I do know who it is.”

My breath stops, my eyes enlarging in shock.

“You do?” I whisper.

“Unfortunately I cannot share that information with you.” His gaze brushes unwillingly over to me. “Either one of you.”

A server enters, awkward on her feet, the china clattering on her tray. It must be Sandros’ handsomeness that’s gotten her all flustered, because it couldn’t be the topic of our conversation. We’re speaking winter fae language, which resembles human English, but she doesn’t understand that one very well either, and even if, she still couldn’t know what we’re talking about.

“I’m here because Nessima needs more of his support, and she thinks he would grant it to me easier than to her. There are things that I can offer him, and she can’t. Things are also becoming urgent because, ever since her husband Eldan came out of the coma, the King has been planning an invasion of the North, meant on crushing her forces. She will rely on her benefactor more than ever.”

“And may I ask how Eldan has been cleansed of the evil that kept him unconscious?” Durion pushes. “We all know that Nessima implanted it into him, and only she could get it out of his system.”

Sandros raises his square chin.

“I persuaded Nessima to retract it from him.”

Durion throws his head back, letting out a fake laugh. “Really now? And all that only through your talents as a lover?”

“I offered her my complete allegiance in return. My unwavering loyalty.”

“And she believed you?” I chime in, pressing the lid down on my boiling feelings.

Sandros stares at me out of those golden eyes, and it feels like a damned train crash.

“That’s where my talents as a lover came into play.”

And, with that, the knife tears deeper into my flesh.

It’s obvious that Sandros isn’t here only a mission, he’s also back to torture me. It seemed surreal that he should have turned on the King of Winter, his own half brother that he served for centuries upon centuries until this woman Nessima came along and screwed up our lives, but apparently it’s true. So true that the blood drains from my head.

How could he? How could he betray the king, and more yet, how could he betray me? We’re bonded mates, and that’s something almost impossible to break. But this bond must feel different for Sandros than it does for me, and if I’m completely honest with myself, deep down, I always knew. When he first took me in that storeroom under the stairs at Nessima’s estate, I knew I was doomed. I’ll always want this warlord, while he’ll always find reasons to despise me. As intense as our sex was, as deep our connection, it was about love to me, and about possession and power to him.

“Now here’s how things are going to go down,” Sandros says, broadening his shoulders. I’m a sucker for his powerful build, and he knows it. “I’m going to contact him, but that will have to be in a crowd, because a crowd is what best confers anonymity. So let’s start by making a list of upcoming events and, if there aren’t any, we’ll set up one ourselves.”

“Why would we help you?” I bite out, defiance balling behind my eyes. “You’re betraying your brother the King of Winter, and everyone you professed to care about by doing this. All this means we’re not on the same side anymore—doesn’t it, Durion?”

Durion blinks and babbles a little before he replies, “Why yes, yes, of course, yes.”

It must come as a shock to him that I’m putting us in the same boat, him and me, but he likes it, I can tell. It softens him toward me and the entire situation, which is good, because even though I loathe him, I need all the allies I can get right this moment, since I feel like I’m going to hell.

The hint of this new alliance isn’t lost on Sandros either, who assesses us for a few moments out of those golden eyes before a wicked grin quirks up his chiseled, forbidden-fruit of a mouth. He leans forward, slowly, placing his elbows on the table, seeming even bigger, his shadow growing over the curtains behind him in the firelight. Durion stiffens in his seat, his shoulders and jaw clenching as he tries to hang on to his resistant attitude.  

“The two of you make one hell of a pair,” Sandros slurs.

I don’t respond. Let’s see just how far Sandros’ rotten opinion of me can go.

“You will help me because you have no choice,” he eventually says, pushing his chair back. When he rises, he does it like a gliding python.

I watch him as he prowls over to the fireplace. The sleek suit doesn’t do anything to mask his feral nature, on the contrary, it works as an enhancement. He picks a red rose from a gilded holder on the mantelpiece, pushing his free hand into his pocket. The suit tightens on his arm, sending a flash of memory involving those arms around me, subduing me.

I shake my head to cast out the memory that threatens to spread through me like a disease.

