Tell me your favorite Dark Romance line, and I’ll tell you who you are

Alright secsi witches, time for a new personality test for readers! (Especially ROMANCE READERS) Tell me your favorite Dark Romance quote, and I’ll tell you who you are. You know the drill but, in case you don’t, here it is: Read the lines below and decide which one speaks to you within a few seconds. Which one sits right? Only after the decision fell, read the interpretations below. Have fun!

  1. You’re mine
  2. Who did this to you?
  3. Touch her and you die
  4. Good girl
  1. You’re mine – you’re a person who has had to earn pretty much everything in life, from money to your loved ones’ attention and affection; to you, relationships can be hard work; you are often expected to be in control; expressing your emotional needs may have been labeled as frivolous by important others in the past; deep down, you have a need to be loved without having to earn the love; typical for independent women; you need a partner that you can admire and that you can rely on;  someone who will allow you to “rest”, relinquish control, and still be safe; you’re someone who feels most valuable when being desired beyond rhyme or reason, to the point where it doesn’t even make sense to common sense; the more anchored and dependable you are in real life, the more scandalous to modernity your deepest desires; you yearn to be loved for what you are, not for what you do; you may fantasize about a partner who watches you while you sleep; great need for a feeling of belonging, but that one wa obvious, right? Values a partner finds in you: you’re intense, dedicated, can be clingy, insecure, can become toxic;
  2. Who did this to you? – the stronger a front you put to the world, the deeper the underlying fear you had to experience in the past; the fear may well still be there, you just learned to love it, like with chronic pain; you may harbor and unconscious need for revenge, especially against someone from your close family circle; may feel guilty for some of your more violent impulses and tendencies; duplicity in emotions; trauma – an event that you may not consciously remember; need to reconnect to parts of yourself from which you dissociated; feeling of loneliness; you vet a person’s dedication to you based on their willingness to take risks for you; you would remain forever loyal to someone like this, even if they are toxic, because you believe this is so good, there’s no way you can find better; beware, it’s just a distorted mirror image of what has been taken away from you. The person that you want your partner to be? That’s the part of you that you lost. 
  3. Touch her and you die – there are few things more seductive than a male willing to take on another male for his love; this willingness of the male to make it clear to the world just how valuable you are to him is a great evolutionary sign of commitment; in a world where it is praise-worthy for males not to value and respect females, and the more they can use and discard the merrier, where many men are ashamed to be in love, someone who puts their feelings on display in such a violent way is someone to take seriously; you are emotionally and sexually stimulated by the archetype of the protector–but you probably already knew that; the more interesting part is that you often play the role of the protector yourself for the people you love; you may have put yourself in dangerous situations in the past to protect your mother or a younger sibling; you may have witnessed a close family member being abused; a feeling of powerlessness pervaded your childhood; what you need is a sense of recovering your power; the paradox in all this is that you’re probably the strongest person you know; nothing can knock you down; what a partner finds in you – you would worship at the feet of someone who makes you feel protected; you’d put them on a pedestal, put your rose-colored glasses on, and see them in a way that will make them feel great about themselves; that may be your superpower;
  4. Good girl – relationships must give you a feeling of reward; you live to please your partner; you have the nurturing kind of love that many people find highly seductive; you must be careful though because it also makes you a preferred target for predators; you’re a giver, so you attract takers; you tend to interpret an emotionally unavailable man as a serious man, which often gets you engaged in fruitless chasing; you may put your emotional needs on the last place, or even silence them for the benefit of others; you may do things that you are later not proud of in order to gain a lover’s attention and praise; you may even step on your moral standards and principles; you’re so forgiving, it’s almost angelic; a spiritual person; empathetic; has a direct line to loved ones’ emotions; may have the gift of foresight.

