Enjoy the second chapter of Unhealthy Obsession, part I. (Note: This is the sequel to Unholy Intentions, and it’s coming out by the end of this month!) (READ Chapter I of Unhealthy Obsession here and stay tuned for more goodies until the ARCs are released. Genre: Dark Romance, Billionaire Romance, Bodyguard Romance, Secret Society, Unhinged Hero, Dirty Smut, BookTok Favorites and Trigger Warnings to name a few. You’ve been warned.
***
Hailey
I slap my palms against the double doors that lead to what used to be Bobby’s training hall and is now Priest’s main assembly room. I have to lean my whole weight against the dark, lacquered wood to push them open. By the time I’m staring at Priest’s black-clad back, I’m panting, but I’m also angry as fuck, which is a blessing, considering how I still morph into a puddle of blabbering idiocy whenever he looks at me.
“You can’t do this, you cannot do this,” I manage, my voice shaking.
The men surrounding Priest step away, opening the view to what they’d been working on—a holographic representation of the mansion and its grounds floating on top of Priest’s desk. The web of red dots and laser routes pervading the model serves as a brutal reminder of the impossible levels of security he’s put into place, reminding me there’s no escape. “It feels like every damn bud in the rose garden has eyes and ears,” Kira said earlier today as she shook the water off her umbrella in the loggia. Spotting the two Clerics shadowing me beyond the lobby pillars, she swallowed whatever else she wanted to say before we went up to the second floor, where the entire Gekko Studios is being moved. Equipment and furniture is still being brought in as I stand here fuming.
“Ms. Saintpatrick,” the other Clerics greet, lowering their heads, while Priest stares at me with an opaque look in his lynx eyes. It cuts so fucking deep, deeper than I care to admit.
In my head, I replay the night when he said he was my prison. I’ve held my ground since then, forcing myself to hate him. On the inside, I want to beg for his chains.
“You can’t lock me in this house, just like he used to do,” I spit out, trying to hide how much his presence affects me.
I think of my former guards’ contorted bodies heaped in a pile at the foot of the service stairs to reinforce my resentment against Priest Ward. The memory still gives me nightmares, and in each one, I look down at them while holding hands with their killer. With the man who orphaned their children, and is no better for it, just because he looks after all of them financially.
The killer staring me in the eye right now. Cold, collected, and looking forbiddingly mouthwatering in that Clerical black suit with the gill-like cuts on the sides that remind everyone how much of a shark he is.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” I demand, holding his stare and hoping to find a crack in his granite mask. “How long are you going to keep me hostage in this place?”
“Hostage? The palazzo belongs to you.” His deep voice drifts across the room, licking over my senses like a shadow of sin. “The entire premises span over the equivalent of several city blocks, all of it at your disposal.”
“I’m still on a fucking leash.”
His eyes narrow into slits, everything about him harder, colder. “Not yet, but I would indeed put you on one, if that’s what it took to keep you safe.”
“Keep me safe,” I walk closer. “This isn’t you keeping me safe, Priest, it’s you keeping me prisoner.”
“You live like a princess,” he counters.
I point my finger at him. “I see what you’re trying to do. Don’t.”
“But can you argue with it?” He gestures toward the windows. “You live in a mansion with sweeping private gardens, in the most exclusive city suburb. You own one of the world’s most prestigious animation studios, relocated here entirely for your convenience. Every one of your stepfather’s companies is now under your control, with entire teams of experts at your disposal.” His voice turns silky, edged with cunning. “You live the poshest of lives. Cocooned in absolute luxury.”
“I live in chains!” I spell out. “And fuck you for making it sound like I’m a spoiled brat.”
The closer I get, the further away the other Clerics move, pulling out devices to busy themselves. They never dare intervene between Priest and me.
“Why are you even still here, still protecting me?” I argue. “Bobby is locked in the basement, his allies eliminated.”
“All besides Rowan Sheffield.”
I narrow my eyes. “Even if he’s still on the loose, it’s not like he can shoot at our windows again anytime soon. The Order is all over him.”
“I don’t think he was acting alone, or of his own accord. I need to be sure before I tick this mission off as complete. All we have on his whereabouts is speculation, and we need hard facts.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Neither he nor his allies would dare come after me out in the open, not after everything that happened. Besides, you said it yourself—the shooting wasn’t for me. Someone was targeting you. Sending you a message.”
“Exactly. And that someone is still unknown and on the loose,” he says, calm but adamant. “Protocol dictates that you remain inside, under my permanent surveillance.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m just a girl, not a nuclear facility. This is overkill.”
Priest approaches, slowly, methodically. I should step away, make sure there’s a safe distance between us, but I wait for him to get close enough so I can breathe him in. No matter how fiercely I fight myself, I still crave his scent of mystery, danger, and ghost stories on October nights.
“You’re not wrong, and I’ve been talking to Zayne about that. Why would the Order activate the highest-ranked Cleric to protect an ordinary girl like she’s a warhead? We didn’t come up with the answer, but a way to find out.”
I swallow hard at that word, ordinary. I never had a problem with it until it came out of his mouth. Damn my stupid heart for wanting to be special to him.
I grit my teeth. “But if the shooting didn’t have anything to do with me—”
“It had to do with me protecting you. With your true identity. We don’t get to be sloppy about this, Hailey. We have to find out why you’re so important to the Order.”
I sink into his deliciously claustrophobic presence, hating how much of a sucker I am for his hypnotic attention.
“Okay, so how do we do it?”
“We have two leads. Two people who may have the answer. I was going to interrogate one of them today, but now that you’re here and complaining about feeling like a hostage, I think you should join me. It would make the interrogation less…brutal.”
I cock my head to the side. “Are you trying to tempt me into complicity?”
“I could always coerce you into it.”
“No need. Temptation is working. I need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
His mien turns graver.
“You might not feel that way once you hear who we’re seeing.”
***
ARCs coming soon! Leave a comment or drop me an e-mail at anacalin@theromancetrove.com for an ARC, if you’d like to get the whole e-book for free ahead of release. In return, I would love if you could post a shot review on Amazon, Goodreads and/or Bookbub on the day of release, which will be before the end of this month. Stay tuned for many more goodies coming up .)
I know you’re here for the spice, so I’ll make this quick.
While working on Unhealthy Obsession (the sequel to Unholy Intentions), certain scenes and tropes kept demanding to be written—dark, filthy, immediate. So I channeled them into a series of novellas: pure, unapologetic indulgence.
Today’s excerpt is from one of those novellas. Consider it a palate cleanser between courses… or an appetizer that’ll ruin your dinner plans.
But enough from me. You came here to read something that’ll whisk you away to a world filled with forbidden delights.
So, let’s dive into it.
***
Chapter I
Caleb
The ancient Roman villa sticks out of the cliff like a jagged monument. I let the realtor talk as if I need convincing, but I’ve already decided it’s exactly what I want for this year’s Halloween party.
And for my special guest.
Waves crash into the rocky base, flooding the coves, eating into the stone and carrying the scent of tempest. It’s a dark day, as the entire month is expected to be. Thunderclouds gather in the sky, but the slimy realtor still won’t lose the sunglasses as he gestures broadly like he’s on stage.
“This, Mr. Rushmore, is an utter rarity. The renovations not only preserved some of the original walls and columns, but this villa also includes a ludus—you know what a ludus is, right?” Because of course a twenty-something American new-money would be grossly ignorant of European culture, and could barely see beyond the sterile biotech lab that catapulted him to the cover of Forbes magazine.
I won’t disappoint him.
“Enlighten me.” I shove my hands into my pockets and walk past him. I avoid conversation whenever I can, letting people slide into monologue. The more they talk, the more tea they spill that I can use to blackmail them, should the necessity arise.
And, when you’re filthy rich, it always arises. Pretty much everyone tries to extort at you at some point.
“A ludus was a school for gladiators in ancient Roman times,” the realtor continues, spelling out the words like a headmaster. “If you step out onto the balcony, you’ll get a view of the inner patio, and the gladiators’ rooms just across. It’s living, breathing history. Now, prepare to be seriously impressed.”
We step onto the large stone balcony, and indeed. The view opens onto a large inner patio, what used to be the gladiators’ housing to the side of it, and the wild sea right across. No fence or other safe border to keep you from falling right off the edge and crashing into the rocks below. I make a mental note to secure the edge for the party.
“I thought you’d like it,” the realtor says when I linger instead of moving on, the way I did through the atrium, the large dining hall, and the bedrooms. “You know, with your past and all.”
With my past and all.
I turn, resting the full weight of my attention on him. He smiles and slaps my back like we’re old buddies, but I’m much larger than him, and when I don’t budge a single inch, he stills and swallows.
Suddenly, I take one step forward. He instinctively jumps back, gripping the too-low banister—a reconstruction error from when they replaced the original wooden one, I imagine.
“Careful,” I say in a low tone. “We wouldn’t want you tripping over the edge now, would we?” Then, stepping next to him and taking in the surroundings as if the whole situation was only in his head, I add, “Can you imagine how it would hurt, if you fell from this height? No, you wouldn’t die. Not unaided, in any case. The fall wouldn’t be deep enough for that. But you’d wish it was.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says hurriedly, afraid I might try to throw him off. “I’m not judging. On the contrary, I’m a fan. I mean, what you did was unorthodox, but—” He clears his throat, realizing from a glance that the safest thing to do is move on. “Anyway, this particular villa was located far from any Roman town back in the day, which is why it escaped destruction over the centuries. The worst things that happened to it were squatters and natural decay. The squatters probably did more damage than the centuries, honestly.” He points to the black mold along the ludus walls across the patio. “The former owners kept it because they liked the authenticity and said they wanted to keep the gothic feel, but I can have the stains removed, if you wish.”
“No,” I say. “The gothic feel is exactly what I need.” After a few moments of heavy silence that have the realtor wringing his hands, I add, “I’ll take it.”
A smile spreads over the man’s face, his relief so obvious that not even the shades can hide it. He extends his hand, but he’s been sweating profusely, so I keep mine in my pocket.
“Prepare the contract,” I instruct him. “Get it done today so I can make the payment immediately.”
“Oh yes, yes of course.” He nods so fast, I’m worried he’ll get dizzy and lose his balance. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Rushmore,” he blurts out, unable to hide his enthusiasm. I guess he’s not used to buyers who don’t even try to negotiate the price, but I despise petty bartering.
I pay people what they ask for.
For a moment, I worry he might try to hug me, but commotion behind us makes him whip around. My security team stayed outside, but there’s no keeping back Derek and Landon. I shared the location as soon as I got here with the realtor, and apparently they didn’t waste any time sliding into the McLaren and speed over here from the hotel.
“The f*ck, dude,” Derek exclaims, spreading out his thick arms and spinning around like a princess in a fairy tale. “This place is awesome. Curvy Girly’s gonna love this.”
“Not sure she’s gonna like three gladiators fumbling her, though,” Landon adds with a deep frown.
“Again, you’re not getting a piece of her,” I remind him as he walks over. He squares his shoulders, standing at his whole pro-basketball-player height and dwarfing the realtor, who stares like Zeus himself just descended.
“Yeah, you want her juicy a** for yourself, all clear,” Derek says with a shit-eating grin as he approaches. “We’re just part of the show, not part of the fun.” He shoulders his way past Landon, flexing his arm in that way he does whenever he wants to show off what he thinks is his superior American-football strength. We all got into college because of our prowess in sports, and even after we built empires, there’s still nothing like a pissing contest for this asshole.
“Derek Winston and Landon F*cking Montefeller,” the realtor breathes, mouth agape.
“Yeah, the entire Holy Trinity is here,” Derek slaps the man’s back as he passes him. The shades jump off his nose, the realtor scrambling to catch them.
“F*ck, damn it,” he yelps, managing to save his Cucinelli.
Reaching the balcony, Derek spreads his arms wide, breathing in the incoming storm. The breeze sifts through his black hair, giving him something of a cheesy Olympian god.
“No need to worry about me, K-Boy,” he says as his large chest inflates with the fresh air. “But Landon here might want a piece of her. After all, he found her first. I guess he’s into curvy loud-mouths too.”
“Caleb’s the one she’s been talking shit about,” Landon says, dismissing the realtor and making sure he’s gone before continuing. “So no worries, I’ll just be there to assist.”
“And assist you will, both of you,” I decree. Then, calmly, but driving every word home, “You can make her feel like she’s in trouble, but our special guest is mine.”
Derek laughs thickly. Bastard will enjoy this a little too much, but I know he’ll stick to the scenario we agreed upon. I glance at Landon as he flanks me on the other side, staring into the distance with that permanently serious look on his face.
“Are you sure about this?” Landon asks, ignoring Derek’s teasing. Years ago he might have gotten into a fistfight, but now he’s grown as immune to it as I have. “I mean, it could seriously backfire.”
“I wouldn’t have planned this if I didn’t know for a fact she wanted it.” I keep my eyes on the thunderclouds rolling over the restless sea. The storm will be a beautiful addition to the setup. And, if the meteorological reports I paid handsomely for are right, the tempest expected on Halloween night will be the stuff of legend.
The entire experience will be unforgettable for her.
“She does trash you online,” Landon continues, bent on remaining the voice of reason here. “And we only know she m*st*rb*tes to your pics because we hacked into her tech. It’s not like we can use the information in our—your—defense if push comes to shove.”
He leans just a little closer. “Off the record, she might be doing this to get your attention. But for all the world knows, she’s the most anti—Caleb Rushmore person that ever existed. No one hates on your biotech labs online more than her, and she’s not without clout. She could make serious noise about this and cause serious damage. Remember, to her followers, you’re the goddamn antichrist.”
Derek puffs. “She used his name to get that clout, Landon. What did she have pre-Rushmore rants? Like, 40k followers? Now she’s past the million.” He waves his hand, dismissing it. “To the Lacey Normans of this world, K-Boy was the antichrist before, and will remain the antichrist long after her account gets flushed down the drain of social media—which I trust we will be seeing to after K-Boy has his dirty way with her.” He laughs and bumps my shoulder. The bastard can be vicious like that. “I say we tape her, too. Show her crowd how the biggest Rushmore hater gets her c*n* hammered by the devil himself in a gladiator suit.”
My c*ck hardens in my pants.
Yes, I’m going to enjoy bending Lacey Norman to my will.
Bending her over to expose her c*n* to me and her bouncing t**s to the crowd, banging her publicly while holding her on a leash.
Judging by what I saw her do to herself while looking at my pictures, she likes it rough. I remember her spreading her legs on her swivel chair and slapping her c*n* before f*cking it with two and three fingers until she came all over her own knuckles. I still can’t get the wet sounds out of my head, or her face as the stared at my Forbes cover picture on her laptop screen.
If she only knew that I was staring right back at her.
But she’ll be getting so much more than a public, highly satisfying f*ck. On Halloween night, Lacey Norman will finally learn the secret she’s been after all this time.
To celebrate the release of Big Bad Masked Dom, dropping tomorrow, I’m inviting you back into the ancient Roman villa where all wicked things begin. If you’ve read King of Decadence, you already know that behind every mask there is a man who could ruin you, worship you, or drag you into the shadows to do both at once. (And yes, the new release is even dirtier, darker, and more depraved.)
So before you meet your next crush in Big Bad Masked Dom, let’s see which masked stranger would claim you at the masquerade tonight.
Choose quickly. Instinctively. Your masked stranger is already watching.
QUIZ: WHICH MASKED STRANGER WOULD TAKE YOU TONIGHT?
QUESTION 1 — Which mask pulls you in first?
A) Obsidian Gladiator Mask — dark, dangerous, silent B) Gold-Leaf Dom Mask — elegant, cunning, elite C) Wolf-Steel Half Mask — brooding, protective D) Phantom Bone Mask — mysterious, unsettling E) Silver Serpent Mask — seductive and sly F) Crimson War Mask — chaotic, dominant, unhinged
QUESTION 2 — What kind of energy ruins you?
A) A cold, controlled man who commands with a look B) A master negotiator who toys with your mind C) A brooding protector who doesn’t let others touch what’s his D) A stranger who shouldn’t want you, but does E) A seducer who knows you better than you know yourself F) A reckless alpha who throws you over his shoulder without asking
QUESTION 3 — Where do you want him to take you?
A) A dark gladiator cell lit by torches B) A private velvet-curtained chamber with restraints C) A stormy balcony overlooking the sea D) A forbidden underground ruin beneath the villa E) A locked library with leather couches F) The arena itself, in front of everyone
QUESTION 4 — Pick the line that wrecks you:
A) “I don’t need your fear. I want your surrender.” B) “I don’t take. I claim.” C) “You shouldn’t trust me. But you will.” D) “Be still. You’re about to understand why you were invited.” E) “Tell me what you want. Then I’ll tell you what you really want.” F) “Struggle for me.”
QUESTION 5 — Your fate at the masquerade should be…
A) Public and intense B) Negotiated but inevitable C) Passionate and possessive D) Mysterious and dangerous E) Manipulative and intoxicating F) Filthy and exhibitionist
🎭 RESULTS — WHO TAKES YOU TONIGHT?
MOSTLY As — ✦ THE OBSIDIAN GLADIATOR ✦
You crave power—raw, silent, commanding.
He doesn’t speak much because he doesn’t have to. Every step he takes is a promise, every look a command.