“These look like they are more than just decoration.” His voice is as controlled as ever, but I can feel the veiled irritation behind it. I hold back from probing his mind telepathically, because he would feel me there, and I’m not sure I want to know the full extent of his resentment. “Are red roses a regular gift in this place?”

“I’ve spared no effort to make Edith’s exile in the human realm as pleasant as possible.”

“Oh, but being in the human realm has hardly ever been torture for her,” Sandros rumbles, his tone lashing. “Let me remind you her illegally crossing over into the human realm and screwing human boys was the reason she got thrown in the Ice King’s dungeon in the first place.”

“Come on, Sandros, that was ages ago,” I bust out. “I’ve paid for my mistakes, I was locked down for years, and then I served you in the war against the Lord of Fire. Sure, the stigma never went away, it might never go, but I won’t have you judging me, not anymore.”

Durion places a long-fingered hand on my shoulder, and this time I don’t shake it off. Two servers enter with the last of the tableware and make to take positions by the door, standing in expectation to wait on us, but Sandros has other plans.

“Thank you very much for everything,” he tells them in a deep voice that makes the blood surge into the women’s cheeks. They’re so affected by him their thoughts are senseless clamor in my ears. “You can leave now. Take the night off. Actually, take tomorrow too. Tell the rest of the staff, it’s three free days for everybody.”

The two women look at each other, and then at Durion and me. I can feel his thoughts, he’s furious that Sandros should take upon himself to give our staff orders, but he knows that clearing the chateau of personnel is the right thing to do. The safe thing to do. We nod at the women, and watch them reluctantly leave. Their thoughts still echo inside my skull, and I can make out some sense in them—they’d love to stay, find out more about the mysterious visitor. One of them particularly likes having his eyes on her, it stimulates her sexual fantasy in which he’s forcing her down to her knees, fist clenched in her hair. She wonders if he’s married, but doesn’t seem to care even if that’s the case.

“I quit judging you a long time ago, Edith,” Sandros addresses me as soon as the servers have cleared the room. “I think by now we know each other well enough to know what to expect.”

“Believe it or not, I would very much prefer to return to the Winter Realm,” I say. “To the Queen, who I’m honored to call my best friend, and to the King, who happens to be your half-brother.” I stick out my chin. “I guess I don’t know you as well as you assume. I would have never expected you to switch sides. To cross to Nessima Blackfall’s side, no less, who tried to kill your best friend Eldan in punishment for having found the love of his life in a man instead of her. You’ve turned your back on all the centuries that you and the King have fought side by side? And for what? Pussy?” I scoff.

It’s satisfying to hold the words on my tongue like that. He sure didn’t expect that kind of reaction from me, and on the one hand it felt hood. But on the other it feels like I’ve just drunk poison because I’m putting things into a perspective that’s hard as Tartarus to bear. But since he’s determined to think the worst of me, I might as well return in kind.

Yes, years ago I found a way to slip into the human realm and have fun at frat parties. I had my first lover there, but I wasn’t doing it with ‘boys’. It was only one boy, and Sandros knows that. When we connected, current running through us, creating the mates’ bond, he saw the guy with the number eight on the back of his jacket.

“I’m not here to explain my motives to you.” His tone is flat as if my words had bounced against a wall. “I’m here to let you know how things are going to go down. So—”

“We don’t need to make a list of events,” I cut him off. “There’s enough high society in this town that there’s always something going on. There was the mayor’s birthday two days ago, and there’s the engagement of Count Guerin’s son on Saturday. He’s celebrating at the same restaurant as the mayor—the medieval tower on the hill, the best place in all the region.”

“Not going to have every person in town there, though,” Durion argues. “It’s only going to be the high society, so the person you expect to meet there—”

“The high society is all we need,” Sandros declares.

“So then we know the Antichrist is a member,” Durion says under his breath.

“Not surprised.” I pick up the bottle of champagne and pour myself a drink, refusing Durion’s attempt of helping with one forbidding look that he doesn’t challenge. He hasn’t seen this side of me before, and that takes him a little off balance. Quite frankly, I don’t know myself like this either. “Who would imagine the devil’s very son wandering the world in a state of poverty or even merely as someone mediocrely well-off?”