Enjoyed this? Check out Personality Tests for Readers for plenty more and FOLLOW to be notified with every new test. Until then, enjoy the Dark Romances you find on the site! Let these dark and dangerous book boyfriends love you well 🙂 

A Dangerous Affair – CHAPTER I -Excerpt

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!

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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.

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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?”

KEEP READING HERE

Tell me what you read, and I’ll tell you who you are.

Let me be upfront about it – this psychology personality test based on what you read is for readers of romance, and it’s based on a number of romance subgenres. From Dark Romance to Fantasy to Small Town Romance and Historical, whether you’re into emotional rollercoaster rides or dark and twisted relatiops, whether you prefer morally gray heroes or dragons, your preferences are going to reveal things about yourself. If you are a reader of romance, this test is for you. I have planned a series of videos like this, but if you are in for more personality tests right now, HERE are the ones I drew up before I started with the video.

Okay, ready? Click on the picture below, and see what your favorite subgenre of romance says about you. Don’t forget to subscribe to my channel to be notified every time a new video comes up.

Frat Boy Billionaire – Chapter I

Hello people,

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:

When 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 🙂

His Twisted Fantasy – Excerpt – Obsession

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

Warning! Boxing scenes ahead! There is violence!

Jax’s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bull hesitates, like he always does.  

“Dude…”

“Just do it, Declan.”

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

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

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

The only draw in my life. And in his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Start talking,” he presses.

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

“Or else.”

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

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

Luckily, Declan has this uncanny ability to sense stuff.

“It’s a chick, right?”

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

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

“It’s not like that,” I grunt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say it,” he cuts me off. 

“It’s what I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything all right?” I probe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His Twisted Fantasy – Excerpt

Pic source.

As you’ve been surely expecting, I’ve been feverishly working on my upcoming book, His Twisted Fantasy, under my new pen name, Ana C. Blacklace. It’s a dark billioniare romance (emphasis on DARK, so steer away if that’s not your cup of tea), with an over-the-top, obsessed hero who will stop at nothing to get the woman that he wants. Because I’m dying to share this book with you, and I can’t wait until I’m done writing it, here is a new excerpt. Please keep in mind this is a first draft, and it still needs some editing. Lemme know what you think in a comment. Warning, strong language ahead!

NOTE: This is NOT the first chapter. You can read the first chapter HERE, and the excerpts that I will keep posting as I write do not follow in order. This scene happens in chapter III, for example, some time after Adalia and Jax met. Enjoy! Especially if you need some inspiration for a Valentine’s Day full of spice, and over-the-top, stalkerish chasing that is only ever safe in fiction.

Have yourself a blast 🙂

Title: His Twisted Fantasy

Main characters: Adalia and Jax

Jax‘s POV

The rain patters against my windshield, a pair of incoming headlights fogging my view of Adalia’s window. My leather gloves squeak against the wheel as I grip it harder. I wonder what goes through her mind as she sits with her friend at the kitchen table, her forehead resting in her hand, knowing she’s only got herself to blame for the girl having lost her internship at HQ. 

She should have known better than to reject me.

While her room-mate speaks, Adalia shakes her head, pouring them both more wine from the bottle standing between them on the table. I promised her I’d find her motivation to do what she professed she’d never do, and there it is–the people she loves. Maybe she won’t fight for her own dreams, but she won’t put the dreams and livelihoods of those she loves in jeopardy. She’ll give herself to me, in exchange for my leaving them alone.

I keep my eyes trained on her face through the rainwater trickling down my windshield, congratulating myself for not having sent her the contract after the first time we met. Adalia Ross isn’t a woman to have for a one night stand. It’s gonna take more to quench my appetite for her.

Her face turns to the window, her expression ghostly. There’s no way she can see me sitting in an anonymous black car parked across the street, but maybe she can sense the beast watching her from the night. Her friend is still talking to her, gesticulating amply, but Adalia just stares lost out into the rain. She comes to her feet slowly, her hands going to the sides of the window. For a moment, I worry she might close the drapes. Instead, she leans against the window frame, peering outside while her room-mate keeps talking.