He drags you into the ludus cell, the crowd roaring behind you. His touch is possession, not affection. And you? You give in beautifully.
His line: “I want to watch you break for me.”
MOSTLY Bs — ✦ THE GOLD-LEAF DOM ✦
You’re drawn to brains + dominance — the dangerous combination.
He corners you gently, dangerously, offering you a contract tailored to your desires. He’ll push you, test you, own you, and you’ll thank him for it.
His line: “Sign. I already know you want to.”
MOSTLY Cs — ✦ THE WOLF-STEEL LURKER ✦
You’re a sucker for the brooding protector—the man who watches from the shadows until someone else touches you.
Then suddenly he’s there, pinning you to the balcony wall while thunder rolls behind him.
He shouldn’t claim you. But he absolutely will.
His line: “If anyone else touches you tonight, I’ll break them.”
MOSTLY Ds — ✦ THE PHANTOM IN THE BONE MASK ✦
You crave mystery, risk, danger — the kind that curls low in your belly.
He’s behind you before you notice him. You shouldn’t follow him into the ruins beneath the villa—but the moment he takes your arm, you already know you will.
His line: “Don’t pretend you aren’t curious.”
MOSTLY Es — ✦ THE SILVER SERPENT ✦
You love a man who reads you like a book and turns every answer into a temptation.
He knows every button, every weakness, every want. You might think you’re in control… but he’ll have you on your knees.
His line: “I tasted your curiosity from across the room.”
MOSTLY Fs — ✦ THE CRIMSON WARLORD ✦
You’re here for the chaos. You want the man who laughs at rules, ignores limits, and chooses you like he’s choosing prey.
He throws you over his shoulder and carries you straight into the arena.
The crowd screams. You scream louder.
His line: “Good girl. Now fight back.”
***
🎭 FINAL CTA FOR YOUR BLOG POST
Tell me your result in the comments — Which masked stranger takes YOU tonight?
And don’t forget: Big Bad Masked Dom releases TOMORROW! If this quiz turned you on… just wait until you meet Derek Winston in the flesh. If you’re in for more immersion into this universe, quizzes and experiences, make sure to subscribe and leave a comment. A whole world awaits!
Based on YOUR instincts, YOUR reactions, YOUR power — which of our most recent villains has already decided you’re his?
This isn’t about who you want. It’s about who would want you — for the reasons you don’t even recognize in yourself.
Answer honestly… or as honestly as you dare.
⭐ 1. When a man you’re into tries to intimidate you, what do you do?
A) You stare him down, stay composed, and let your silence speak for you. You don’t flinch — you calculate.
B) You tense for a heartbeat, then heat floods you. Fear and desire blur, and your body gives away more than your mouth ever would.
2. When someone crosses your boundaries, how do you respond?
A) You shut them out with surgical precision — polite, cold, final. You set a line and enforce it with steel.
B) You bite back — sharp words, sharp tone, sharp spark. Your temper flashes, and anyone paying attention can see your fire.
⭐ 3. How do you show defiance?
A) With intellect. You challenge with logic, strategy, and perfect self-control. Your rebellion is subtle but unmistakable.
B) With attitude. Your chin lifts, your eyes burn, and your mouth gets you into trouble. Your defiance is raw and physical.
⭐ 4. What’s your natural reaction when someone powerful (and hot as sin) enters the room?
A) You assess him. You read his posture, tone, intentions. You’re not afraid — you’re curious.
B) Your pulse kicks. Your body reacts first, your mind second. You feel him in your nerves before your logic catches up.
⭐ 5. How do you handle sexual tension?
A) You hold it together. You stay composed on the surface even when your insides are chaos. Your restraint is part of the allure.
B) Your breath changes, your body betrays you, and you hate—LOVE—how obvious it feels.
⭐ 6. How do you flirt?
A) You ask sharp questions. You match his intelligence. You make him work to get through your layers.
B) Your sarcasm gets meaner. Your eyes linger a second too long. You get brattier the more you want him.
⭐ 7. When you want someone, what’s your instinct?
A) Earn their respect. Make them see your worth. You attract with competence and self-possession.
B) Test them. Push them. Poke the beast to see if he bites.
⭐ 8. What do you crave, deep down?
A) A man who understands your mind and matches your ambition. Someone who plays the long game with you — not around you.
B) A man who pulls your darkest desires into the open and makes them holy through pleasure.
🔥 RESULTS 🔥
⭐ MOSTLY A — CALEB RUSHMORE WOULD FALL FOR YOU.
He chooses intelligence. Composure. Restraint welded to steel. A woman who thinks before speaking, who fights with strategy instead of volume, who knows how to guard her heart but still burn underneath.
Caleb loves a woman who challenge him without chaos. Someone who carries themselves like a queen who doesn’t need a crown. Someone who forces him to slow down, think deeper, strategize harder.
You’re the woman he builds an empire with — and destroys an enemy for.
Taglines:
Caleb doesn’t chase. He identifies value — and acquires it.
He wants the woman whose mind is as dangerous as his.
⭐ MOSTLY B — DEREK WINSTON WOULD LOCK ONTO YOU IMMEDIATELY.
He chooses heat. Instinct. Honesty of reaction. A woman who feels everything — tension, fear, desire — and whose body gives him all the information he needs.
Derek loves a woman with fire. A woman who get flustered, bratty, breathless. A woman whose defiance is physical, whose desire leaks through her irritation, whose reactions fuel every one of his fantasies.
You’re the woman he pins to a wall and worships until you forget your own name.
Taglines:
Derek chooses the woman whose body tells the truth. He hunts by instinct, and owns by devotion.
⭐ Equal A/B Split — BOTH men want you… for opposite reasons.
Caleb wants your mind. Derek wants your pulse. And together? They’d ruin you wickedly.
***
Whether Caleb marked you or Derek claimed you, one thing is certain — the billionaires of this world are just getting started. Big Bad Masked Dom storms in on December 3rd, bringing the full force of the Masked Ball and Derek Winston’s unmasked intentions. If you want to dive in early, King of Decadence is already live and ready to ruin you properly. And because it’s Cyber Week, I’m dropping extra treats, sneak peeks, and dark little surprises all the way to release day — so stay tuned, stay curious, and stay wicked. Tell me your result in the comments, and if you don’t want to miss any of the upcoming goodies, make sure you’re subscribed. The big bad billionaires always reward the ones who keep coming back.
I wanted to do something special for Black Friday.
So, as my treat to you, here’s the entire first chapter of my upcoming novella Big Bad Masked Dom, the second book in the Big Bad Billionaires series — releasing December 3rd. It’s an early sneak peek into the Roman-masked debauchery, the danger, the heat, and a whole lot of wrong that feels so wickedly right.
And because Black Friday is all about getting things early… ARCs are now open — and free — and they go out tomorrow. If you want one, just email me at anacalin@theromancetrove.com with ARC in the subject line.
All right — enough talk. Let’s get dirty.
***
CHAPTER I
Margot
Okay, so this masked ball is everything Emmaline and Rick advertised it to be, and it sure as fuck is the “hot bitch of a show” they promised. The ancient Roman villa is the best backdrop the promoter could have chosen for a decadent masked ball, and the remodeled gladiator arena is the perfect stage for the twisted spectacle taking place in its center.
The girl is, of course, a more than willing participant. She’s wet down her thighs as that burly animal and his friend, both dressed as Roman guards, hold her down for a gladiator to have his way with her.
This right here is exactly why none of my relationships ever worked out. This is what I’m into, and I can’t let anyone in on it. The tragedy is there’s no way I can actually live it out in real life, which is why I came here tonight. I crave this kind of rough fuckery, but I won’t put up with it from some random Tinder date, and much less from my office fuck buddy Kale after Netflix and chill. I know that, deep down, he’d judge me for my dirty desires.
I mean, what person in their right mind wouldn’t? I couldn’t even bring myself to share this stuff with Emmaline, my bff, and she’s here getting gross with multiple men while her boyfriend Rick is watching. They’ve been together for five years, in an open relationship for one, and always looking for nasty little pleasures. Well, they’ve got themselves a feast this time.
And yet, I’m afraid not even they would understand. On one hand, I think Emmaline only agreed to this swinger life to please Rick, and doesn’t really enjoy it. I’ve known her longer than he has, and I can tell you for a fact she’s not really this person. I mean, I wouldn’t share my man either, not if I truly wanted him for myself, but I would do other stuff that would blow her socks off.
So I keep the twisted part of me hidden, even from my oldest friend and from the entire world. It’s too pervy and filthy to share with anyone who knows me in real life, which is why my eyes keep drifting to the burly Roman guard holding the main girl down in the arena. He doesn’t know who I am, and he never will. The glittery Venetian mask covering the upper part of my face hides my identity. Under the cover of anonymity, I could act on all of my filthiest fantasies tonight. Imagine if I could act them out with him.
I lick my lips, my entire body humming with lust.
But it can’t happen. Even if this whole party ends up as one big, decadent orgy, what are the odds that he and I end up tangled?
Still, a girl can dream, right?
Especially since there’s no way I can look away from him. Unlike a real ancient Roman guard, there’s no breastplate covering what seems to be a naturally tan, young, strong body, just a red cape hanging from the plates on his broad shoulders. Not that I’m complaining. I love me a half-naked soldier, especially when he’s such a magnificent specimen. Muscles like an apex predator, body hair in all the right places, a square jaw and perfectly chiseled lips. With the Roman helmet on, only the lower part of his face is visible, and God save me, it reveals the perfect blend of masculinity and beauty. Even in even more ancient times, way before the Roman Empire, he would have been the perfect caveman. An alpha. I get wet just looking at him.
“He’s yummy as fuck, I’ll give you that.”
I jump, searching for the voice. Fixated on the hot piece of ass, I didn’t even notice when Emmaline found her way to my side.
“Where’s Rick?” I ask, trying to throw her off the object of my fixation, strangely territorial.
“Getting sucked off by some drunk young model,” she replies dismissively, but the bitterness in her voice isn’t lost on me.
Emmaline is twenty-six, same as me, which means she’s officially a year past Rick’s so-called upper age limit for women he sleeps with, as he likes to joke about at office parties. Emmaline laughs like it doesn’t bother her, but I know better.
“How about you line up for him, eh?” She motions with her chin toward the Roman guard, then points to the line of giggling girls forming on one side of the arena. The line thickens by the minute under the guidance of a small, round man dressed as a harlequin.
Most of the girls are fit and bubbly, many with perfect bodies and smooth skin, while I look like a mommy, and I’m not even one yet. There’s just something about the shape of my body, and it’s been that way since puberty. And if Emmaline is in the game too, what chance do I stand? The woman has the perfect hourglass shape, with a tiny waist that makes the rest of her all the more irresistible.
I’m just about to throw in the towel when she grabs my wrist.
“Come on, let’s go.”
Next thing I know, she’s dragging me through the crowd toward the line. I dig my heels in.
“Wait, Emma, no.”
She whips around. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to do it,” I lie.
Her eyes narrow behind her mask.
“Yes, you do,” she says. “I saw you watching him, you were totally drooling in your mouth.”
I hesitate, but the woman is like a pit bull. She’ll bite into the matter and not let go until I spill all the tea. So I give it to her, just to make this quick and minimize the pain.
“What’s the point? Just look at that line. The offer is well exceeding the demand. Let’s face it, he’s not going to choose me.”
“You don’t know that.”
I scoff. “Don’t give me that shit, Emma. I have a better chance of getting picked at a rock concert for backstage action than getting under the armor around that guy’s jewels, and you know it.”
She squeezes my hand and yanks me closer. “Then you’ve got nothing to lose planting yourself in that line, do you?” She starts pulling me along again, but I resist.
“Damn it, Margot, what are you afraid of?” she challenges.
Rejection. Watching his gaze sweep over me and not stop for a single instant.
“I just don’t think I can handle rejection tonight,” I admit.
For a moment, Emma stares at me like she doesn’t understand.
“Rejection?” Her pretty mouth twists around the word. “Margot, have you looked around to see how men have been reacting to you all night? I had to push my way through a whole gang of drooling college boys just a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, those kids would fuck just about anything,” I dismiss.
“Damn right, and they have plenty of options here. Yet they had their sights set on you.” She looks down at my body to make a point. I’m wearing a flimsy toga that hints at all my curves, clinging just right to some of my body, but it only creates an optical illusion. Underneath, I’m a far cry from the goddess of fertility I’m representing.
“As good as every girl here wants to get laid tonight,” she says. “Those college guys are a bunch of hotties, they could fuck anyone.” She glances in their direction. “And don’t make me remind you how many guys write to you on Tinder.”
“Yeah, indeed, I’m a magnet for creeps,” I tease.
Emma grabs both my arms in an attempt to shake me.
“Margot, I know you think I’m just being supportive, but I need you to trust me when I say: Men aren’t actually into the beauty standards that the media is pushing down their throats.” She looks toward the arena, where the action has heated up so much that the crowd is roaring. The gladiator is pounding into the woman with fucking abandon.
“Look at that girl,” Emma says. “Far from a runway model, wouldn’t you say? Yet a billionaire has built this entire event around her and, by the way he’s doing her right now, her thicc body drives him crazy.”
I follow her gaze down to the show. “She’s a body positivity influencer, if I’m not mistaking.”
“She is,” Emma confirms, happy that I’ve just proven her point. “And she talked shit about him online. Instead of hate, this is what it got her.”
“You’ve been following her content,” I realize in surprise, returning my attention to Emma. She shrugs unapologetically.
“She makes me feel good about my body. And you should feel good about yours, too. Beautiful or not in your own eyes, it clearly has an effect on men. If you paid more attention around you, maybe you’d notice.” Then, closer, “and maybe you wouldn’t be still be single despite having so many suitors.”
Those words send a wave of sadness through me, not because of my own situation, but hers.
“Is that why you put up with Rick’s shit?” I dare to finally broach the subject. “Just to not be single? Because let me return the compliment and assure you that you wouldn’t be single for long if you decided to dump his sorry ass.”
I expect her to lash out at me. I actually see her inhale deeply to do it, and I brace for the hit, but instead she says, “You’re getting in that line and period. If the Roman hunk chooses you, then you’ll have the best night of your life. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll be right here to point out another dozen men with serious boners just from looking at you.”
As she begins dragging me toward the line again, another possibility fills me with dread.
“What if he chooses you?”
How would I be able to ever look at her again without feeling nauseatingly jealous?
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Oh, I won’t be part of the offer.”
This is how only I end up in line to be chosen and used by the Roman hunk, relieved that I don’t have to compete against my best friend. If I lose to anyone else, the sting won’t be as bad. In fact, I expect to lose.
But I also hope I’ll win, which makes this more unbearable by the minute.
The waiting is filled with tension and competitive glances until the main show ends in a shattering orgasm for the main characters and the rest of the fornicating crowd. That’s when the Roman hunk starts in our direction.
Panic clogs my throat. This is getting real.
If I weren’t squeezed among the other girls, I’d probably bail, even though Emmaline would drag me right back, waiting like a Cerberus behind the lines.
“He’s coming, he’s coming, oh em gee, he’s coming,” one of the girl bursts out, grabbing one of the others so hard the girl yelps. Another one screeches and fidgets on her feet. A lascivious sigh somewhere close draws my attention to another woman slipping a hand into her panties while looking at him, already worked up from the main show.
My teeth grind, a territorial instinct firing me up. I have a lot of seriously twisted desires, but sharing my men with multiple women isn’t one of them.
I should really bail now, because there’s no way he’s going to choose just one of us, not with the overwhelming demand.
By the time he reaches us, the group fangirls hard and, as hot as he is, I find myself rolling my eyes, and feeling stupid.
“Line up, wenches,” the round-bellied harlequin orders theatrically as the Roman guard steps into hearing range. He naturally moves like a feline on the prowl, and I wipe the corners of my mouth to make sure I’m not drooling.
I pull back, not moving in line with the girls as the harlequin starts snapping shackles around their necks. They look like real iron, but the girls don’t flinch under the weight. On the contrary, they giggle even harder. They’re looking forward to the role-play and, while it’s good to see that I’m not the only one with sick fantasies, I know I don’t belong here.
I take another step back, but trip on a discarded empty bottle, which draws the harlequin’s attention.
“You, there,” he calls, his red-and-white painted cheeks glowing in the torchlight. He picks up another faux shackle from the pile, and holds out his gloved free hand.
“Get over here,” he commands in the same theatrical tone, impersonating a slave master preparing the goods for his client to inspect. “Show this honored soldier what he can get for the right amount of coin.”
The Roman guard appears larger with every step he takes closer. I mean, you could tell he was exceptionally well-built even from a distance, but up close he’s striking. With the helmet obscuring half of his face, my eyes lock on the lower part, trying to infer what he might look like without it. That jaw is perfectly cut under a shade of stubble, his nose is straight and perfect, and his lips… what would it be like to ride that mouth while holding on to his helmet? What would it have been like to encounter this man in ancient times, take him hostage on the battlefield, chain him, and then have my way with him in the dungeon while everyone else in the villa was sleeping?
I’m still indulging in that fantasy when he reaches the first girl. It’s oddly painful to watch him giving her attention, but I can’t look away.