“The Antichrist came here to enjoy the good life, that’s for sure,” Sandros says. I feel his eyes on me as I keep pouring champagne into my glass. I do it slowly, watching the liquid glisten and the foam swell, tilting the glass to prolog the process.

“Who’s on the guest list?” Sandros goes on.

I leave the replying to Durion, downing my champagne and letting my eyes wander over Sandros’ frame.

Will I ever be free from his spell, or am I doomed to die under it, like all the other disposable women that came before me in his life? When Sandros Nightfrost chooses to unleash his masculine talents on a woman, it’s not long until she becomes his emotional slave, just like I’ve become. No doubt in the months we’ve been apart he’s made an adoring idiot out of Nessima. By Tartarus, I wish that the champagne could give me the slightest high, I’m in desperate need of it. But nothing but a particular kind of fae nectar is going to do that trick.

 “Listen, Sandros,” I interrupt. “Any chance you brought along some nectar?”

He cocks an eyebrow inquisitively.

“It was the last of my concerns, but I’m sure I can arrange something for you, if you work with me now. Let’s get back to our business at hand, and talk contraband later.”

So the bastard’s going to make me work for it.

“All right, so the engagement party,” Durion resumes, probably deciding it’s better not to antagonize the warlord any further. Everything about him screams we better not try to stand in his way, or things are going to get ugly.

But I’ll be damned. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Sandros is here to betray his brother the King of Frost after so many centuries in which they’d been so close one could have sworn they were Siamese. I can’t believe he’s aiding Nessima and the Antichrist in taking over the Winter Realm.

Durion pushes his chair back, the wooden legs scraping the floor, and walks around the table to Sandros, who watches him with hawkish eyes.

“There are a few people of note in this town, and they like to be around each other, you know, they feel safer that way. The rich don’t despise the poor as much as they fear they would feast on the crumbs from their tables.”

“I didn’t come here for philosophy,” Sandros cuts him off, but Durion doesn’t seem bothered by the humuliation. I scoff under my breath.  Now that it’s become clear where the real power lies, he’s sucking up to it again. I’ve tried hard not to despise him, but look at him now.

“The mayor isn’t the most important person in this place,” he continues, picking up an oyster and slurping on it, while Sandros leans with his shoulder against the fireplace, the flames dancing in his golden eyes.

“Guerin the Count de Auvergne is the oldest and most respected citizen here. A number of mayors showered him with distinctions over the years. From what I gather he played a huge part against Hitler, but he’s too old now to play a part in anything remotely challenging. He’s extremely well connected though, and he’s trying hard to pass his connections on to his son, Antoine. Except skill and life experience isn’t passed on as easily as money, and Antoine’s turning out a good-for-nothing that’s squandering his father’s inheritance before the old man’s even in the ground isn’t making it any easier. He’s a drunk, an addict, and a womanizer.

“Guerin has started to see that Antoine has anything but a bright future ahead of him once the old man’s dead, so he’s trying to save the situation through an arranged marriage. The engagement party between Antoine de Auvergne and Simone Carrera is thus based on anything but love. She’s not a noblewoman, but she’s rich, an heiress. Used to be a great beauty, and she’s still attractive, by human standards, even though she’s got her best years behind her. So she could still have her choice of men, easily, so old Guerin has to make the union interesting for her, and especially, profitable. They must have struck a good deal. She’s very savvy in the business area, I’ve heard.”

Has the champagne started to have an effect, or is Sandros glancing at me every other sentence?

“So these three will be the main people at the engagement party on Saturday, but there will also be the mayor, Jean Dubois. He’s a cliché-ish middle aged politician pervert that won’t miss a chance to hover around Giancarlo Botini, a fashion designer who’s not entirely cliché.” He glances at me with hidden meaning. “He’s extravagant, dark sunglasses at midnight and such, but he’s as into women as it gets. Most of all into Edith.”

Sandros’ eyes fly over to me, the complete mirror of Durion’s, except there’s also some sort of reproach in there, as if I’m to blame for the attention.

“Come on Durion, what he wants is for me to model for him,” I counter, even though I hate it that I want to set Sandros’ opinion straight. “To him, I’m the stereotypical trophy wife with an alcohol problem and good legs. He just thinks I’d look good on a catwalk.”