My cock stirs in my pants, and I have to grab the bastard with one hand, my leather glove creaking. My eyes flash into slits as I zoom in on those dreamy blue eyes, remembering their long, curved lashes. The harder I stare, the more I wonder if that’s what attracted me to her from the start. If it was her selflessness, her capacity for love and dedication, her self-sacrificing nature that affected me on a visceral level, even before she proved them to me. Ah, how good it will feel to corrupt her. To ruin her. To break her apart and then piece her back together into my own Frankenstein’s monster. 

Making her completely mine.

The day I met her I was certain she’d thrown herself to her knees to grab my attention, to turn me on, to have a shot at personal contact with me. Now I know that wasn’t the case, but fuck, I wish it had been. A week later here I am, chasing a woman for the first time in my life, even if there won’t be any chocolates or flowers. I won’t be turning up in a limo at her curb, because I’m not a knight in shining armor. I’m a ruthless bastard that will ravish her.

My cock turns to steel in my pants as I imagine her finally bending to me. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll have her on her knees. Soon, her pussy will be clenching around my cock while I drive it deeper inside of her than any man has ever been. 

She stirs at the window, as if she sensed my thoughts. A second later, a shadow simmers against the orange light coming out of the hall as it pushes the door to enter her building. She reacted when she saw him from the window, so she must be expecting him. Tall and lean, he moves confidently, like he knows what he’s doing, but something about it seems overdone. 

His style could probably fool men who hadn’t spent half their lives in prison, men who aren’t used to stalking people from a distance, and observing everything around them, watching for any element that could become a threat.  But my observation skills and deadliness are what kept me alive all those years in prison. Being able to assess an opponent within the first seconds of seeing him was vital in the prison octagon, where I first made a name for myself among heaps of money–illegal fights, to the death. It was either me or the other guy. The way this one moves, he’s not even a wolf in a sheep’s clothing. He’s a hyena trying to fake the elegance of a dignified predator.

The leather gloves stretch over my knuckles, and I growl deep in my chest, wanting to bite his head off.

Especially when my hunch turns out to be spot on. 

Mia Rogers stands up from the table only to return with the visitor. Adalia turns to greet him, and the bastard throws off his coat, putting his gym-trained arms around her. Next to his princely presence, I’m a boulder. My jaw clenches as I wonder if this is what she likes, if he is what she’s into. Neat hair, beard so well-tended I wonder why the fuck he grows one at all, considering beard stands for raw, beastly masculinity. For something straight out of the caves, which he obviously isn’t, and which I take pains to hide being by always sporting a cleanly shaven jaw.

Except now, because I haven’t shaved in days, focused on the one thing I’ve wanted in years–her.

I wonder how she’d react if I crushed him right in front of her, squeezing the pretense out of him. If I proved to her just how useless city rats like him are against the likes of me. If protection is what she’s looking for in his arms, she’s gonna find out soon enough what a lame excuse for a man he is.

I hitch out my phone, zoom in, and snap a picture of him. It’s good to have state-of-the-art technology at your fingertips at all times, the kind normal people don’t even imagine exists yet. After an investigation of a few minutes and a few firewall breach hacks, I have all the info I need. He’s Camden Murray, stock broker, well-known ladies’ man in New York, and Adalia’s ex who she supposedly broke up with. I hiss at my phone and put it away. Later, I’ll dig up the last vid on PornHub he watched, what time he took his last dump, and all the dick pics he sent to other women while dating Adalia. I’m gonna break his image in her eyes, as well as every bone in his body. But right now, I need to watch every move he makes around her. 

NEW RELEASES

Today, he is my protector. Tomorrow, he could be my ruin.