He lifts his hand, and she whimpers, eager for him to touch her. But before they make contact, he lowers it again. Changing his mind, he moves on. The girl’s jaw drops, and I watch in real time how despair sets in. It resonates in my bones and, for a moment, I feel sorry for her. Having this man come so close and then walk away, not choosing you… I can’t imagine anything crueler.
His rejection just destroyed her ego, and it’s about to do the same to mine. I shouldn’t be here.
The girl steps out of the line, moving to grab him, but what seem to be members of the staff appear out of nowhere; they blend into the crowd so well you don’t even register them until the need arises. They yank her arms back and drag her away while she struggles and wails like a fan being torn from her idol. A few other girls lose it too after he simply passes them by, suffering more or less the same fate.
He moves closer and closer, until he’s just a few girls away. They shift wildly, pushing their tits forward, one turning around and starting to actually twerk for him. Nausea creeps up my throat. I’m all for the right man degrading me, but debasing myself for the privilege of it? No fucking way.
I spin around before the big man can even see me, but the harlequin grabs the chain of my shackle, yanking me back. I reach up, curling my fingers between the shackle and my throat, trying to get it off my windpipe while also fighting to regain my balance.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the harlequin demands, too loud and annoyingly theatrical. “Turn around and face the master. Let him see what he’s getting if he chooses you.”
He’ll never fucking choose me. He probably won’t choose anyone, and only gets off humiliating women, breaking their hopes and their egos. There are all kinds of creeps in this world.
Well, sure as fuck not with me. And where the hell is Emma? She must see that I could use her help.
I whip around to glare at him with all the poison I’m capable of. The harlequin takes a step back with a sobered expression. Glad to see that I have that effect even with a mask on my face.
“You’re taking this game too seriously,” I grunt, looking daggers at him. “Don’t forget, it’s just that—role play. I’m free to leave whenever I fucking choose.”
“But do you really want to?”
That wasn’t the harlequin speaking. It was a much deeper voice, calm and collected, and directed straight at me.
Bestie, tonight the vault cracks open. You wanted to know more about Priest Ward—the celibate, whip-wielding Brother Superior of the Iron Cleric and bodyguard to content creator Hailey Saintpatrick—and in Chapter One of Unhealthy Obsession, you’re getting exactly that. This is a good peek behind the curtain, into the story that forged him, the shadows that made him dangerous, and the choices that made him untouchable. Some of your juiciest questions are about to be answered… and a few new ones are going to emerge.
Ready to meet the man before the obsession? Let’s begin.
Note: Mind the triggers! This is a Dark Romance, with dark themes.
Read Priest’s first book, Unholy Intentions, HERE.
***
Monastery of the Forge
Normandy
November 12th, 2005
Father Sextus
Starvation can break a man but, occasionally and if he’s formidable enough, it can make him—into a monster. It’s those formidable monsters we’re after like greedy miners after gold, and I’ve just hit a big, fat vein.
I wring my hands, waiting for Reverend Plutarch to show some semblance of enthusiasm. If only he’d get on with it a little fucking faster. But of course the Reverend Father is taking his sweet fucking time.
“A once in a century find, you say,” he muses, eyes on the video, trying his fucking best to act unimpressed and not have to reward me for this.
“Of the twelve methods we use to discover talent, this one never fails,” I say as if he needs reminding. “And Item Twenty-Seven, Your Excellency, is a true diamond.”
Plutarch’s expression remains blank, obscured behind his thick beard and bushy eyebrows. I know that ‘talent’ isn’t exactly what he’d call this, but it’s the next best thing, and watching the footage, he can’t deny it. All I can see is the back of the tablet I handed him, but the scraping drag of iron and terrified whimpers tell me he’s at the part where the grate falls shut over the boys’ pit. Not long after, the dogs enter the scene, growling low in their throats.
Then the other thing enters.
A normal person, one with a heart, would flinch at every snarl and huff, but not Plutarch. It’s only when the sound of flesh tearing off bone hits that his fingers tighten around the tablet, his fingernails whitening. When the action stops, the kids are still whimpering. The dogs? They’re not breathing. And not because they’re dead—but because they recognized the bigger dog. The reason is staggering, and I’m pretty fucking sure the Reverend Father is shocked for the first time in his life.
I know I was.
He keeps holding the tablet for long seconds after the video has ended. Then, slowly, he lowers it onto the sleek surface of his desk, setting it down with glacial calm.
Fuck him. He’s not fooling anybody.
He thought he’d seen it all in matters of atrocities. After all, he runs the most vicious training camp for contract killers that ever existed—The Forge. Before he became headmaster, he trained the boys himself. Before he trained them, he worked as an operative, as the highest ranked Cleric. And before that, he was one of these boys. Nobody knows what he did to be recruited as a kid, but I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t anything like this.
“Item Twenty-Seven,” he says, “what’s his real name?”
“He doesn’t have one.” I bow slightly, the way one does when speaking to the Reverend Father. “But I do know he’s twelve years old, from Memphis. The Order recruited him themselves, and they sent him here for training.”
“What made them recruit him?” It’s not unheard of for The Order to send in recruits, but still highly unusual. They normally leave the recruiting to us.
I shift my weight, my robe shuffling over the stone tiling, the big dark gothic walls amplifying the sound. “Something he did in a ghetto. And what the employees of a coffee shop found behind the dumpsters in the morning.”
The black chair creaks as Reverend Plutarch leans against its large back.
“What did they find?”
“Dead men. Big, bad men. Men that even the S.W.A.T. had failed to bring down.”
Silence stretches out into the gothic study, an invitation for me to continue. I clear my throat, the echo carrying through the dimly lit space.
“Investigators found the perpetrator fast—the boy,” I explain. “He was an ingenious killer, but not a good cover-up. His crime was savage and ‘wickedly brilliant’, as the press called it, but he was still just a twelve-year old.”
“The press?”
“His crime made headlines, but only very briefly, so he’s not a liability. The Order shut down the news fast.” I raise my eyes, finding his. “And they retrieved the boy from police custody.”
“About this ingenious kill,” he says, the question implicit.
I structure the details in my mind before relaying them. His eyebrows rise gradually as I speak and, when I’m done, he rests in silence for whole minutes.
“I don’t think the police caught the boy, Sextus,” he finally says, rising to his full size, and starting to pace the room, his long robe dragging in his wake like the cape of a vampire.
“Your Excellency?”
“He’s clearly a genius. He would have known how to cover his tracks. He simply chose not to.”
“You’re suggesting he wanted to be caught? But why?”
“You said it yourself—he’d killed big, bad men. The entire underground would have been after him. He needed protection, so he made it easy on the cops to find him.”
“An evil genius,” I say, turning the idea around in my head. The little shit is even harder than I thought.
“Not necessarily evil.” Plutarch turns to look at me from beside the pointed window like some kind of undead Pontiff. “Angry, yes. Inherently brutal, maybe. But what he did there?” He points to the tablet on his desk. “He didn’t do it only for himself. He did it for the other boys, too. In the end, he did it for the dogs, as well.”
I lower my head more. “I’ll make sure to cauterize the altruism out of him.”
“Make sure you do.”
“Shall I ask The Order to send you the full report about what happened in Memphis?” Since they’ve kept this under wraps, I was only allowed to see it when the boy was transferred from their custody to ours, but they didn’t let me keep a copy.
Plutarch bristles under his beard. We all know he hates serving The Order, and asking them for anything humiliates us even more. Few of us like it, really. They’re spoiled bastards, and even though they’re well-trained, highly efficient and uncannily capable of making money, they lack the discipline and higher purpose of the Iron Cleric. In Plutarch’s mind, it’s a shame that the world’s true elite—us—is forced to serve their inferior kind. That he, a man more powerful than the Pope himself, has to answer to Clive Ferran. Of all the Triumvirate, he’s the one Plutarch despises most.
“We need complete info on the boy.” He returns to his desk and settles back down into his chair. “Get rid of the others.”
I bow down from my waist, offering him the shaved crown of my head along with the symbol of eternal loyalty he carved into it.
A few hours after I’ve retreated from the Ebony Hall, The Order’s report has found its way into Reverend Plutarch’s hands, and I’ve gotten my reward, namely the freedom to train the boy—and to break him in all the ways I want.
The little psycho glares at me with bloodlust as I hold the whip. Maybe imagining how he’d kill me.
Turns out he adjusts his methods according to what he thinks the victim deserves. Those fuckers? He’d used a very specific cocktail of drugs to make them do each other like bitches in heat, then to rend each other like frenzied wolves. The coffee shop staff basically found rags of flesh, a man’s squashed hand still twitching.
How Item Twenty-Seven was able to achieve all that at only twelve years of age?
The town drug lords had used him as a ‘delivery boy’ for years, during which time he’d hovered around every important meeting like a ghost. He’d watched the dealers play poker in hidden basements, and discovered the locations of their underground labs. He wormed his way into the trust of their scientists, most of whom worked with a gun at their heads. Most of them were illegals who’d been lured into the country with the promise of academia and research work, but had then been forced to work for cartels.
Soon, Item Twenty-Seven learned how to combine different kinds of hallucinogens. He wasn’t even ten at the time, and he couldn’t even speak properly. It was the illegals who’d taught him to read and write, because he’d never been to school. It would be stupid of me to even try and deny his unusual intelligence, but I can remind him where he’s got it from.
“Your brainpower is how your genetics dealt with your crackwhore mother’s addiction. Believe it or not, you won the life lottery. You could have been born dead, an addict or with brain damage.” I drag the whip across the black stone floor, drawing a circle of his own blood around him. Despite the pain, he’s glaring at me like that alone could make me drop dead.
I hunker down in front of him.
“Tell me, what death would you give me?” I give him the black-toothed grin that usually terrifies the boys, but it obviously doesn’t have the same effect on Item Twenty-Seven. “Would you have me OD behind a dumpster like you had those asswipes?” I lean in closer, rolling on the naked balls of my feet. “Or would you do to me what you did to that thing in the pit?”
The glint in his eye is all the answer I need.
“Ah.” I get back up. “Of course. A far more impressive feat, I’ll give you that.” I take a few moments to study him. “Far more satisfying, too, am I right?”
Instead of holding my stare he keeps his eyes ahead. A form of defiance.
“You truly are special, you know,” I say. “Making a deadly sin look so beautiful.” Then quieter, driving the fear up his spine, “beautiful, but still unforgivable. Unless, of course, you repent.”
I walk behind him, and raise the whip. His body tenses, and I stop. I lower the whip and drag it gently down between two trenches it has already carved into his flesh.
“Tell me—did you watch them go at each other?”
Silence.
Leather whips through the air. When it lands, it cuts.
Everything in him clenches, down to the thin muscles between his protruding ribs.
“Speak, or the next one is going to break your feeble little bones.”
“Yes,” he forces out through gritted teeth.
Finally, some progress.
“And did you like it?”
He won’t reply, so I bring it down on him again, the lash splitting air and his skin.
“I liked the pit more.” The words rush out of his mouth along with a spray of spittle.
“I bet you did. But let’s go back to your original crime. Which part delighted you most? The orgy?” I hunker down behind him to spell it out in his ear. “Four grown men, fucking each other in the ass between those dumpsters? Or the squashing of each other’s hands and dicks in an animal frenzy afterwards?”
He takes a deep breath, his ribcage expanding. Next thing I know, his body relaxes, and the whole room seems to dim. The light is already minimal, the walls stripped bare, the cavernous space carrying the sound of grates dragging and falling shut.
I stand and step back to make some distance. Just enough to take in the sight of his spinal cord sticking out like the bony spikes of a dinosaur’s fetus, his skinny ribs, the strips of blood already coagulating at the edges of his lash wounds.
“The fucking didn’t last long.”
“Come again?” This can’t be right. He shouldn’t be able to speak like his spirit dissociated from anything I could do to his flesh, not yet.
A small laugh shakes his bony, bloody ribcage. It obviously hurts, but he doesn’t seem to give a shit.
“You learn things about people when they beat you up for sport. Especially so when they use you as a soccer ball as a toddler. Needs, drives and pleasures that don’t appear in their eyes until they’re locked in a room with someone weaker.” He pauses, his spine rising along with his breathing, the silence seeming to pour out from under him like black blood.
What a sight. I could lose track of time immersing myself into the unique suffering that seeps into the field of energy between us.
“Soon, you learn how to spot people like them even in the light of day. You learn even quicker how to switch on their killer instinct. For these kinds of men, fucking is just a precursor of violence.”
“Good, my child,” I encourage him in a soft voice that carries through the room. “Confession is the gateway to redemption. Walk through it, and you’re halfway saved.”
His body shakes. I’m not sure whether he’s laughing or crying, not even when he speaks.
“If men like them can be redeemed, then I don’t want it.”
“Not men like them,” I lie. “But boys like you.”
He laughs.
“If your God can forgive me, then he’s a monster, too.”
My tone goes even softer, the whip hanging from my hand like a guilty vestige, while his wounds glisten in the dark.
“There is always a lesson within suffering,” I muse, slowly lowering myself behind him, placing the whip on the ground. “We come into this world to experience the entire spectrum of being human. Pain is a large part of that.”
“A disproportionate part,” he adds, his voice smaller now. Carefully, I raise my hand, and touch his damp hair.
“You’re a smart kid, you know that?”
“Not smart enough to see the lesson.” He turns his head, just a little, leaning into my hand. I cup his head, and gently stroke his temple with my thumb. It’s cold, and wet, his pulse barely perceptible.
“What is the lesson?” he asks, his voice ghostly. When he turns his face, I don’t see trust in his eyes—but I do see a genuine search for wisdom.
“When you learned how to spot bad men, you also learned how to protect yourself from them.”
He shakes his head, his eyes not leaving mine. “Not that. Never that. There is no protection.”
“Even spotting them from a distance is a good way to keep oneself safe from them.”
I swipe the loose strands of hair from his face and hook them around his ear to get a clearer view of him. I lean in closer, trying to scrutinize his eyes. A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, like an invitation. I get closer, and time snaps.
The little animal is as fast as a devil.
I instinctively slap my hand over my ear, but don’t even know what hit me until I feel the warm liquid trickling between my fingers. Then the pain hits.
“You little shit!” Goddamn it, I sound like a strangled witch. I shoot up to my feet, but stumble on my own heels and slip right back onto my ass, tangling in my own robe.
“Fuck this, and fuck you, you little dog!” I’m Forging Father of the Iron Cleric for fuck’s sakes, I don’t get done dirty like this, not by the greatest crooks, let alone little boys.
I rake the whip off the floor, straightening up so fast that I lose balance. For a moment I think it’s from the loss of blood, but you don’t lose that much from an ear some little whacko just bit off.
I look down at him, contemplating dropping the whip and stabbing him to death.
How pathetic he should look hunched into a ball on the floor, hugging his knees, his skinny, lash-streaked back protruding from the ripped sides of his shirt.
Except he doesn’t.
If anything, he resembles a possessed little creature with those grinning bloody teeth, face pale from the starvation we put him through and the loss of blood, that I’m afraid things will get worse if I kill him.
As if he might come back to haunt me.
Afraid.
That word sticks to my mind.
I can’t remember the last time I was afraid. I killed dozens of times before, and not a damn soul came back to haunt me. They all swear to, despair raging through their pores, spittle flying out of their mouths, but they never make good on those promises. If I know one thing for sure, it’s that no one ever comes back from the Afterlife.
Yet something deep and ancient stirs in the pit of my stomach, telling me that this one just might. There’s something about his will, his rage and his gravity that feels strong enough to shape reality itself.
The pain turns red hot as the little shit’s mouth pulls into a grin, a piece of my ear sticking out from between his bloody teeth. He spits it out viciously, the flesh slapping the stone floor. Then he just keeps staring at me with a fucking death wish.
Fuck, I want to hurt him. The sheer nerve on him. I grip the whip’s handle hard, ready to bring it down on him with a vengeance.
But, just as I lift it, Lavinius storms in, his robe in disarray from the haste. He braces himself against the iron doorframe, catching his breath. Gulping in air, he gives me a wild look.
“Sextus, careful!” His beady eyes dart from me to the boy and back again. “This—this can’t… It can’t go wrong.”
Wrong.
The way things have gone wrong before.
The way I discovered that no one ever comes back to haunt the living, and why Plutarch didn’t want to put me in charge of this brat in the first place, but he was forced to in the end, because I had discovered his special talent, using my means, after The Order sent him in.
The others think I don’t know, but tongues wag even at the monastery—of all the Forging Fathers, I’m the wild card. My ways have been on the agenda during many a meeting between Pontiffs.
I freeze with the whip in my hand, staring into Lavinius’ eyes. They’re dripping with warning and, of course, with the anguish that I might strike anyway.
And he’s not wrong.
Plutarch himself wouldn’t be able to stop me from teaching this little shit a lesson. Item Twenty-Seven might’ve been the bigger dog in the pit, but not here. In the cavernous dungeons under Forge Mountain, I’m breaker and executioner. Plutarch might be Reverend Father, a position he won after he forced me to my knees in the sparring ring decades ago, and carved the clerical symbol into my skull with a hot blade, but that was just a stroke of luck. Pitius had slipped poison into my porridge the night before to weaken me so he would have a chance, and Plutarch took advantage.