“Which you most certainly would,” Durion says. “But the truth is, Sandros, it’s not only the pretty trophy wife that Botini sees. As a fae, I have no doubt Edith is the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Unless, of course, he is the Antichrist, and he’s seen this kind of supernatural beauty before.”

Sandros walks around him as if he’s heard everything he needed to hear. “So all these people are going to be at the engagement party.”

“Them and more.” Durion spins on his heel to face Sandros’ back as the latter takes distance. “The mayor’s connections, high-flying politicians and corporatists, also the more important part of his extended family will be there. The mayor also has two sons from a surrogate mother, but I suppose they’re irrelevant.”

“Now why would you suppose that?”

“What do you mean why? They’re toddlers. Twins.”

Pretty weird looking twins, if you ask me, but I could still kiss and pinch those doughy cheeks. They’re chubby, and sweet, and yet I can understand people’s reluctance to go anywhere near them. They have disturbingly wiry copper hair and uncomfortably piercing blue eyes that would make the night unsettling for the most settled of minds. Human minds. Not used to facing demons and dragon shifters in battle, oblivious to the incredible worlds existing around their own.

“It’s decided, then,” Sandros states matter-of-factly, placing the rose slowly on the table right across from me. “We’ll be attending that engagement party on Saturday, and you will be introducing me as your distant cousin.”

Our eyes meet, and his eyes nail me to the chair. Durion can’t catch the look between us, since Sandros is with his back at him, and I manage to suppress any reaction that threatens to move a muscle on my face.

“And by what name should I introduce you?” Durion says. “Because I can’t possibly use your real one. These are generations’ old noblemen and politicians and corporate moguls, they’ll know—”

“They’ll know I’m someone they’ve never heard of, and yet someone with enough power to infiltrate their ranks. Someone that looks different enough to raise their curiosity. When these things awaken curiosity, respect tends to follow. It will open all the doors that need to be opened.”

Silence falls over the room, only the fire’s rustling filling the air, the flames bathing the place in a timeless light. I like it because it reminds me of my old world, of my true home in the Winter Realm. The Snowstorm estate, the abandoned fortress of my family. It’s now probably infested with Nessima’s dark power, since her evil has gaped to swallow the entire territory beyond the Northern forest.

“I’ll be staying in the east wing. Tell the staff not to venture there. I understand it’s still undergoing renovation anyway,” Sandros declares, turning to leave.

“The renovations have only just started,” Durion corrects him. “It’s actually in a pretty bad state right now, it’s hardly a proper lodging for—”

“I’ve had worse. I spent half of my life in war camps. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Can’t say the betrayal wasn’t expected,” Durion says when we’re alone again, his eyes still fixed on the archway through which Sandros has just exited. He pours himself a glass of champagne, and downs it in one go. Alcohol doesn’t have an effect on either of us, but the prickling, fine taste of French booze can be soothing. “You should have known, too. He’s the son of the former winter king and a powerful demoness from Hell. Evil has always coursed through his veins, that’s why our people have always been instinctively wary of him.”

“You’re right.”

For a moment, Durion looks like he’s about to slap himself. “Wait, you actually agree with me for once? What’s the catch?”

“No catch. It’s the way it is. Pour me some, too.” I wave my hand to the bottle, slouching back in my seat. I must look like a heart-broken mess. My dress is off the shoulder, which I guess adds to my overall desolate appearance as I let a man I loathe fill my glass instead of the one I want, who left the room without giving me another glance.  I keep staring at the rose he placed in front of me, which has already started to wilt, as blackening under his dark power.

“I don’t think you’ve ever agreed with me on anything before,” Durion says as the champagne gurgles into the glass.

“I’d be an idiot to not agree with you on this one. But agreeing isn’t going to get us anywhere.” I meet Durion’s eyes as I re-run the evening in my head. “The realms are in mortal danger again. The Antichrist is here, in the human world, the centerpiece that holds all the worlds together. And now, the darkest prince of the Winter Realm has joined him. If these two come together, the worlds are going to collapse, and evil is going to swallow us all.”

Durion nods, dread starting to spread in his large brown eyes. “We have to do something.”

“First of all, we have to find out who the Antichrist is.”

***