The abuser from my past has returned, bent on getting me back in his power. Now only a shadow of my former self as a cheerleading team captain, I know I won’t survive abuse at his hands again.
Enter Sinai of the Yces, winter fae and badass academy star boy with a grudge against my tormentor. He offers me protection, but his reasons don’t stop at our common enemy, and he’s not exactly my friend either. I’m not sure I want him to be, not with that perfectly chiseled jaw, those bulging muscles and the smoldering way he looks at me. He’s feared, nasty and dangerous, and yet I want him all over me. I feel that his rough lust can heal me.
But Sinai is sweet poison that could lead me to my doom. I should run away from him as fast as I did from the other one, except this time I’m hooked. Hooked on the deadliest man I’ve ever met.


TRIGGER WARNING. This book deals with themes of abuse (physical and emotional, NOT between hero and heroine), stalker, forced proximity, jealous/possessive hero and related tropes. This is NOT a bully romance. There is a HEA.

The affair between fae prince Salazar Shadowthorn and me, a human witch, is three things – toxic, destructive, and forbidden. Now, it might become deadly.

Salazar is a prince without a crown, a tragically beautiful force of night. Shadow and smoke are deadly weapons in his hands, and even demons have learned to fear him. Yet now a mysterious power is closing in on him and his people, and Salazar can’t beat it alone. He needs to awaken the shadow fae king. Only that awakening the king is no less problematic than the dark power seeking to gain control of his kind. Because of me.

There’s a big fat chance that I’m the king’s fated mate, which means that Salazar and I would have to stop this toxic thing we’re doing. He likes toying with me, making me beg for him in basements, and pleasuring me in public in order to humiliate me. Perverted delights, to which I’ve secretly become addicted. We’ll have to kill this sick chemistry between us, if we want to stand a chance against this new power. A rising menace that can lead us both, ruthlessly, to our deaths.

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 behind 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.

Note: This book offers you a strong female lead and a tortured villain, so brace yourself for dark themes and possible triggers related to past trauma. These two go to work on each other. Yes, there’s a HEA.

When you’re destined for each other – as sworn enemies.

With a common rival sitting on the throne that was meant for one of us, the Scorpio Beast and I are forced to work together – as a fake couple. We must fight against the evil usurper that brought misery upon our kingdom. But, in the end, there can be only one on the throne of Celestia. In the end only Ares or I can survive a terrible prophecy – that one of us is destined to kill the other.

Throne of Lust and Ruin is Book II of the Court of Scorpio series, telling the story of a passion that can only lead to ruin. Beware of triggers and dark themes. This is an enemies-to-lovers romance.

The Messenger – Ep. 24 of “The Marquis”

I sit frozen in my black dress with palms joined on my lap. The funeral unfolds before my blank eyes, and so do the days after. I count them by the number of times Jeanie Simmons – Jeremy’s curly-haired, rosy-cheeked, fluffy younger sister and my dearest friend – enters with food. I nibble just enough of it to keep me alive, but my appetite is as dead as the monster who fathered me, and who now lays two meters beneath ground level.

“Are you still seeing Joyous?”

Her hazel eyes dart around, as if the walls have ears. “You know I can’t answer that, Saph.”

Of course, he’s the Marquis’ ‘cousin’ – in truth one of his fellow seprpent-killers. I lower my voice and grab her elbow. “If you are, you need to help me, Jeanie. I need to get back with the Marquis.”

Jeanie’s hand covers mine that I now realize is so clenched around her fluffy elbow that my knuckles show.

“Something must be terribly wrong with you, Saph,” she whispers.  She looks me in the eye with a curious expression. “You haven’t spoken at all since you saw Mr Lothar dead in the study, and now that you do open your mouth it’s to talk about the Marquis. Is that a way of dealing with your grief? I mean, Gunnar Lothar is dead, your own –”

“Don’t even say it,” I cut her off. “That man was a monster, a . . . Whenever I think about him I want to rip the flesh off my bones for being his child.” On a second thought I shrug. “I suppose I must be grieving, and anger makes it all more bearable.”