But all of them are very much aware that, of the seven of us, I was always the strongest. The one always ready—and able—to do what it takes to deal with little demons made flesh like this one.
I speak the last one out loud to make it clear for Lavinius I’m not willing to bend, but he shakes his head, not taking his eyes off of mine.
“Not this time, Sextus. The Order—”
“The Order,” I cut him off, “sent him. They’re perfectly aware that, once they do that, they have no more influence over the formation of—”
“This one is special.”
“All their recruits are. Every time they send one in, it means something, but it doesn’t compel us to keep them.” Not alive, anyway.
“That’s because The Order trust our judgment.” His eyes flick to the boy again. It takes a lot for The Order to deem someone worthy of becoming an Iron Cleric, and they only send in ‘talent’ extremely rarely. Still, we reserve the right to ‘fail’ recruits at our discretion.
“But things are different with this one,” Lavinius insists, adjusting his tone to the low, pacifying frequency you use with volatile psychos. “The Reverend Father informed them about the starvation test you subjected him to, and its results.”
I stick out my chin. “Oh, he did, did he? How interesting. Considering how he disapproves of my methods and how reluctantly he grants rewards.”
Lavinius looks at me a certain way. “We both know why he does that.”
“And we both know that you agree with him.”
“We all agree with him.” He looks down at the boy again, who’s been listening quietly, keeping very still. Seems he already understands the language we speak among ourselves, and maybe it shouldn’t surprise me. For a sharp mind like his, it’s peanuts.
“But this isn’t about the Reverend Father, or the others,” Lavinius continues. “It’s about the boy. The Order has already decided that he is to become a Cleric. It’s not a request, it’s an imposition. They won’t have him leave this place like—” another quick look at the boy. That’s the thing about Lavinius, he cares too much about their feelings. It’s why he should have remained an operative, and never become a Forging Father. “—like the others did.”
My lips split as they pull into a grin. “Like the other boys from the pit.”
Item Twenty-Seven stirs. Mission accomplished. I look down at him, and even though he doesn’t return the attention, I can see that protruding pale jaw ticking.
Suddenly, the blood trickling from my ear down my neck is worth it. To think that, in decades of service, no one has gotten me like this, not even the most skilled assassins. Talent indeed. The Order sure was onto something. Too bad he seems to share Lavinius’ weakness—he cares about others. That is so easily exploitable. Look at me exploiting it right now, causing him pain in a way a whip never could.
I reluctantly return my attention to Lavinius.
“Why?” I demand. An explanation is the least I deserve.
Lavinius hesitates.
Annoyed as fuck, I crack the whip, leather biting down across Item Twenty-Seven’s back. His chest snaps forward, his bloodless skin stretching over his skeletal ribs.
I laugh out loud, daring Lavinius to insist that I stop. Curious how far he’ll go. Will he throw himself down at my feet to beg? Because if one of us crosses the line and goes against The Order’s instructions, it won’t be only the perpetrator that suffers. It’ll be all of us, including him, Pitius, Morgon, Laurus, and even Plutarch.
But all he does is issue a quiet, if charged warning.
“Sextus…”
I crack the whip again, and this time flesh splits to the bone. It rips a cry from the little devil, but he manages to muffle it behind gritted teeth.
Hard little bastard.
“Stop,” Lavinius issues a second warning, and I snap.
“Or what? What can they do to us, Lavinius? We create their fucking weapons. We make the Iron Cleric! Men the Pope bows to, and world leaders cower away from. Men more influential than entire armies, deadly as human walking nukes. As for us,” I thump my finger against my chest, “we forge them! We’re the toughest bastards that ever existed. The Order wouldn’t fucking exist without us.”
“That’s exactly the thing. They’re done depending on the Forging Fathers, and they’re taking it to the next level.” He points to the boy. “Look at the little beast. The whipping, the physical torture? It doesn’t form him, like the others, much less punish him. Rather, it grounds him in his own body.” He finds my eyes again. “Containing what he’s capable of.”
My whip-holding hand starts to slacken as I begin to understand.
“They’re recruiting a different kind of brute,” I conclude, my voice fading.
We’ve all heard rumors, but I never thought they might be true. Not even The Order would go that far.
Lavinius holds my stare and, finally, I see it wasn’t pity he felt for Item Twenty-Seven. “I’m afraid it’s more than that. I hope I’m wrong. But it would make sense of what they want us to name him.”
I narrow my eyes as if that can help strip the whole situation down to the truth.
“And what is that?”
His mien darkens before he even says it. “Priest.”
***
Bestie. BESTIE. Next week = more Priest. Sharper edges, bigger shadows, and stuff that’s gonna live rent-free in your head.
Also, because one obsession is never enough?? My revamped K-pop vampire serial is about to hit. Picture neon lights, sinful smiles, and idols who will literally bite the hand that feeds them.
We are entering full Dark, Delicious Romance Universe mode. Hydrate. Cancel plans. It’s about to get feral.
Let me start by thanking you properly for sticking with me through every obsession, every razor-sharp kiss, every broken book boyfriend I’ve thrown your way.
If you’ve been here a while, you already know the kind of stories I tell—the ones that don’t just flirt with darkness, but make out with it in a back hallway.
And now, I thought let us go deeper down that road and sink into the world of my books until you become part of it. Maybe you’ve already downloaded Frat Boy Billionaire and come face-to-face with Declan Santori—the man who doesn’t beg for attention… he demands it in silence.
Or maybe you’re just about to, and you’re wondering what kind of mess you’ve signed up for. 😈 If you haven’t gotten your eyeballs on the novella yet, here it is, FREE!
Now, let me give it to you straight: Frat Boy Billionaire didn’t come from a cute, polished Pinterest board. It came from a place in my head that’s dark, twisted, and wildly curious.
I’m drawn to exploring complexity. Especially in male characters. But not just the “he has a past” kind of complexity. I mean emotionally dangerous, deeply layered, trauma-built, morally gray men who make you question everything. Declan is exactly that. He’s the kind of man who watches more than he speaks—and when he does speak? It’s a razor cut wrapped in velvet.
Writing him (and Mia) was more than telling a story—it was about exploring how our earliest wounds become our sharpest weapons. How sometimes, the only way two broken people can connect… is by breaking each other first.
Their chemistry? Pure chaos. But the kind of chaos that feels deliciously inevitable.
🖤 Ready to go deeper?
I’ve summoned three visual versions of Declan—three faces that could belong to the man you’ve met (or are about to).
But only one of them is my Declan. The one who lived in my head as I wrote every word. The one who whispered the darkest lines before I ever typed them.
Take a look at them. Then tell me in a comment or an e-mail —which one is your Declan? And maybe, just maybe… you’ll guess mine too.
More behind-the-scenes chaos, secrets, and obsession-fueled storytelling is coming soon.
xo, Ana 🖤
P.S. Bonus points if you tell me why you picked your Declan. I read every answer. I reply to every message. And I seriously can’t wait.
It’s time for a brand-new chapter of Unholy Intentions! “No Sanctuary” is here, and trust me—you don’t want to miss what’s coming. Things are getting more intense, more dangerous, and even more irresistible between Hailey and Priest.
But before you dive in, I have some exciting news! The ARC team for Unholy Intentions is now open! If you’d love to get an Advance Reader Copy (ARC) and read the book before anyone else, now’s your chance!
Email me atanacalin@theromancetrove.com ARCs will be sent between March 15th-17th, in electronic format to your e-mail, in exchange for a review on Amazon on the day of release (20th – 22nd of March), if you choose to leave one.
Make sure to let me know you want in, and I’ll add you to the list!
Now, go ahead and lose yourself in the dark obsession, deadly secrets, and possessive tension of this new chapter. As always, I love hearing your thoughts—drop a comment and let me know what you think!
Happy reading, and welcome to the dark side!
***
Hailey
Sniffling, I look up at his face, searching for what exactly is doing this to my senses. I let my eyes slide freely over his features. He appeared so perfect last night, but frankly, I wrote it off as an effect of the club lights, the booze, and then my being so damn horny. But now that I’m sober, I see it clearly, that thing that’s so special about him, and it goes way beyond his ridiculously good looks. Those gold-green eyes seem to have known the most rotten sins, and forgiven men as terrible as Bobby Saintpatrick right before he slit their throats. A confessor who will listen without judgment, and an executioner who will kill without mercy, blended into one.
Frightening things simmer in that vastness, pulling me closer.
A faint, barely noticeable scar slashes through his eyebrow, enhancing the dangerous edge of his allure, and I wonder what put it there. Afraid I might be too obvious, I let my eyes drop.
To his lips.
I swear the man has the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen. It’s an effort to keep my own shut and not ask him if he ever did taste a woman’s lips. Maybe before he became a Cleric? Before he took his vows? A stab of jealousy goes through me at that thought. If he did, I wish I were that woman. His lips look like fucking candy, and an outline of them in anime style starts taking shape in my mind. I wonder if he already knows I’m into that.
I look away, heat rushing to my face. I don’t know what hurts more, the thought of him knowing what I like, or him touching another woman.
“It’s all right,” he says, his voice like silk on naked skin. “You’re in shock. Anyone would be.”
He signals the other men to close the door to the service stairs.
“No, they need to get them out, please,” I protest, tears pooling into my eyes. Priest wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his warmth as he leads me away. “Please, they can’t just leave them there like discarded carcasses.”
“They are discarded carcasses, Hailey. That’s all that’s left of them. The people you knew, they’re not in there anymore.”
He ushers me into my bedroom and closes the door. Duckling jumps from the bed to the ottoman and from there right into my arms. I gather the warm ball of fluff to my chest, careful not to squeeze her too hard, burying my face in her white fur and thanking God for the millionth time for her.
“When you opened that door, you chose the truth. And the truth is that those men weren’t just killed. They were slaughtered.” He pauses for just a beat. “Your stalker has a very special set of skills, one I’ve only seen among highly trained Order members.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
“You’re saying,” I whisper, “my stalker is an Order fighter?”
“One that wanted to make a point last night.”
“And how come the hotshot Brother Superior didn’t see this coming? How come you couldn’t save them?”
His eyebrows dip, and his face seems more angular, more brutal.
“You are my assignment. And you are safe,” he points out.
“Then this is all my fault,” I shriek, feeling like I’m losing it. “I did this to them. I widowed their wives, I orphaned their children.” The weight of that truth crushes me from the inside out.
Priest reaches me in a few strides, his large hands wrapping around my shoulders.
“Listen. The man who did this is the only one responsible for the massacre. He alone is responsible for his actions. Not the people who provoked them, or even the ones who benefit from them.”
Some of the weight inside lifts, allowing me to at least breathe.
“But I did provoke him, and you know it. It’s why you’re here.” My voice turns to a whisper. I must sound like a lunatic sharing her delusions. “The things that I did…” I want to tell him, so bad, but it won’t come out. I’m too ashamed.
And he doesn’t push. All he does is trace my cheek lightly with his finger, and I can’t take my eyes off the golden abyss in his. They’re such a captivating shade. He cups my face in those large hands, and my lips part on a breath. His palms are calloused, everything in their texture reminding me this is a world-class killer holding my face, and yet all I want to do is step even closer, right into his personal space, and breathe his air.
“If we were to live our lives thinking about how our actions could influence others’ decisions, you’d see a burn-out pandemic in no time. No man who’s right in the head decides to stalk a woman, no matter how maddeningly sexy she is. There’s nothing you could have done to stop this asshole.”
He thinks I’m maddeningly sexy?
I flinch when he drops his hands off me and makes a step of space between us, remembering to take a much-needed breath.
I was never a religious person, but if God had a weapon, it would be this man, which is why I find it hard to believe the stalker was actually able to get past him. I can’t help wondering if he didn’t actually let it happen. Anything is possible in the dark vastness in his eyes, and that includes diabolical schemes.
“Still, we need to tighten protection around you for good measure,” he says, “which is why I’m going to move in with you.”
Wait, what?
“Excuse me?”
“I know that doesn’t leave you much personal space, but it’s the way it is,” he declares.
“The stalker didn’t get to me,” I argue because him living here, under the same roof as me, is not an option.“I’ll be fine.” Fuck, I sound desperate, but it doesn’t move him in the least.
“You need permanent monitoring, twenty-four-seven. End of discussion.”
My skin starts to itch, and I scratch myself nervously, biting the inside of my cheek. I should just stop. Just close down the account, go off the grid. After all, what kind of woman would I be, still playing around on OhEf when a dozen men have lost their lives because of me? Even if only out of respect to them and their grieving loved ones I should stop fingering myself for pervs online.
“Listen kitty kat, we need to get this guy sooner rather than later. Would putting up with my presence really be that terrible?” His tone becomes a lush shade of black. If I close my eyes, I might just feel it on my skin. I have no idea when he started using that pet name for me, but it bothers me far less than it should.
“Is it true?” I whisper. “That the Cleric can hypnotize people just using their voice?”
He gives me the ghost of a smile. “It’s called conversational hypnosis.”
“Can you compel people to tell the truth as well?” I whisper, deepening the sense of intimacy.
“Conversational hypnosis is a psychological technique, not an esoteric act. A skill, not a superhuman ability. So no, I don’t have fairy-land abilities.” Is it just me, or he’s even closer now? “But I am an Iron Cleric. We are bound by oath to tell the truth—if the right questions are asked.”
“So,” I breathe, “are you doing it to me right now?”
“Does it feel like I am?”
“It feels…” A prickling sensation travels over my skin. “It feels like I’ve taken a drug that slowly unfurls through my veins.”
“I’m here to protect you, Hailey, not to toy with you.” He steps back, his spell starting to fade.
The dead men lying at the foot of the service stairs knock right into the forefront of my brain again, and my insides knot.
“Do you ever get used to it?” I breathe. “Death?”
“The sight? Yes. The smell? Never.”
My nostrils flare at the memory of a scent I didn’t even register, but I now realize already burned itself into my brain.
“I’d never seen a dead body before tonight.” I walk to him as if a magnet were pulling me. “I was told that dead people looked like they were sleeping. Like they could open their eyes any second, and stand, and walk, and hug their loved ones. But those men, they looked so ultimately, flagrantly dead.” My voice breaks.
“If it’s any comfort,” Priest says, “death isn’t always an ugly thing. It doesn’t always hurt, and it’s not always horrible.”
I lose myself in those gold-green eyes that pull me in like the vastness of the universe.
“But it was horrible for those men,” I whisper. “They died in terror that twisted their faces. It didn’t even look…natural.”
Every second I look at him I remember he’s a killer, yet I gravitate toward him like a reckless little planet toward a black hole. After a moment’s hesitation, I think he’s about to tell me something big, but the door is thrown open, and a guard barges in.
“Cleric Ward,” he heaves, looking frantic. “There’s something you need to see.”
How about kicking off 2025 with a little spice and drama? Here’s the latest chapter of my work-in-progress, “Unholy Intentions”! 🖤 I hope you’re ready for unholy twists.
Want the full scoop—the nitty-gritty, the secrets, and the scenes? Head over to my Patreon, where the story gets even juicier. NEWS! The whole book is available HERE.
Let me know what you think, and here’s to another year of storytelling magic!
***
Priest
I’m looking at a completely naked woman on my display, and nothing happens. My s** drive is as numb as ever. Nothing is wrong with me, but all Hailey Saintpatrick had to do was breathe to give me a f***** hard-on.
I lock the display and turn to the gear I set up in the basement of Bobby Saintpatrick’s main house, the span of a wild-grown, unattended garden between her and me. It makes both surveillance and intervention harder than it would normally be, but I’ll have that taken care of tomorrow, after tonight’s work.
I access the secure network, and the screen lights up. I’m still thinking about Hailey and the reactions of my treacherous body to her.
I never blame women for the devilry of men, but in her case, the Forging Fathers might have been right. If no other woman has this effect on me, then there must be something about her that does this. There must be something about those big eyes with the long, curved eyelashes that makes every guy turn wild. Maybe that’s why Marius Loveless chose me for the job. Maybe he thought I was the only one who could resist her.
I type the code into the search bar. A few moments later, I’m through the firewalls and into the portal I need.
Hailey had to deal with a lot of shit growing up, and she sought refuge online. First in anime, then in hentai. The bigger her problems in real life, the sicker the p*rn of her fantasy. A few months ago, she got herself a secure internet line over satellite and made an OhEf channel to create her own cosplay of her favorite hentai series.
Clearly, she didn’t expect the wild success she ended up having. Now, she’s got a stalker on her trail who knows how to make himself untrackable. A leech that won’t stop until he drains her lifeblood.
I have to approach her channel in the same way he did, like a creep, making sure no one can track down my avatar, and keeping a low profile.
When her picture pops up, my hands freeze on the keyboard.
‘Hentai Hellcat’ is staring out of hazel eyes into the camera, natural chocolate-brown ringlets of hair falling down around her delicate, round shoulders, curling over the upper part of her breasts. The lower part is pixelated, right where her nipples are, a blurred shade of pink. An inviting little smirk curls up a corner of her sweetly shaped mouth, and I immediately understand why she has over one hundred thousand followers.
Hailey Saintpatrick could have served as a muse of sensuality for the greatest painters. Everything about her is natural besides the tiara with cat ears on top of her head and the schoolgirl blush she applied to her cheeks. Especially the lust she expresses. It’s hypnotizing.