Stomping up the stairs makes Jeanie’s mouth close before she can say another word. The door opens and Jeremy enters the attic in a confident prance, his muscular physique barely making it through the doorframe. The police officers who came with him remain outside the open door. He walks straight to the window with a triumphant attitude.

“I’ll make this short, Saphira,” he says, staring proud out the window. “The coroner called. They established Mr Lothar’s death was not suicide.” He turns to assess my expression as he gives me the news, cocking an eyebrow. “He was murdered.”

He lets moments pass to allow the information to settle in.

“Do you happen to know anybody who had a reason to kill him?” He continues mockingly. “Someone who wanted revenge, maybe?”

The Marquis’ words from the day we went to the asylum come back to me. “Would you consider that I hurt you, if I took revenge on your father?” And yet he wasn’t the only one with a motive.

“I also know of someone who goes to terrible lengths to keep his real identity secret,” I retort. “Someone who set Vivien Grant’s house on fire to kill her. Someone who’s put her mother in the lunatic asylum and has the poor woman so terrified that she won’t talk. I’m sure the same person hung Gunnar by the chandelier too – Ivan Basarab. Gunnar knew his true identiy. Ivan Basarab is terribly dangerous Jeremy, and despite what you might think, you can’t control him.”

Jeremy’s cocky attitude turns to anger. His face goes red.

“The whole town will believe it was the Marquis, Saphira,” he barks. “They’ll burn down his manor like peasants did haunted castles back in the Dark Ages eventually.”

Jeremy’s hatred of the Marquis fills the room like floating poison. I remember how the Marquis twisted his arm behind his back at the asylum, keeping him in check despite Jeremy’s big muscles and violent struggles, forcing down his ears the information that his own father had been a rapist, a monster.

“You hate him for having told you the truth.” I hold Jeremy’s gaze, defiant.

“Maybe, a little. But, most of all, I hate him for having taken you away from me.”

***

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The Punishment of an Evil Man – Ep. 23 of “The Marquis”

Jeremy wraps the place up, giving his men curt orders and telling Lord Barkley to shut up each time the man opens his mouth.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you, sir, I must remind you,” he says coldly.

His men scurry around taking “prints” of the Marquis. They’re still in shock, but Jeremy managed to get them working despite that.

He moves his bulky frame around, doing what he must as head of the team, but he’s obviously distressed from what he’s found out. There’s something wild in his eyes, and the expression of his steroid- and testosterone-transformed features, square and shadowed by his three-day beard, make him look as deranged as the lunatics that inhabit this asylum. I’d like to remind him about the sewers, but I don’t dare to, he looks so angry.

Not even outside do I dare address him. We’re riding in a police van. I’m in the back holding my crying mother’s hand, her sobbing and nose-blowing accompanying the humming of the engine. Jeremy sits across from me in silence. He doesn’t even look at me. When we stop in front of my parental home I realize what’s happening, and I shake my head violently.

“No, I’m not going in there.”

“Yes you are. Your father has been worried sick about you,” Jeremy says. He sounds as cold as he had with Lord Barkley, and also a shade spiteful. As if it were in any way my fault that his father had been part of the group that had raped Catherine Lancaster. As if it were my fault that his father had been as much of a monster as mine.

“He pushed me in the Marquis’ arms himself, you know this,” I retort in a biting tone. “He was happy to see us depart together on the night he announced our engagement. But maybe it’s you who should have a word with Gunnar. In the end, the Marquis is right – Gunnar and his group perpetrated a terrible crime, and they should have to answer for it.”

“We have no proof for that crime, Saphira,” Jeremy says, keeping his glare out the side window. “I can’t corner people based on allegations alone, I’m sure you understand.”

My mouth curls in a sour expression. “You only pretended to believe me when I told you the story? Is that it?” Now that I come to think about it – indeed, why hadn’t he investigated as soon as he’d heard about Gunnar’s crime?

“No, it’s not. But I still need proof in order to take action.”

“If you only investigated Catherine Lancaster’s case, maybe you’d get your evidence,” I say through my teeth.

“If you only let me do my job without acting all smart-ass, things would be different.”

“Different how, Jeremy? Based on how you’re doing your job, these people’s crimes will remain unheard of.”

I’m aware of the poison in my tone, but I can’t help it. Jeremy springs forward and grabs my jaw in his huge rough hand.

“The Marquis of Vandenesse is London’s priority, and with good reason. London sent me back here for him. He’s the most dangerous of all killers I’ve ever investigated, Saphira, and you know his vile nature better than anyone. What changed? Why do you try to redirect me to your father Gunnar and his group of bastards? Why aren’t you vehement against the Marquis anymore?”

“Jeremy, please listen to me.” My jaw hurts from his grip and I speak with difficulty. He notices and lets go. I rub my cheek to sooth the pain as I talk. “The Marquis isn’t the evil creature you and I believed him to be. He talked to me, he told me things . . . Listen, Jeremy,” I take a deep breath and say the next sentence with a heavy heart. “I have reason to believe that my father is Ivan Basarab, the faceless Slayer. This is your chance to find out so much, Jeremy.”

“No, Gunnar is not the Slayer,” Mum reacts as if from a dream. She’s still pale from shock,  but apparently she’s coming back to herself. “But I’ve heard that name many times from him. Even a few days ago he talked on the phone with this Ivan Basarab.”

I’m completely surprised, and Jeremy too. His small dark eyes narrow. “Okay, all right. I’ll have a word with your father, even though I don’t believe this is the right time.”

“Wonderful. And then please let me return to the Marquis’ manor.”

He grins. “No, can’t do, Saphira. You’ll be interested to hear we found witnesses of the Marquis’ murder on Vladimir Pukov. His manor is surrounded, and we’ll arrest him on sight. You and the Marquis will never come together again.”

Another flash of despair goes through my heart. “But . . . There were no witnesses to what happened with Pukov. You must have ‘produced’ them.”

Jeremy’s eyes narrow into bitter slits. “Just a short while ago you were ready to testify against the Marquis yourself. Come on tell me, Saphira, what swayed you? Was it his declarations of love? Was it his hypnotic powers? Or did you actually fall for him?”

My lips freeze, but the truth must be clear in my eyes, which Jeremy stares into closely.

“If you switched sides, things will end up badly for you, Saphira,” are his last words before he looks me up and down in disgust. He opens the door, inviting both Mum and me out of the van. I’d like to resent him for his abusive attitude, but I can’t. It’s not every day you discover your father was a rapist and maybe even a killer, so he has mitigating circumstances.

My heart drums in anxiety as we head toward the house, and I’m sure so does Mum’s. The hand that squeezes mine is sweaty, and a look at her reveals wide scared eyes and stiff features. She’s still in shock, which is probably why she didn’t react to Jeremy’s treatment of me in the van. I feel lonely, naked and lost, and I long for the Marquis’ protective arms around me, for the reassuring sound of his rich voice in my ear. It’s incredible how my tormentor of yore has become my only haven.

The house looms bigger before us as we approach it. With its grey walls damp from bad weather it resembles a huge beast rising from the ocean, spreading out its jaws to swallow me. My throat clogs with panic. I don’t want to go in there, and I don’t want to face the monster who fathered me.

The door screeches open like the entrance to an abandoned, haunted house, but inside the dim corridor everything is in place, just like the last time I saw it. The stairs leading to the upper floor and the attic, the entrance to the drawing room on the right and the one to Gunnar’s study on the left, all appear imbued with an air of morbidity.

I look around, unable to move as I hear the door closing behind me. I’m trapped inside with Mum and Jeremy, and a knot moves up my throat. I’m growing sick.