A few clicks take me to how many of those followers are paying members of her channel. About half, which is huge by industry standards, which confirms my original suspicion—she has the same effect on most men, and she’s completely oblivious to it. I could tell how oblivious from the moment I met her, from her body language, from the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes, but she’s aware enough of her options not to have given up her V-card to just anyone. She wanted one of the popular guys.
I was just an interesting addition to her list of options.
Tempting a clergyman has the allure of the forbidden. What she doesn’t know is that I’m also a psycho. The last thing Hailey Saintpatrick wants is me being allowed to have my way with her.
The next click takes me to a call-to-action button—PERV ACCESS.
My c**k surges, and I curse under my breath to keep the filthy bastard down. So she’s deliberate about her target audience, and I’m sure as f** part of it.
Hey sweets! 👋 I have some major news—my Patreon page is officially live! 🎉 And not only that, but I’ve already started uploading exclusive, steamy content over there that you won’t find anywhere else!
First up, I’ve posted a BONUS scene featuring Addie and Jax from “His Twisted Fantasy“, and fair warning—it’s 🔥SMOKIN’ HOT🔥 and definitely NSFW. If you love these two and are into some next-level tension (and, um, more), you really don’t want to miss it!
But wait, there’s more! Today, I’ve uploaded the first scene from my work-in-progress, “Unholy Intentions”, which is the fifth book in my Ruthless Alphas series! 😈 Patrons get to dive in before anyone else and read along with me as I write it, one scene at a time.
I’ll be uploading brand-new scenes every week, so my patrons will have an exclusive, front-row seat to the unfolding chaos, drama, and seduction that’s coming in “Unholy Intentions”. If you love the ruthless alpha energy of my previous books, you’ll want to get in on this!
Why Patreon? Let me explain!
Besides giving you all the spicy extras and sneak peeks, I started this Patreon to raise funds for producing audiobooks for my dark romances, starting with “His Twisted Fantasy”. 🎧 It’s all for a good cause—so your support helps me bring these stories to life in a whole new way!
Now, because I’m a total tease, here’s a little taste of that Addie and Jax bonus scene I just uploaded on Patreon:
***
“Happy birthday, little angel,” Jax murmurs in my ear, removing my blindfold.
My jaw drops as I take in the breath-taking Bridgerton-like castle, complete with majestic flower arrangements and a large patio awaiting guests. I can see the pearl-dripping chandeliers behind the humongous windows, and the staff scurrying around behind them, still working on the setting.
“Jesus Christ,” I shriek. I’ve seen much luxury in the years that I’ve been married to one of the richest men in America, but this is a whole new level. “This is incredible!”
My husband places a hand on the small of my back, leading me to the patio. At the sight of Jax and me arriving, the staff scurries away.
“Why do they—”
“Because they know when to leave the boss alone with his wife,” he purrs in that voice that never fails to get me wet. I rub my thighs together, glancing around as if anyone could smell me. But Jax turns my head back to him with a finger under my chin.
“Careful now. You know how possessive I am of your attention.”
“How do you do it?” I whisper, staring at him in awe. He knows what I mean. The sight of his face still captivates me, the same way it did the first time I saw him walking out of the elevator in the lobby of Vaughn Tower in Manhattan.
“Do you like it?” he asks, avoiding my own question. I know that he doesn’t perceive his own devilish green eyes, incredible bone-structure and the all-too-lickable shade of his skin the same way I do. He doesn’t hate himself quite as forcefully as he did when we first met either, a lot of that has healed, but there’s still a trace of self-loathing in his veins, which is a sacrilege in itself. But I won’t rest until he learns to love himself at least a tenth of how much I love him.
“Let’s just say it isn’t exactly what I expected.” I choose not to tell him I would have loved him to put on the studded leather mask of The Spartan, the one he used in the underground fights, and let me ride his face while he wore it. Now that years have passed and he no longer risks his life in the ring, I started to indulge in fantasies about it. “But I’m definitely not disappointed. Still, it does surprise me that—” I glance around at the arrangements that are clearly set up for guests, “—you know, that you’re willingly sharing me with other people.”
He said he was possessive of my attention, and boy, was that an understatement. Jax still clenches his jaw whenever he has to share me with the public, and I know he has a hard time distracting himself when I’m out with Mia and Sirenna, even though he never tried to restrict my nights out with the girls. Still, he does always keep me to himself if he has a choice, despite Declan’s and Zayne’s attempts to get him out his shell. They probably always fail because they actually prefer the company of their own wives, too. Bad boys will be bad boys until they’re pussy-whipped—that’s what Jax says every time we all go out together, and he never minds Declan’s “right back at you”.
***
Want more? 😏 You can read the rest (and so much more) over on my Patreon! 💥
👉 Join me on Patreon 👈 and get exclusive, first-look access to the scenes, bonus content, and everything else I have in store. Your support means the world to me, and it’s going to help me bring these stories to your ears (literally) in the future.
Hello people! I just finished a new book in the Dark Billionaire Romance series that I’m writing as Ana C. Blacklace, and this is the beginning. Stay tuned, because I will be sharing more free excerps from the books I write under this pen name soon. Have a fantastic reading time!
***
WARNING
This is NOT a clean romance. Remember that this is strictly a work of fiction for your pleasure. The author does NOT condone all of the situations and actions that take place between these characters. This is an adult, dark romance not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen.
***
CHAPTER I – Cruel Intentions
Mia
My knees grow weak, and the flute of champagne trembles in my hand.
He saw me.
Fuck, shit.
Shit, fuck.
I desperately want to spin around and disappear into the crowd, but the shock keeps me rooted on the spot. I watch him approach, people staring at him with wide-eyed admiration.
Lord Declan Santori is a majestic, Brioni-clad version of the boy I used to stalk back in college. It’s striking to see him again, even though I’ve been following him online ever since he emerged onto the city scene as a New York mogul. His presence is even more powerful in person than on screen, punching me right in the gut. Deep down, I was hoping I’d be so far removed from his glamorous new preoccupations by now that he wouldn’t even remember me, but now I know that was stupid. You don’t just forget the kind of secret that we share.
He comes to a halt, towering over me, a dashing smile pulling at his lips. The same sinful lips that he used to torture me with.
Please, someone slap me.
No, Mia Rogers, you’re not that girl anymore. You’re a big-city hustler now, assistant to the most powerful talk show host in New York, the uber-bitch Lucretia Steinard. On top of that, the wife of the baddest billionaire in this city is your best friend, and this is her engagement party. You won’t let Declan Santori bully you here. This isn’t college anymore.
I stick my chin out, trying my best to keep my eyes on a neutral spot on his face, such as right between his eyebrows. I steel myself to ignore the abyssal black of his irises, his exquisitely sculpted face, the intense sex appeal he radiates that has all the women around fanning themselves. Charmed, beguiled, oblivious to the deranged mind behind the beautiful face.
“Well hello, little spy,” he purrs, his voice as deceiving as his scent of lemongrass and cinnamon that awakens my senses along with the memories.
I feel infuriatingly vulnerable in my red silk spaghetti strap dress that shows too much skin. There are media VIPs here tonight, moguls and anchors and decision-makers that I want to impress. I really need to get rid of that bully-bitch Steinard, so I went the extra mile at the gym these past few weeks in preparation for this occasion. I oiled my skin to look more tanned, the tone contrasting with my sharp blue eyes in a way that cameras like, and my shiny black hair is up in a flawless do. If this were a date, I’d sure want this to be the first impression I make.
But this is a seismic encounter that I’ve been working very hard to avoid all these years. It’s not like I didn’t expect Declan Santori to be here tonight–he’s the future groom’s best friend–but I have planned things to the minute so we don’t run into each other. I watched him leave at around ten thirty–he always leaves events early to create even more buzz around himself—and made my appearance afterwards. But this time, the bastard returned.
“Declan Santori,” I manage, my voice breaking. “Long time no see.”
I hold out against the fear that tightens in my chest, but who am I kidding? The champagne flute in my hand is still visibly shaking. Even the people I was talking to before notice it.
“Indeed,” he drawls, his eyes raking down my frame.
“Such a surprise to see you here,” I blurt out, too eager to fill the uncomfortable silence that he lets hang between us as if it could swallow me whole.
His smirk curls up his lips. “Is it though?” He gestures around elegantly with the glass of whiskey in his hand. “Because this is exactly the kind of place my friends would expect me to be. It’s my tribe.”
“Well, yes. Except we are not friends.” I don’t even know where that one came from. His eyes hold mine, and I’m unable to look away. There’s a quiet anger in his face that seeps into his aura, making everyone around shift their weight, sensing the danger.
“That’s hurtful,” he replies, his tone low, his voice haunting. “Considering our history.”
I’ve been working to gain my footing in the media for years now, doing my best to become a face for the screen, but I’ve never had so many eyeballs fixed on me before. I’m used to attention. I like attention, but this is a whole new level that Lord Declan Santori, owner of multiple trust funds, tech giants and diamond mines, garners. Word has it, he’s got Congress at his feet, and although some believe that to be an exaggeration, I know him well enough to expect that it’s true. Talking to him is enough to make a girl a star, and he damn well knows it. It’s obvious in the smirk he gives me, but his eyes smolder with dark promise.
Punishment is coming, no doubt. Now that he found me, he won’t stop until he destroys me. He’s planning it right now, I can see that devious mind working behind those obsidian eyes. He’s definitely not the best person to have unfinished business with.
“I’ll be damned, if that isn’t Lord Declan Santori in the flesh.” That voice scrapes my ears, but I manage to plaster a smile on my face as she steps between us.
My boss, uber-bitch Lucretia Steinard, places a long-nailed hand on my shoulder, heavy with designer rings and bracelets. Declan’s eyes are slow to drag over to her, and his mien darkens, making it obvious that he doesn’t welcome the interruption. But Lucretia is too hungry for contact to stop, grabbing onto the chance with both of her red-clawed hands.
“I see you’ve met my assistant, Mia Rogers.” She squeezes my shoulder, and it’s all I can do not to wince. I may have been too successful at banishing my chubby teenage self at the gym, and now voluptuous Lucretia could smother me with her tits. She’s practically pushing them up into Declan’s face as she holds out her other hand to introduce herself. “Lucretia Steinard. But I’m sure you already knew that, right?”
Declan raises an eyebrow. “Are you assuming that I approached your assistant in order to get to you?”
People giggle around us. It does sound preposterous.
Lucretia lowers her hand, looking confused. “No, that’s not what I meant–l just thought, you know, perhaps you had an interest in–” she glances at me, then at him again, “–our talk show?”
It takes effort to refrain from rolling my eyes. Her talk show is anything but collaborative. She calls the shots, and I find myself constantly running errands at her beck and call, but she thinks she can score now by giving me more importance. To think how hard it was to get this job at HQ, and that I wouldn’t even have it without Jax, Addie’s influential future husband, makes my stomach turn. In this industry, people have to pull strings for the sole honor of slaving away for people like Lucretia, but it’s somehow only in moments like this that we realize how mighty wrong that is.
“Miss Rogers and I knew each other in college,” Declan says, his eyes sliding over to me. “I assume it’s still Miss, and it’s still Rogers, yes?” The subliminal message–It better be–crawls up my spine.
“Yes, yes of course.” Of course? I make a mental note to slap myself real hard when I get home.
He tilts up that perfectly chiseled jaw. As a college boy he resembled a sexy anime character with his spiked hair and intense gaze. But now? He’s so striking, my stupid heart beats out of rhythm. So much added manliness, cunning, and sleek danger. His chest is broad and athletic under his suit, making it obvious he still has the body of a pro athlete. Maybe he still fights in the ring? It was a brutal and cruel kind of boxing that made him a star back in college and, while I haven’t heard a word about that in the media, he might still be doing it–sheer violence and sophistication in one package. Even the way he raises his glass as if to celebrate my being single, the grace and elegance, reminds me of the Machiavellian heartthrob I used to fawn over. Of the way the muscles in his back snaked in the shower, while he raked his fingers through his wet hair while I stalked him.
No, fuck that memory. This is a monster that almost destroyed my life. What he did to me the night we spent together at the frat house, that’s what I should focus on.
“I’m glad we bumped into each other, Mia,” he says. “What luck, huh? Now that we know where to find each other, I’m sure it’ll happen more often.” Words that any girl at this party would melt to hear. But I stiffen all over.
As if on cue, a catwalk model sashays over, looping her arm around Declan’s elbow, her chin raised with an attitude of ownership. I should feel relieved, but instead, my teeth grit together. The woman is so damn beautiful. Lucretia steps forward with her chest out and her chin up, her blond extensions falling in waves down her back as if to prove she is the most glamorous woman in this little gathering.
“I hope we see each other again soon, too, Lord Santori. I’ll send you an invitation to my talk show,” she calls after him as he turns away with the model on his arm. If I could peel my eyes away from Declan’s elegant back, my head would snap to her. I’ve never heard Lucretia Steinard sound remotely desperate before. People beg to be on her show, not the other way around.
But then again, this is Declan Santori we’re talking about.
“Have your assistant contact me about it,” he throws over his shoulder.
My eyes pop out. No, the bastard can’t be doing this to me.
Once Declan and his model have mingled with the crowd and everybody’s let loose the breath they were holding, Lucretia swivels around. Her pale blue eyes are big as onions, her long, fake lashes almost touching her highly arched eyebrows. “Are you serious?” she croaks. “You and Declan Santori are college friends?”
“I wouldn’t say friends,” I reply, but it flies right past Lucretia’s ear. One of the traits that has gotten her this far in life is that she only hears what suits her.
“Now’s not the time for false modesty, girly.” Fuck, I hate it when she calls me that. “Look around you. Do you see it?”
Indeed, I do. Everyone’s looking at me differently, like I’m more than just one of the hustling little rats at HQ. The sensation is new and scary.
“No, it’s not like that.” I motion in the general direction where Declan is talking to other people. He’s surrounded by a ring of bodyguards now, no one can get anywhere close to him, not even a celebrity like Lucretia. “I mean, he is Lord Declan Santori.” I purposefully stress the word Lord. “It’s not like we move in the same circles.”
Only one of Lucretia’s eyebrows remains up as she looks at me suspiciously.
“He sure seems to remember you.”
“Not for those reasons. He…” Okay, I have to tell her. It’s the only way to deter her from throwing me into the lion’s den. “He used to bully me, okay? I was this nerdy sophomore with braces that had a crush on him and, well, let’s just say he found that amusing, and shared the fun with his friends.”
“Shared?” Her cocked eyebrow rises even higher. The woman has a dirty mind, but that’s one of the few things I like about her.
I scoff. “Not in that sense. Declan Santori had other ways to bully me.”
She stares at me for another few moments, but then she nods in agreement. As if, after studying me more closely than she ever did before, she decided that indeed, I’m not the kind of woman that would make Declan Santori interested in her that way.
I could laugh in her face so hard right now.
If she only knew the sick bastard isn’t into pretty pleasures. He likes humiliating girls with braces, fucking them deep-throat in front of a camera. He loves to dominate and debase.
But I’ll be damned if I let him fuck me up again. I’m not stupid, I know that I can’t run from him anymore. But after how hard I’ve worked and how much I’ve sacrificed to get where I am today, Declan isn’t going to bully me out of my own life.
Still, Lucretia looms over me, exuding an air of ambition. Her appetite for success and money is never satisfied, and now that she sees this opportunity, she’s ravenous.
“Mia, I don’t think you understand.” She rests her jewelry-laden hand on my shoulder again, her nose dangerously close to mine. With every word she speaks, her super white teeth show. “We have a once in a lifetime opportunity here. We could get the Declan Santori on our talk show. The man controls half of this country’s wealth in his trust funds, and he’s the hottest bachelor out there, man of the hour. Audiences will skyrocket.”
Ah, there it is again, that our show thing. To think that, until a minute ago, she hasn’t missed a single chance to make my life a living hell. Juggling her appointments, doing the impossible to get props that occur to her at the last minute, and managing the people she doesn’t feel like dealing with herself. If it hadn’t been for Jax’s intervention, I would have been the last person she would have picked for a permanent hire after my internship. She hates my guts, and has shown it every day since I was shoved down her throat as her new assistant. She leans so close that I can smell the mint on her breath, her hand on my shoulder weighing me down.
“You will do this,” she pushes through her teeth.
“Lucretia, you can rely on me for whatever you need, you know that. I mean, I’m the one who got you gold-polished natural roses for that special edition you got at the last minute with that huge K-pop group. But please understand–I do not have that kind of access to Declan Santori. He just threw that over his shoulder to get us off his back.” You, to get you off his back.
Her eyes narrow into a glare. “Listen girly, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but the big man said loud and clear he expects you to contact him.”
“He was just trying to brush us off. I don’t even have his number.”
Her red-lipped grin fills with cunning. “But you are best friends with Jax Vaughn’s future wife. I’m sure she can help you get his contact details. You’re actually a very well-connected person, if we think about it.”
“We’ll look like tail-wagging stupid idiots,” I press, but she won’t relent.
“You will get me a meeting with Lord Declan Santori,” she decrees. “If you know what’s good for you and your career. Your connections got you on my set, but they won’t keep you on it if you don’t prove your worth. And now’s your chance.”
Her hand drops off of me. I breathe out in relief as I watch her rich, round ass saunter away and slip into a cluster of other celebrities she’s friends with. She laughs out loud, throwing her head back, and I wheel around, happy that I can breathe again. But as I run into a wall of eyeballs fixed on me, my breath catches.
The conversation between Lucretia and me was low enough that they couldn’t hear a single word, but the man-of-the-hour billionaire garnered me more attention than I need right now. The news that he talked to me will spread out like wildfire by tomorrow among the celebrities and elites of this city. Fuck, I need a drink.
I barrel through the crowd, murmuring ‘excuse me’ passive-aggressively and stomp right out of the party room into the more secluded bar area around the corner. Unlike the party rooms, which are surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that make one feel like they’re floating out into the skyline, there are no windows here. Just glittering bottles all the way up to the ceiling behind the mahogany bar, and scotch-colored leather seats. It’s like a gentlemen’s club, except what I find here are scattered couples giggling, sitting too close to each other to have just conversation on their minds. It’s mostly beautiful young women and filthy rich old men.
I hop onto a leather-cushioned barstool, and the bartender walks over, cleaning a shaker, a white towel thrown over his shoulder.
“You look like you need something strong.”
I nod, licking my lips. They’re parched as hell under my lip gloss. The realization that I just ran into Declan Santori courses through me, making me shake all over, but the bartender is thankfully quick to set a glass in front of me.
I down the vodka, gritting my teeth against the burn shooting down to my empty stomach. A gym addiction isn’t my only derailment. I can also boast an eating disorder, but that’s fine, since the camera likes a thin woman. There’s a quote from a famous model right above the entrance to HQ – “You have one life, and you need to be skinny.” I’ve been taking that literally for years.
“Another one, please,” I mutter as I fumble inside my clutch for my phone.
“Are you sure?” the bartender asks with knitted eyebrows. “Maybe you should have something to eat first.”
So it’s that obvious.
“Listen, I’ve had a rough night, okay?” I tell him with a surrendering attitude, my shoulders slouched. “I just bumped into the man I’ve been running away from all my life, and to top it all off, my uber-bitch boss wants me to chase him and get him on her talk show.”
“That bad, eh?” a familiar, soothing voice says. I look over my shoulder to see Addie, the future bride, walking toward me. She hikes herself up onto the stool next to me, taking my hand in hers on the counter. “I saw you two talking.” Her soft blue eyes are filled with concern. “I swear to God, I had no idea he’d come back tonight. Usually, when he’s gone, he’s gone.”
“I know,” I manage, drained of energy, my eyes half closed. What I need is another drink, and then to sleep for a whole week. “On the one hand, I’m glad it happened, you know? I’m tired of running. Besides, I was bound to bump into him sooner or later. I won’t hold myself back in my career just so that he won’t see me on-screen. Maybe it’s better that it happened like this.”
Addie presses her plump, beautiful lips together, not sure what to make of my statement as I down my second drink. It hits me that Adalia Ross, my best friend, is everything Lucretia Steinard is trying so hard to be: voluptuous, impressive, and angelic. Except Lucretia is a viper, and everything about her screams that out–especially her too-large fake smile, and her enormous fake tits.
“I know it sounds partly defeatist, but it isn’t,” I defend myself.
“Not at all defeatist,” Addie says quietly. “Brave. But…It’s not this first encounter between you two that I’m worried about. It’s the next one, and then the next. I mean–” she doesn’t finish her sentence. She won’t probe around the reopened wound, but I do it for her.
“He’s going to want revenge,” I murmur, circling the rim of my now empty glass with my finger, eyes fixed on the glittering wall of liquor in front of me, my face reflected in one of the whiskey bottles. I look haunted. “He’s going to do bad things to me.”
Addie squeezes my hand, forcing it away from the glass. She tries to catch my gaze, but I keep evading it.
“You’re not that girl anymore, Mia,” she says softly. “You’re not the mousy little sophomore that used to film him secretly in the boys’ shower. The one that he could intimidate and manipulate.”
I smile at my wretched reflection. New Mia, terrified of the same old things.
“Maybe Jax can fix this,” she says. “He and Declan are as close as you and I are, maybe he can get him to give up the chase. I mean, it’s been years, he should have moved on.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Addie. He’ll never move on.” My voice fades over the last sentence because, as I say the words, I grasp the full scope of their meaning. “He knew perfectly well what he was doing when he told Lucretia to have her assistant contact him.” Slowly turning towards her, I ask, “By the way, can I have his number, please?”
As promised, here is the first chapter of my upcoming novella, Frat Boy Billionaire, that will hit the Zon in ten days. Here is what this story is about:
A one-night stand turns into a twisted game that follows you forever–along with the man that can’t let go.
Mia
When campus starboy Declan Santori caught me snapping naked pictures of him, he demanded payback. A one night stand at his frat house that he would be allowed to film and keep as leverage against me.
But a taste is not enough. He wants more.
And I do as well. I want him to do those twisted things to me again, use me for his pleasure and make me beg for it too.
He’s like a sickness spreading out through me, one I have to get away from or die trying. Especially when it turns out that my dark Romeo is far more than just a super hot frat boy that every girl wants. There’s a far darker secret in his closet…
NOTE. Coarse language edited.
CHAPTER I – The Bitten Apple
Seven years ago
Mia
It’s not like I’ve been trying to stay away from Declan Santori, asshole extraordinaire and hottest frat boy on campus. On the contrary. I’ve been slinking down the hall to the boys’ locker room after training for weeks, their banter and gross jokes turning louder the closer I got.
If anything, I’ve been trying to catch glimpses of him naked. After all, the campus UFC champion is one of a kind. Someone to snap pictures of to pleasure yourself to later.
Steam billows out of the boys’ showers, and I wait behind the locker room door, as I usually do. Frat boys that train for the UFC college octagon do it in a separate building that their fat earnings from betting pay for, making it easy for me to slip in on evenings like this. No one can catch me now that everybody is getting ready for the party at their frat house. The girls must be giggling at the dorms by now, clinking glasses of champagne while they pull on fishnets and leather corsets, talking about whose d*** might end up down their throats tonight. Eager to up their body count by adding the most eligible frat boys on campus.
Envy turns me livid.
They’re gonna get f*cked by my crush, and I won’t.
Because I didn’t get invited, of course.
Back in high school, I dreamed about being one of the hot girls in college. I’d promised myself things would be different from junior high, that I wouldn’t be invisible anymore, and I was willing to put in the work for it. But then my dentist announced I’d have to wear braces for another year. The freaking first-impression year. So my dreams shattered.
I peek in from around the door, phone camera ready, snapping picture after picture. Declan always uses the shower closest to the exit, so I know exactly how to angle the device, while keeping a hawk’s eye on the display for adjustments. All I get at first are blurry side-pics, as always, but before long I start getting exactly what I need. I snap pictures greedily, sinking my braced teeth into my lower lip, feeling like a creep.
But then I stop, my head tilting to the side.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s different about his hair, even though it’s wet, and there’s no telling the color. The man’s shoulders aren’t as broad nor as powerful as Declan’s, the V tapering down to his waist not as steep. I narrowly avoid hissing out a cuss when I glimpse the sides of a tattoo reaching around the guy’s waist.
No, this isn’t him. Declan Santori doesn’t have any tattoos because his elite family doesn’t allow it. They are the closest thing to royalty in the state, inking their bodies is out of the question. A piercing–a dumbbell going through his nipple–is the only thing marring his perfect body. So who is that man? I work my wrist, changing the camera’s angle quickly to look for Declan, but he doesn’t seem to be in there. Which is strange. I know for a fact he trained in the octagon this evening, I saw him walk out of there with his guys, all sweaty and loud and perfect.
I’ve grown used to the adrenaline pumping through my veins when I spy on him, but it skyrockets now. All my senses know that something is terribly wrong here, but the moment I spin around to leave, I knock into a rock-hard chest. I stumble backwards, and I’d probably land on my ass if it weren’t for the wall behind me.
The realization knocks me in the chest like a hammer.
I just got caught.
My brain spins and my ears buzz, my mind refusing to process the identity of the man in front of me. For moments, I fail to recognize the broad shoulders, like a swimmer’s, or the lean, athletic body with well-defined sinews snaking down into the towel wrapped around his hips. I’m choking on my own saliva as I look up at his face, at those intense slitted eyes that seem to burn holes through my skull. Slowly, my eyes run along the finely-cut edges of his cheekbones and jaw, moving up to the black, scruffy-spiked hair that makes him look like an anime character. A mouthwatering one, smelling of a fighter’s hormones, lemongrass and cinnamon. A scent I would recognize anywhere, and one that forces me to acknowledge what just happened.
As much as I wish this were an alternative reality that I’ll snap out of at any moment, it’s not. Declan Santori actually caught me spying on him.
I suppose I could try and deny that I’m here for him, but he catches my wrist and snatches the phone from my hand. The camera is already on, so he doesn’t need my password to access my photo gallery. Heat shoots up to the tips of my ears. I try to side-step him, run away before I choke on my own shame, but his hand turns into iron around my wrist.
“So, Timothy was right,” he purrs in that calm baritone that has been haunting my dreams for months. “You have been spying on us.” Those slitted eyes flash from the pictures to my face. “On me.”
“She’s always been a lusty one,” Timothy Meyer says with a sneer, appearing behind Declan and propping himself against the doorframe. He’s the guy who’d taken Declan’s place in the shower, his body not as taut, his shoulders small, the tattoo under his belly button making a bad contrast with his cheese-white skin. Not even the towel around his hips makes anywhere close to the same impression. “You wouldn’t think it from the look of her.”
The worst part is that the bastard is right. Puberty hit me like a truck, my hormones morphing into tiny evil villains. But it’s not like just any guy could trigger them. Timothy Meyer should know. He tried his best to get into my pants back in high school, and failed, which is why he’s doing this to me now. Still, the truth is I rarely set my sights on a guy, but when I do, I’m relentless, and my lust becomes a problem. I’ve been trying to get a grip on it by hitting the gym too hard, and ended up skinny as shit, with no curves to entice guys like Declan. Pair my skinny frame with my braces and glasses, and not even cat-shaped blue eyes and shiny black hair can save me.
“A cunning little spy,” Declan says, eyeing me up and down with keen interest. It gives me pause, and I stop breathing. He cocks an eyebrow. “A horny one.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t object to you finger-f*cking her right here, against that wall,” Timothy encourages with a lewd glint in his small eyes that are too widely set apart. He grabs his c*ck through the towel. “I wouldn’t mind watching. We can even take turns.”
“I’m not here because I’m into you, you stupid assholes,” I blurt out. My blood surges, my breathing ragged as Declan’s scent fills my nostrils. He’s close, too close.
His lips curling up into that dashing smile of his, Declan leans his head to the side. “No? Then why would you have naked pictures of me on your phone?”
“I can assure you it’s not because I sigh in bed at night for you.” A blatant lie.
That smile remains in place while his hand squeezes my wrist, and his body traps me against the wall. My breathing hitches. We’re now chest to chest, the water on his skin seeping into my oversized black metalhead t-shirt. I can feel the fabric cooling against my body.
“Let me guess,” he purrs. “You were going to upload those pictures. Or spread them around campus, in an attempt to–what?” He laughs, the sound rippling through my veins like a dark promise. “Bully me?” His voice drops, as seductive as the lure of a vampire. “Is that it? You were trying to bully me, Mia Rogers?”
“Y-you know my name?” I stutter.
His voice drops a few tones, pleasant and dangerous like a cool blade pressed to heated skin.
“Of course I do. Your stalking isn’t as subtle as you think. I can feel your eyes on me in class, in the hallways.”
“All eyes are on you in class and in the hallways, not just mine,” escapes my mouth, and I don’t regret it. I even manage to hold his stare, the most penetrating one I’ve ever seen. This is a good cover, and Imma use it. “You’ve broken many hearts and ruined many reputations, Declan Santori. It was about time someone ruined yours.”
Those eyes, black as tar, keep probing mine before he bursts into laughter, a low sound that vibrates against my ribcage.
“And you thought spreading pictures of my d*ck was gonna do that?”
My lips press into a hard line as I try my best to hold my ground.
“I hand out d*ck pics like candy, little spy,” he hums, “and they’re received as such. I might slide one into your DMs, too.” He winks. “If you’re nice.”
I swallow hard, my eyes hanging on his. If I managed to save some face until now, there’s no way he doesn’t see the lust in it now. He presses his body into mine, his c’ck hard against me. I gasp at the length of it. That thing would fill me up like a freaking missile.
“In fact, I have a better idea.” His voice is a low, dangerous invitation. “Come to the frat house party later, and I promise you’ll be the only girl I f*ck tonight.” He holds up my phone and winks. “I might even let you film it. Then you can go about destroying my reputation all you want.”
The air between us is scorching hot as we hold each other’s stare. My heart slams like crazy into my chest, reverberating into his, but at least I can blame it on the shock and adrenaline.
He places my phone back into my hand, wraps my fingers around it, and lets go. “Of course, you don’t have to come.” Those dark eyes turn into simmering coals. “But if you do show up, little spy, I’ll know why you’re there.”
He backs away, and it’s all I can do not to slump down by the wall. I can’t let myself collapse in front of him, and even less in front of that bastard Timothy, who’s still cupping his c*ck, stroking it limply. His mouth twists in disappointment that he won’t be watching me get finger-f*cked by the wall, and maybe be the next to do it.
There’s a wicked look in his eyes that tells me he hasn’t given up on that prospect yet, and he won’t anytime soon.
***
This book is going to be out soon! Subscribe to my newsletter, and be the first to know when it does. Let me know your thoughts on this first chapter in a comment, I’m always happy to read them 🙂
Hey book lover! I’m working on a new book, Queen of Blades and Roses, which is expected to hit the Zon at the end of August. Read the first chapter , and feel free to comment or e-mail and tell me what you think. This is a passion project for me, on which I’m working in parallel along with the next book of the Legends of the Fae series! So here we go.
***
A cursed beast lurks in the woods outside my village, and it wants one thing—me.
I learned to fear the Scorpio Beast many years ago. He is the most dangerous thing out there, brutal and cruel, so when he takes me captive in exchange for my brother’s freedom, I know to expect the worst.
Yet deep into the ruins of his ancient castle, I discover there’s more to Ares Amberson than his ruthless reputation. There’s a tortured soul behind his mask, and a sensual touch inside his iron fist. There’s also more to my own past than I ever knew, a secret buried in my bloodline that Ares wants to use me for. But in order to unlock my dormant powers, he needs to teach me.
Train me.
Seduce me.
Ruin me.
The pull I feel towards him is wrong on all levels, but I’m hooked on the devilish pleasures he’s giving me. I must fight against it, or die trying. The secret of our bloodlines makes it impossible for us to be anything but rivals, polar opposites, enemies. In the end, there can be only one on the throne of the kingdom that we were both born to rule.
The Curse
The Cursed Woods looked almost romantic from the window table at the Fyre Dragon Inn and Pub. Soaked in the scents of hearth and ale and leather, this was a place where stories had been born for many, many years, and most of those stories were about the Cursed Woods.
But the truth lurking in the hilly darkness spreading out between Azoth Hollow and Doomsday Mountain was far from the romantic adventure the pub’s storytellers made it out to be. They never told things the way my brothers and I gave it to them—raw and gut-wrenching. It frustrated my brothers. As for me, I didn’t take it quite as personally. After decades of suffering under the effects of the Spades fae’s curse, people needed some fantasy to keep them sane, and I felt for them. Not so my brothers.
“Do they even see our bleeding hands when they take the gold from them?” Thornan grunted, cocking a thick black eyebrow at the loud crowd from behind his pint. Scars adorned his rough fist, and his rugged looks placed him well beyond his twenty years. Part of that were his aggressive features, but most of it was what we had been doing for a living for years.
It had turned all three of us into brutes, even if it was less obvious in me, probably because I was female. One that dealt better with swords and knives than with baking, laundry and child-rearing, but still female. I had been fighting in the Cursed Woods for over a decade to help this village survive, and I was a Scavenger before anything else.
Once every month, my brothers and I put it all on the line venturing into that forested hell, hunting for treasure—and books, which were the rarest and most valuable items. I sure lived for the occasions when we found them. We spent the rest of our time training for our incursions into the woods. It took over our lives completely, but gold, silver and gems were the only things that got the people of Azoth Hollow through the winter. It helped us buy stuff from the other human settlements that didn’t have to suffer under the Spades’ wrathful curse, the curse that had turned our home into a haunted village.
Azoth Hollow intrigued outsiders and travelers, it fascinated them, but no one in their right mind would spend a full moon night here if they had a choice. As for leaving this place to settle somewhere else—others had tried before, and failed miserably. Being born here was like a scarlet letter, as if we could carry the curse into the wider world.
And maybe we could. We didn’t know for sure, but the curse might well have affected all of us in some way.
One sure thing was that our village wasn’t safe beyond nightfall on the three full moon nights of every month. Ghosts would creep onto the streets, hungering for human flesh. Consuming it made them feel alive again, even if only for a few hours. They were spirits of dead Scorpio fae, cursed by the Spades to dwell between life and death forever, unable to resume complete physical form or to cross into the spiritual world for good.