“Please announce your husband you’re back, along with Saphira, and tell him I’d like a word,” Jeremy commands Mum.

She swallows and proceeds towards the study hunchbacked, her hands trembling on the knobs as she pushes the doors open. She stiffens in place, and her mouth falls open.

“Mrs Lothar,” Jeremy nudges her, at first only verbally, and then physically as he approaches. But as he raises his gaze from Mum to whatever greets them from that study, he bursts inside. Alarmed, I follow. A second after my eyes fall on Gunnar I scream until the veins in my neck swell.

He hangs from a rope tied to the chandelier, his feet dangling over a fallen stool. His shirt is open to reveal his hairless white stomach, and his mouth sticks thick and black out of his mouth. His fleshy cheeks are bluish-yellow, and he’s already started to smell. I breathe in the stench of death and scream long and hard until I fall exhausted on the floor.

 

***

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Bad Blood – Ep. 22 of “The Marquis”

“That’s enough, Saphira,” Jeremy cuts in. He walks to me and extends a hand, but the Marquis grabs and twists it behind his back. As big and muscular as Inspector Jeremy Simmons is, he groans and bares his teeth as he leans backwards into the Marquis’ clasp.

“If you ever try to touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body,” the Marquis threatens. He’s taller and leaner than Jeremy, therefore more agile even without his engineered powers, but he’s also so much stronger. His ivory features are locked, and his black eyes angry coals.

“Please, Kieran, don’t hurt him,” I plead. “He’s innocent.”

The Marquis keeps his glare on Jeremy, his sweet lips drawing in a hiss. “I’m not so sure.”

“Better tell him the truth. That he should be on our side.”

“What the hell is this?” Jeremy groans and tries to struggle from the Marquis’ grip, but without success.

“Please, just listen to him, Jeremy.”

“Saphira, what is happening?” Mum is puzzled, her hand gently touching mine.

I look straight into her eyes and tell her the story in a few short sentences – that Catherine Lancaster, Lord Lancaster’s daughter, had been raped by a group of men from this town, and that my father, Gunnar Lothar, killed her in the end. Mum gasps and takes a few steps back, gripping the rest of the chair where she sat as we walked in.

“Your father was one of them too, Inspector Boy,” the Marquis hisses in Jeremy’s ear. “The lucky bastard died before I got my hands on him, so don’t give me reason to take it out on you, his son.”

Jeremy struggles like a wounded animal, kicking the air in front of him, but unable to release himself from the Marquis’ hold. “You fucking bastard!”

The Marquis is inhumanly strong, and Jeremy’s struggles don’t move him an inch. He turns his vicious black glare to Lord Barkley.

“What about you, filth bag? Could it be, that you were one of them as well?”

Lord Barkley is still sitting in his chair, the cigarette burning his fingers but he doesn’t seem aware of that. He looks stunned at Kieran, unable to utter one word.

Mum presses her fingers on her temples, shaking her head. “This can’t be. This can’t be happening.”

I approach her carefully, searching her gaze but she looks down, then sideways, then upwards, avoiding my gaze.

“It is, Mum,” I say gently. “If you’re honest to yourself, you’ve always known. But you’ve tried to silence your sixth sense.” As I did through compulsive painting, but this is not about me, so I keep the remark to myself. The Marquis’ voice cuts in, making me look at him and Jeremy again.

“And you, stupid shit,” he addresses Jeremy, “you find out all sorts of stuff but not the essential. You spoiled, superficial and incompetent brat. Didn’t you ever at least suspect of all the bastards in this cursed place? Or, what, are you covering their arses?”

“Wait a second,” Mum says, her voice faint, her eyes wide on the Marquis. “What happened with Catherine Lancaster was decades ago. What have you got to do with it?”