The spirits couldn’t enter cottages uninvited, but whatever they caught outside was theirs for the taking, and they never spared a life. Their hunger for flesh was beyond themselves, almost vampiric.
It was these stories that drew travelers to Azoth Hollow like moths to a flame. It was also why the three men at the bar were here, talking to Big Reo, the inn keeper. Checking them out from the corner of my eye, I’d have said they were monks.
“Those idiots, look at them,” Kovra groaned next to me. “Scented clothes, heads swimming with bedtime fairy tales, happy to believe all that bullshit.” He banged his pint on the table, the ale sloshing over the edges. “There are no fucking fairies in the Cursed Woods,” he called out, drawing the three strangers’ attention. “No fucking mermaids in its murky lakes. Only slimy stuff coiling around your feet, skeleton hands reaching out from the mud to pull you in, scorpions roaming around every fucking pile of treasure. It’s hard-earned silver that pays for this ale.”
Kovra tossed his ale down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked away. I could only hope the three men wouldn’t dare to come over, but Big Reo leaned in and whispered to them who we were. The strangers’ eyes widened as he spoke, their curiosity and spiking interest obvious in their neat, monkish faces. One of them, probably the leader, licked his lips greedily, but still hesitated, which was understandable.
Kovra’s androgynous voice was one of many misleading things about my twin brother, but his words and tone always had a sobering effect. He was angry, always on the edge, and very efficient with a blade which, for some reason, shone through in him the most. We were both blonde, blue-eyed, fair skinned and half-fae, the last part making us particularly beautiful to the human eye, but that was pretty much where the similarities between us stopped.
Kovra was everything his name suggested. Fierce and swift. He’d inherited the fae looks of our mother, but his mordacity he got from Da, the best blacksmith in Azoth Hollow, and once the best blacksmith in the Golden City of Celestia, too. Yet my twin and I would have been seen as abominations in Celestia. Hybrids between fae and humans were extremely rare, and even those rare ones were born of human mothers and fae fathers, from affairs that rarely survived the night of conception. But Kovra and I were the product of a forbidden love between a fae princess and a human blacksmith, a story that ended in tragedy.
In the aftermath of that tragedy, Da got cast out of Celestia, and sent back to Azoth Hollow with my brother and me when we were still babies. Grief for our mother almost killed him, but the Allmother took mercy, and a kind girl from the village fell eternally in love with him. I guess there’s no resisting a handsome blacksmith with a broken heart. Thornan was the result of that union, two years later. They’re fine together, Da and Thornan’s mother, but I think Da never stopped being nostalgic about Celestia, and his lost love.
Sometimes, on clear days, you could see the city with the naked eye on top of Doomsday Mountain. But such days had been rare over the last two decades, ever since the Spades usurped the Scorpios. The curse spread a permanent veil of clouds over Azoth Hollow, unleashing hell into the woods covering the hills between it and the mountain.
These were the kinds of stories that travelers came here for, and that sure wasn’t any different for the three monks heading over to our table right now.
“May we join you?” the leader inquired, sinking his hands into the wide brown sleeves of his monkish garment. The other two drew close to him as they flanked him, looking fearful but greedy for information. A holy trinity of well-fed, well rested boys. I wondered how much they were willing to risk for the knowledge they desired.
My brothers had clearly already decided the monks weren’t worth the effort of even opening their mouths. Thornan took another sip of his ale, while Kovra shot them a killer glare. Chills ran through the flankers, but number one kept his ground.
He pulled a chair, and sat down. The old wood creaked.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Kovra demanded under his breath and shot forward, his long blonde hair framing his face like glinting platinum. It made a fierce contrast with his pale blue eyes, sharp nose and the angry curve of his lips. I was his female version, only that my hair was golden and up in a tight pony tail on top of my head, my eyes sparkled more, and my lips were fuller, all an effect of the vestigial lust-inducing magic I’d inherited from our fae mother.
“We don’t remember inviting you to take a seat,” Thornan bit out.
“Big Reo there said you were The Scavengers,” the leader said. “You’re famous.”
“Very famous,” the monk to his right chimed in. I named him number two.
“You have no idea,” number three said from the leader’s left.
“Fuck off,” Thornan growled.
“We have money,” number one put in, and pulled a pouch from his sleeve. It landed on the table with the telltale clink of precious metal. Coins. “We understand that people like you don’t let other people partake in their experiences just like that. They’re valuable, the things you’ve lived, the things you’ve seen. We understand that, and we’re willing to pay for the privilege of learning.”
“So, you want to learn,” Kovra said through his teeth. “How about you join us tomorrow, and learn by doing?”
Thornan burst into a raspy laugh that made number one’s throat bob, but he got a grip quickly. He reached to the pouch, unfastened the leather string around it, and spilled its contents onto the table. Thornan’s dark eyes fell to the silver coins. He ran his tongue over his teeth, his face unreadable to the strangers, but Kovra and I knew exactly what he was thinking. We had every intention to back him up, so my twin took on an even colder, forbidding and opaque demeanor, while I leaned back to let my brothers take center stage. This could prove lucrative.
“What’s this supposed to mean?”
“Like we said—”
“A few chipped silver coins? We get that within the first few minutes in the woods.” That was a lie, but Thornan was the kind of guy you took seriously.
The monks looked at each other and, after a few moments of hesitation, number two pulled a second pouch from his sleeve. When the contents spilled on the table, Thornan’s eyes glinted.
“Diamonds and sapphires,” number one stated proudly, pushing out his smooth boyish chin. “Originals from Celestia.”
“Celestia,” Kovra said. “And how does a man like you possess something from a Golden City?”
“My brothers in faith and I come from the oldest monastery in Northern Kaledonien.”
“Hmm,” Thornan purred. “Where the pilgrims go.”
“Yes. Where the pilgrims go. They bring much value to our holy place, new knowledge, exotic goods.” He looked down at the gems. “Rare items.”
“Then why did you need to come here, to this cursed place? Why search for the stories when the stories come to you?”
“Because only here we can learn the truth about the most famous monster in the world. The Scorpio Beast.” He bent in with greedy eyes, but lowered his voice to a whisper, as if the name alone could strike him dead. “He’s said to dwell in the Cursed Woods. Ares Amberson.”
A heavy silence spread out at our table, dampening the nearby chatter. There wasn’t much noise to begin with, not with everyone’s ears turned toward the conversation at this table, but even the little cacophony there had been died down now. It was the effect of that name each and every single time someone spoke it out.
“Ares Amberson,” the leader monk pressed on. “The cursed heir of the Court of Scorpio, the—”
“We know who the bastard is, we don’t need a fucking profile,” Thornan spat out.
The monk licked his lips, his eyes so big now I could see the red under his lower eyelid. My eyes flicked down when he put his hands on the table. It was my job in the team to take in the details and evaluate danger.
“Heroes from many parts of the world come to Northern Kaledonien, and all of them know about the Scorpio Beast. But we never met anyone who’d actually laid eyes on him. He became a myth with too many versions. We’re here for the truth.”
“Why would you even want that kind of truth?” Kovra grunted. “I would un-know it anytime if I could.”
“And I can understand that,” the monk said. “You and your siblings have been through hell.”
“You understand nothing,” Kovra burst out, shooting forward and causing the monk to snap back into his seat. My twin held out a long, scarred finger in the monk’s face. “Don’t you fucking patronize us. We’re sick of you useless scribes coming around, going all paternal on us. You have no fucking idea what it’s like to feel death’s cold breath wrapping around you from the moment you enter that cursed darkness. That place out there—” He motioned with his head towards the window and the woods. “That place is hell. You want to know what it’s like? With pleasure. Tag along tomorrow, and we’ll show you.” His eyes glinted pale blue from under white-blonde eyebrows. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid we’re going to take your treasure and use your ass as fodder for the very beast you’re so eager to see.”
Number one stared with a blank face for seconds before he spoke again.
“We’re not looking for the beast. We’re looking for the truth in order to write about the beast, and keep the accounts forever protected in our library, and you of all people should see why. Don’t you think the world should know about what’s really happening here?”
“We think the world should fucking help,” Thornan interjected. “But it’s easier to just come snooping around, and then get out of town before darkness falls.”
“I think they should know about the Scorpio Beast,” I chimed in, drawing the three monks’ attention.
“Oh?” one of them breathed, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “She speaks.”
I gave him a smile meant to make him uncomfortable. Why wasn’t I surprised that he didn’t like a woman speaking?
“We know one or two things about him, it’s true,” I began, keeping still as a statue. The monks stared mesmerized as I spoke, surely because of my looks. The fae traveled the world of men only rarely, and they tended to keep their faces obscured under hoods on most of those occasions. Kovra and I might well have been the closest thing to fae these three men had ever seen, and my appearance as a female was even more specific. I proceeded to give them some of the knowledge we’d gathered about the beast.
“Ares is the eldest son of the late Scorpio King, Zavros Amberson, and his wife, Lumeia. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. King Gariel of the Court of Spades killed both King Zavros and Queen Lumeia when he took over Celestia. For that, he used black magic, because he wouldn’t have won against Zavros any other way. The Scorpio King was the world’s best fighter, and some said his wife was one hell of a strategist. She was the commander, and he was her General. Together, they were an unbeatable force, so Gariel turned to dark powers in order to defeat them. He sold his soul to the devil, if you like. I’m sure you of all people understand the concept. Ares and his siblings survived the terrible curse that fell over their court, but at a great cost.” My voice lowered, my tone darkening. “They had to integrate the curse, to let it run through their veins. They had to become one with it, and live with it like with a disease. They were all small children when this happened. It is said Ares had the worst fate of all. Have you heard anything about what this curse did to him, honored clergymen?”
The leader blinked as if recovering from a mesmerized trance. “Indeed, yes. The curse, ahm—” He scratched the back of his head. “Like I said, the Scorpio Beast has become a myth in its own right. There are many speculations.”
“Let us hear some,” I encouraged him.
“Well, there are those who say he can kill with seduction. He can give pleasure, but that’s all an illusion. In truth, terrible things happen to people’s bodies when they think they’re being pleasured by him. Where they feel a caress or the stroke of a tongue, it’s often the tickle of a scorpion. But that’s only one of the many theories.”
“Why am I not surprised you chose one related to carnal sin? But the beast is about more than that.” I placed my elbows on the table. They made a blunt clanging sound against the wood from the elven protective plates I was wearing over my black mail. Elven armor, scavenged from the woods. The metal in my outfit had the Scorpio heraldry carved into it, the intricate undulations of a scorpion. Everything that belonged to the Court of Scorpio, including their treasure, had been thrown out into the Cursed Woods in the aftermath of the bloodbath, imbued with the same curse, which rendered the treasure untouchable by fae of Spades blood. Luckily, my twin and I were only half fae, and our mother had belonged to another court, so we could make good use of what we found.
“Let us start with the beginning,” I told the eagerly listening monks. The leader’s looks had turned slightly more lecherous, but I didn’t mind just yet. I wanted their masks off. “Tell me, clergymen, do you know how fae names are chosen?”
The two flankers shook their heads no, while the leader kept staring.
“From their birth, fae emit a certain kind of energy. An aura, if you want. Like the name suggests, Ares Amberson was first and foremost a warrior prince, because he was born with martial magic. He would one day become head of the Scorpio Army. But the dark magic King Gariel cast over the Scorpios twisted what was already inside the children. For example, it turned Ares’ little brother, Taurus, into a nasty shifter that goes mad at the scent of blood. You can hear his chilling howling on full moon nights, and you can be sure no creature happening in his path escapes with their lives.
“It turned his sister Lybra into a dark executioner, a creature that will deliver justice in cruel ways. It’s not unlikely to find a wayward clergyman with obscure sins hanging from a cross with his insides spilling out of him.” I bent in closer over the table, driving tension into the monks like a rod up their asses. Only number one retained some measure of control over his facial expressions, while the others stared like they weren’t sure they wanted to listen to this anymore. “Can you imagine what it turned Ares into?”
Snorting laughter broke through my story, giving the poor bastards some respite. It was Thornan, unable to hold back his amusement.
“Look at them, staring like you’ve turned into the fearsome creature yourself. Relax,” he slapped number two’s back, nearly throwing the man off his chair. “It’s just my beautiful lady sister. For now.”
“Let them answer my question,” I said through my teeth, not trying very hard to hide my displeasure. I made a mental note to ruin my little brother’s fun the first chance I got, too.
“A devil,” the leader said quietly. There was fear in his voice, but also reverence. My cheek twitched.
“People shouldn’t revere monsters, clergyman, for whatever reason. It’s not like it’s real admiration anyway. It’s just a suck-up to power. Yearning for a monster’s approval is a weak man’s business. And even monsters despise weak men. They use them, chew them up, and then spit out the leftovers.”
“Have you ever seen him?” he managed.
Kovra scoffed by my side.
“You don’t see the Scorpio Beast and live to tell the tale. He’s killed more monsters with his bare hands than we ever slayed with our weapons. Facing creatures like Ares Amberson isn’t how you survive those woods.” He pointed to the darkening window behind him. “And it’s sure as hell not how you scavenge treasure every month to help this village survive.”
“Find a place by the hearth to spend the night, clergymen,” I concluded, leaning back in my chair. “Brace yourselves, because tonight you’ll hear the lamentations of ghosts, and the howling of Taurus. This, gentlemen, is the most dangerous night of the month—the last of three full moon nights. Not a great time to arrive in Azoth Hollow, but it seems that’s how your fate would have it. Tonight, death descends over the village, taking on treacherous forms. That’s why we gather in large groups in places like this.” And why we, The Scavengers, would go on our monthly hunt the next day, but I left that out. The monsters gave their all on these nights, and they slept deeper the next day, which made it easier for us to move through the Cursed Woods. “I hope you appreciate the great opportunity you’re being offered. You’re going to experience the thrill of your lives, but beware. The ghosts will call on you, using their power to lure you out of your sanctuary—the very reason we stay together on these nights. Whatever happens, don’t even think about leaving the inn, because you will certainly die.”
I took no pleasure in sowing fear, and I pitied number two and three. Poor bastards fidgeted in their seats, turning to their leader, searching his face for reassurance. But number one, he deserved every ounce of this.
“You shouldn’t be joking about these things—” he paused, realizing he didn’t know my name,“—milady.”
“Vyper Gladwell is the name,” I offered impassibly. “And these are my brothers, Kovra and Thornan.” My twin and my little brother raised their pints as I gave their names. “And I assure you, we of all people take these things very seriously. Just look around.”
Patrons looked away as the monks turned to analyze their surroundings more carefully. Mothers and children had already started to pour in, raising the noise level. Babies wailed in women’s arms. A bunch of chickens used the chaos to slip in as well, expertly scuttling their way among people’s feet.
The Fyre Dragon Inn and Pub wasn’t the only place of gathering in town, but it was where The Scavengers spent the night, and people felt safe with us. Some of the women walked over to say hello before they started up the stairs, screaming at the children to stop running and stomping. Big Reo always reserved the rooms upstairs for women and children, and he had a soft spot for chickens, too. The monks’ eyes swept over the thick sheepskins and the fire logs stapled by the fire where a group of men had already settled in, close the hearth.
The leader stood up swiftly, realizing he’d have to move fast if he was going to get a spot close to the hearth. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes moving from the hearth to me and back again. Sure, he was uncertain whether to leave our conversation about the Scorpio Beast. I often found myself wishing sensation mongers like him would get a taste of the horror stories they came looking for, of the horrible things that happened to other people.
“We’ll talk some more about this in the morning?” he probed. I folded my arms across my chest.
“If we live until morning.”
The other two got up and crammed around him like scared children. The bastard found it in himself to bring about a grin.
“I don’t expect this will be The Scavengers’ last night. If you expected it were, you wouldn’t be so relaxed.”
Kovra burst into grating laughter. “Oh, believe me, clergyman, we’re not relaxed.”
“We’re just a wee bit drunk,” Thornan added, while I said nothing. The monster admirer wasn’t worth it, so I might as well save my breath.
“You’ve outdone yourself, sister,” Thornan said after the travelers left, working their way among the crowd to reach the hearth. The closest spots were already taken, but they could still squeeze in by the bar, if they curled their knees up. My brothers and I would take up position by the door, like we always did. We were here as protectors, not protégés. We hadn’t had a careless night’s sleep since we got out of diapers. “You scared the shit out of them.”
“I like this new skill of yours,” Kovra said, proudly raising his pint.
I raised mine, too. “Bottom’s up, boys. Within the hour, these streets will be swarming with ghosts.”
My brothers joined their pints to mine. I took a long pull and set mine down, turning my head to the window. Night was nearly upon us.
Our job wasn’t something that one ever got used to. The third full moon night in a month brought nightmares to life, and surviving it was never easy, especially since The Scavengers weren’t by far the badasses we projected to the village. But thinking we were strong made the people of Azoth Hollow feel safe, so we let them take comfort in that lie. The three of us were good fighters, but no real match for the evil out there.
A claw squeezed my heart as we took our places by the door, yet it didn’t have to do only with the hungry ghosts out there. I had enemies in this room too, among the very people we protected. Some believed I was the real reason why the curse had spread over Azoth Hollow, and now those men sat right by the monks. It wasn’t long until they huddled together in conversation, eyes on me.
“They’re not even trying to fucking hide it,” Thornan grunted, flanking me on my right, Kovra to my left. “Back in the day, they would have burned you at the stake.”
“Back in the day, I would have cut their balls off in the main square,” Kovra pushed through his teeth, his sharp jaw tight. “It’s what they’d deserve for being stupid today, too.”
“We all know it’s not stupidity that makes them hate me.” I hooked my fingers into the leather girdle around my waist. “It’s the lust I awakened in them when I was girl, and my powers went as crazy as my hormones. It was a scary time for all of us.”
“You were only twelve, Vyper. It’s not like you were trying to seduce drunk middle-aged men,” Kovra said.
“Yeah, well, no way of convincing them of that,” I whispered, looking away from the group, and trying to swallow the knot of disgust in my throat. “Placing blame is natural. We all do it.”
“Yeah, but not when it means punishing a mere child for our own perverted nature,” Thornan added. “I’m with Kovra. Stupidity should be as deadly as bubonic fever.”
“It’s the ghosts out there that are going to start killing unless we focus on our job,” I said, fitting two curved magic blades into my girdle. They were rare finds that could make ghosts dissipate into thin air and get sucked back into limbo.
Before long, hissing seeped into the night, a full moon rising in the sky. I watched it through the window as it took over the firmament like a queen of the underworld. I focused on it to center myself as trapped fae souls took to the streets, whispering. The room went awfully quiet as the ghosts started circling the inn. People huddled together, barely breathing. The only sound inside was the rustling fire that spread out a dim but dependable glow over the space. Upstairs, mothers and their children kept a grave-like silence.
Twenty years ago, when all this began, it had been easier for the ghosts to lure out terrified children. It wasn’t long before their mothers followed, desperate to save them. They could easily feast on Azoth Hollow. Now, decades later, people had toughened up, but the ghosts had also upped their game. My hands tightened on the hilts of my blades as ghostly whispers slithered under the door. They couldn’t infiltrate the inn, but they’d start using some of their uglier tactics soon enough. The spectral lamentations of a mother in an attempt to draw out a kindred spirit wanting to help filled the air, the cue that the fight for our lives was on. The sound was gut-wrenching, appealing to deep-seated instincts in a mother’s heart. A few years ago, one of the women had thrown herself out the window over something like this, and I couldn’t stop her. I was too late, and that was going to haunt me forever, but I’ll be damned if I’d let it happen again.
My muscles tensed, my eyes sharpened, and my hands wrapped tighter around the daggers at my waist. I would be ready this time.
Failing to get anyone to respond, the sound morphed into the wailing of babies, and then the calls of long lost, dead parents.
“Fuck it,” Thornan spat out. “They’re extra vicious tonight. Someone’s bound to fall.”
There was a heavy fatality to that statement that neither Kovra nor I could deny. Allowing yourself to be blindsided didn’t help things. We couldn’t know what everybody was hearing, because the ghosts could sound like anyone they loved. They lured people outside with promises that, if they got out there, they would be reunited with their lost loved ones. Only that this time it wasn’t a mother longing for a dead child that sought her way out. No. The one who stood and made his way towards the window, squinting, was none other than clergyman number one.
Of course. Unlike the locals, the monks were inexperienced. Easy prey.
“No,” Thornan hissed. “Get away from there.”
But the man was already entranced, mentally beyond Thornan’s reach. Those huddling on the floor didn’t bother to stop him because the foreigner going down meant more chances for the locals to survive the night. Maybe his flesh would appease the ravenous spirits. All the other watchers were upstairs with the women and children, which made us, The Scavengers, the only guardians on the ground floor. That also meant that the clergyman was our responsibility.
“Fuck! Stupid idiot,” Thornan spat out as he made his way toward number one. He got to the man before he could get to the window. The ghosts could take the shape of the Allmother herself, for all we knew, making him capable of anything.
A howl ripped through the air just as Thornan pushed the clergyman away. It sent ripples through the windowpane.
The howl of Taurus.
The blood froze in my veins, and my hands on my daggers. That was close. Too close. And if Taurus lurked in the area, Ares, the crownless king of the Court of Scorpio, wouldn’t be far.
Fuck me, this night would be the nastiest one yet. My pointy ears shifted imperceptibly as I focused on the sounds of night.
I watched Thornan with wide, unblinking eyes as he turned slowly towards the window, his lips parting.
“No! Fuck! Thornan!” Kovra sprang up, ready to sprint over and push our brother down to the floor. But what if the evil got to him, too? All I knew was that I couldn’t lose my brothers.
I shot up to my feet, jamming my shoulder into Kovra, and shoving him aside so I was the first to reach Thornan and place myself as a shield in front of him.
An icy fist tightened around my heart. My only luck, if I could call it that, was that fear always anchored me, making me hyper aware of my surroundings, which always proved an advantage. Even people’s breathing turned loud in my ears, yet clearly distinguishable from the sounds of night. Mothers hushing their babies upstairs, the quiet whimpering of a child, even rats in the basement scurrying to safety became loud thumps in my ears.
It was the first time I saw the three terrors, yet I didn’t have a doubt about who they were. You couldn’t mistake the dark executioner Lybra with a scales in one hand, and a blade in the other, or the creature to her left—a huge huffing shadow, steam curling out of its nostrils, its eyes red as fire.
A chill ran down my spine as the third creature stepped into the moonlight, right between the first two. There was no mistaking his identity, even though a hood obscured his face completely. He was bigger than Taurus, a black cloak flowing down from his broad shoulders, and he emitted so much power that all life seemed to be shrinking away from him. All he needed was a scythe, and I could have sworn I was looking at the bringer of death himself.
“Scavengers,” his ghostly whisper seeped into my head, while an icy mist coiled around my body.
Thornan shifted behind me. He must have heard him, too, and so did Kovra. I knew, because I had a direct line to my twin’s feelings. Still, I also felt the voice was addressing me more than either of them. I felt spoken to. And the more I stared at the hooded figure standing between dark executioner and shifter, the more I felt his focus. Penetrating. Cutting into my mind like knife through butter.
“Get out of my head,” I pushed out through my teeth. My jaw clenched so hard that it hurt, making speaking difficult. Was it him, not wanting me to talk out loud? What the hell, was he taking control over my body?
“I could,” he hissed, sending ice rolling down my back. “But you wouldn’t want me to come over there, would you?” A low rumble followed, as if he enjoyed this.
“Please.” I reached out to grab the sides of the window’s wooden frame. “These people are innocent. They’ve done you no wrong. Let them be.”
“They’ve done me no wrong, it’s true. But you have wronged me, and so did your brothers.”
A feeling of doom settled in the pit of my stomach.
“Scavengers,” he continued, the icy mist around me infiltrating my senses. “You’ve been violating the Cursed Woods, stealing Scorpio treasure. Now, we want it back.”
I begged the Allmother for an idea, but my mind stayed stubbornly blank. This was a monster I was talking to, the most dangerous creature in the Cursed Woods. I had to be very careful with what I did next. The responsibility weighed heavy on my shoulders. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
So, I did what I had never done before. For the first time, I accessed my magic, tapping into rusty instincts. My voice changed to a rippling soft tone, not entirely seductive, but getting there. The odds that my magic of seduction would work on the Scorpio Beast were close to zero anyway, but a deeper part of me was desperate enough to try.
“We can’t return the treasure, because we don’t have it anymore. It is spent. We don’t venture into the Cursed Woods for fun, you know. We do it because the Spades’ curse took Azoth Hollow in stride, and we can’t earn a living, so we have to buy one. The cursed treasure is how we’ve subsisted all of these years.”
A low growl like distant thunder made my skin pebble. When his spectral voice spoke in my head again, it chilled me.
“Well, then you’ll find that the Scorpio Beast isn’t beastly in all ways. I could let this slide, on the condition that you never come into the Cursed Woods again. That you never touch Scorpio treasure again.”
“You know that’s not a promise we can make. It’s the only way we can survive,” I pressed on, my fingers tightening on the window frame, the ridged wood starting to give way under my grip. “If you think about it, you owe this to us. We are all suffering under your curse, and we shouldn’t have to. We’re innocent.”
He burst into laughter. It was deep, controlled, but I could hear the repressed anger behind it, and it terrified me.
“Innocent,” the voice hissed in my head. “You mean we Scorpio fae deserved this?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Save it, princess. I’m not here to discuss morals. You either give back the treasure, or pledge not to steal any more of it. Of course, since all good things are three, there is one other thing you could do to placate me.”
Rage tightened like a fist around my neck. He enjoyed torturing me with this. I wanted to scream at him that he was the most despicable creature, since he didn’t need the scraps of treasure we found in the woods, and everybody knew that, but I pressed my lips shut.
“You could pay your village’s debt,” he said, clearly taking dark delight in this. “In fact, if you choose this third option, I give you my word that neither my siblings nor I will set foot Azoth Hollow as long as you’re in my power. And if you make yourself really useful, we might provide the village with the means necessary to survive this winter, and maybe all the winters that follow. I might even protect Azoth Hollow of the ghosts on full moon nights. What do you say?”
My mind went blank. What the fuck was happening here? Why would he want me of all people, of what possible use could I be to him?
“All you need to do, Vyper, is give yourself over to me, as tribute.” His voice darkened, and more blood drained from my face with every word he said. “Do that, and see your village spared. Even those that don’t deserve sparing. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
I did, and it scared the hell out of me. Did this monster know my secrets?
“Why would you even want me?” Even inside my own head, my voice was barely more than a shaky whisper.
“Come to the Well of Sorrows tomorrow at midnight, and see your questions answered.”
The invisible fist of anxiety closed tighter around my neck.
No one who ever went to the Well of Sorrows ever came back. No one that ever gazed down at their own reflection in the water ever resisted the urge of throwing themselves in it. Word had it that a terrible sadness came out of the well, and it overwhelmed even the most mentally robust.
“What you ask of me is pure suicide,” I said.
“Relax. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”
“Then what do you want with me?”
The dark hooded figure shimmered, and chilling fear went through the entire room behind me. This man was pure terror. Every creature in the Cursed Woods knew to fear him, scurrying to safety whenever they felt his presence close. The ghosts that had invaded the village streets at nightfall had stopped whispering, now barely more than a quiet presence out there, as wary of the dark triad facing me through the window as I was. People behind me crouched in silence, barely daring to breathe, while Kovra kept tense like an arrow ready to spring if I needed protection.
Not that he’d be able to protect me. If anything happened, he’d only end up losing his life. I couldn’t let it come to that.
“What do you want from me, Ares Amberson?” I pressed on in the velvety tone of a nymph, even though it only seemed to amuse Ares.
“All in good time, princess. The Well of Sorrows. Tomorrow at midnight.”
I squinted at him, trying to pierce the night and get a good look at his face under the hood. My half fae eyes were able to scrutinize the darkness, but he managed to keep himself shrouded in a veil of mystery.
He raised his head just a little, upping the static that prickled my skin. Brilliant green eyes like pure poison gleamed under his hood, emitting light that hinted at the sharp, dangerous edges of his face that seemed made of metal.
While his siblings began to draw back into the night, Ares lingered, as if he were still waiting. Something glinted behind him, a blade in the moonlight as a war cry ripped through the night. Time slowed down as the silvery light revealed the attacker’s face. My blood thumped in my ears as I screamed out his name. The sound of my own voice deafened me, wood splinters piercing my skin as my hands crushed the wooden window frame.
“Thornan, no!” tore out of my throat. Taken with the Scorpio Beast, I hadn’t noticed when my brother had slipped outside.
The ghosts must have cleared the streets in fear of Ares, and Thornan saw opportunity. He took one hell of a risk to do it, and for what? This was pure madness. Ares turned, and the veins in my neck swelled as I screamed out my brother’s name once more. Probably for the last time.
Thornan never stood a chance. My heart crumbled into pieces as I realized that my little brother was about to perish. Watching his face, much more rugged than a twenty-year-old’s should be, felt like a knife through my heart. The moment Ares raised his arm, his black garment falling back from a large hand that was obviously used to heavy weaponry and to easily twisting the necks of young men, I knew.
My little brother had sealed his own fate.
Thornan was a big brawny man, but compared to Ares he seemed almost feeble. Even in a simple fist fight, one blow from that large hand that seemed capable of cracking an anvil would have rendered my brother senseless. But it didn’t come to that. An army of scorpions emerged from under the Scorpio Beast’s sleeve, the sight of them enough to send shivers all over me. They jumped on Thornan, throwing him down and spreading out all over him like termites. He scrunched his face and bared his teeth, screaming and thrashing on the ground.
“No!” I cried. “Please!”
Ares turned, but all I could see was a poisonous green eye glowing from under his hood, his face obscured.
“Your brother, yesss?” he hissed in my head. “Hmmm. I think I’ll keep him. You know, as a token of your good faith,” he rumbled, cunning behind his words. “Make sure you don’t do anything foolish, like try lukewarm, brothel magic on me again.”
With that, Ares Amberson disappeared into the night fog beyond the moonlight, dragging my brother along with him, and leaving me only with the sound of my own blood thumping in my ears. I started to feel the pain in my palms from the splinters that had pierced my skin. Pain shot through my hands as I unimpaled them from the splintered wood. Then the room tilted, and the ground disappeared from under my feet.
“Vyper!” I heard my twin as if through water as he caught me. I grabbed his dependable arms, my eyes hanging desperately on his pale blue gaze, struggling to stay conscious, my palms leaving bloody traces on his mailed biceps.
“He’s got him, Kovra. He’s got Thornan.” My voice sounded hoarse, like I’d been screaming for hours. “He’s only twenty, this can’t be how his story ends. It just can’t, I can’t let it be. He was in love, you know? And he kept on loving him, even if he didn’t want Thornan back. All he ever knew was pain. We have to save him! We have to, I have to—” my voice trailed off, and everything went dark.
Enjoyed this? Let me know in a comment. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
The Summer of 2020 has been unconventional to say the least, which has given many of us authors time to write more, and organize and re-organize our schedules in new ways. At a certain point I had more books scheduled for this year than I could actually write, I mean write like I mean it, immersing myself in the books’ worlds properly. So, without further ado, this is the new schedule my awesome editor Tami and I came up with. Acquiring covers we fell in love with at first sight may or may not have had to do with our planning new stories *wink*. Anyways, some of these titles are already backed up with pre-orders, and there’s a link to them wherever that’s the case. We will go adding links as we add more pre-orders. So here we go 🙂
Hey, time for a new personality quiz! Enjoy it to the max!
The small decisions that we make, the things that we like and dream about, even the tastes that we enjoy, speak volumes about us. Our smallest preferences have surprisingly much to say about our personality. Often, these can reveal things we didn’t even suspect about ourselves—strengths, weaknesses, but particularly, what makes us special. If you’re anything like me, namely a Romance, Netflix and Hollywood lover, let’s look at our type hero today.
Please take a deep breath, relax, look at the four pictures, and decide which one of these four categories of heroes appeals to you most. It’s very important that the decision you make is honest, and NOT thought through. So do not overthink it, let your decision come naturally, in no more than 10 seconds. Ready? Here we go : )
Interpretations:
Fae/Elf:
You have a love of beauty, which is only a mirror for what is inside you. Wait! Before you roll your eyes, know this—you’re more attractive to people than you think you are. The reason you don’t see it anymore is because someone or something stole it from you once, but that’s another story. You’re capable of a rare emotion—true admiration. When you love someone, you probably show it by doing things for them; it’s important to you to feel useful, and you usually become indispensible in the lives of those you care about. You quickly become deeply loved. You have a sweetness of heart that may lead some shady personalities to take advantage of you, but even they come to hang emotionally on you.
Vampire/Sexy Demon:
You’re one of intense passions. On the outside, you may seem calm and tame, but on the inside, you live dangerously. Your love can become obsession, but also addiction. You may be a fantastic kisser, and once you’ve got your special someone’s attention, you can become like a drug. You like intense people like yourself and, while there may be a dose of narcissism in there, it’s the good kind—you have tons to offer, and you know it. Love with you is a crazy ride of emotional stimulation. There’s no settling for a mediocre relationship for you, it’s ride or die.
Bad Boy/Mafia Boss:
Yes, it does mean the obvious, that you get your kicks from taming the bad boy, but it also means that you have the b***s to do it. You’re attracted to taming, because you got what it takes. You’re very sensual, and there’s no depth or darkness that you wouldn’t dare dive into. There’s no secret too dirty, nothing you will judge. Actually, you are wonderfully non-judgmental, even if doesn’t always look that way. Deep down, you do like to be controlled, and you might even enjoy some bondage. When you let go, enjoying your sexuality without caring what it looks like to your partner, you become hypnotizing to behold. He will come back for more.
Dark Billionaire:
Your choosing the billionaire doesn’t mean by far what some people would think. It does mean that you have a strong need for security, yes (because you most probably went through some serious sh*t in your life, stuff that most people can’t even imagine), but it also means you’re fiercely loyal, supportive even when there’s no hope left, and particularly comforting to be around. You’re a grateful person by nature, and have a sunny disposition despite a life story that could bring many to shudder. Rich life experience, people love talking to you and asking for your advice.
Enjoyed this? Plenty more where it came from. Check out the Personality Tests section for more, and join my Facebook group Addicted to Romance for more interesting stuff. Looking forward to seeing you there,