I clear my voice and hold her shoulders as I speak, so I can support her if she falls. “Kieran was Lord Lancaster’s stable boy, Mum. He and Catherine were secretly in love, and the night she was raped he was beaten almost to death by Vladimir Pukov’s people – Pukov was part of the group as well, and Dad wanted me to marry him even though he knew this.”

Mum looks stunned from me to the Marquis, then to Lord Barkley, who sits silent in his chair.

“But,” she whispers, “I knew Catherine. We were friends. We grew up together, just like you and Vivien, Lauren and Jeanie. Lord Lancaster said she had run away with the stable boy. It came as a shock to the rest of us, we knew nothing, I . . .”

“Lord Lancaster couldn’t take the pain, Mum,” I say. “He spread a story he could at least try to live with.”

Mum slumps into the chair behind her, and I support her by the shoulders as she does. Her eyes are fixed in awe on the Marquis. “But that means . . . How old are you?”

The Marquis looks at her, but doesn’t answer.

“My God,” she whispers. “And Saphira? What role did she play in your plot?”

Pain cuts through my chest, and I sink my head.

“At first I wanted to use her in my revenge on Catherine’s tormentors,” the Marquis explains. “I wanted to have her lure them to places where I could kill them right before her eyes, torment her mind and soul in the process, and in the end have her father find her mad from everything she’s witnessed in the same place Catherine was found. I considered it an act of kindness – to her, not Gunnar – not having her sleep with all those men too. I took the decision to go easier on her than initially planned after I got to know her. She made a painting of me, and she . . . I fell in love with your daughter, Mrs Lothar. It sounds impossible, coming from a monster like me, whose soul has been frozen for decades, but it’s the pure truth. I don’t expect you to give us your blessing, but I’d like you to know that for her sake I decided to drop all thoughts of revenge. But unfortunately, this town’s troubles won’t end with that.”

Jeremy has another fit of struggling, and this time he makes it out of the Marquis’ arms – or the Marquis let him go, since he doesn’t look surprised. He and Jeremy now face each other. The Marquis arranges the collar of his suit jacket, while Jeremy flexes and glares.

“This town’s biggest problem is you, devil,” Jeremy growls. The Marquis smiles at him like a prince at a powerless angry peasant.

“I’m not the one who set the Grants’ house on fire and tried to kill Vivien. That was Ivan Basarab – the Slayer – whose true name you should be busy finding out. He’s one of this town’s honourable citizens, killers, filth bags that you now have no more excuse to ignore.”

“You need proof for all these allegations, de Vandenesse and, right now, all I truly got is proof that you’re a killer. Guards!” Jeremy calls.

Quick steps stomp closer and louder from the corridor, and policemen burst in. They take out their guns and focus on Kieran as if they’ve been waiting for this command all along. I scream and want to run to Kieran, but one of the policemen stops me and keeps me away from the scene as more men pour in. This is indeed a trap they set up for Kieran.

Kieran looks left, right and relaxes. A smile pulls one corner of his sweet mouth, and that is the last sight I get of his human self before his skin starts losing it’s opaque consistence, turning into something jelly-like and transparent, then into increasingly metallic scales. His eyes spring into slits, and his serpent tongue shoots out of his mouth as he gives out a piping hiss that sends an unbearable buzz through all our ears.

I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands to my ears, but the buzz still pierces through. Only when it stops I dare look up again to see all policemen scrambling up from the floor, the terrified looks in their eyes and the confusion as they grope around testimony that the Marquis had been right – nothing of the security here has anything on him.

The door is open, with no trace of the Marquis, while Jeremy is the only person standing, however stunned with a gun in his hand in the middle of his sprawled men.

Someone breathes hoarsely behind me. I turn to see Ronald Lord Barkley, and realize his knotty hands are clamped around my shoulders. He shakes and can’t take his eyes off the door.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he whispers.

“Excuse me?” I try to get away from him, but his fingers sink into my shoulders, keeping me in place as a human shield.

“I didn’t have anything to do with their dark practices. I was part of their group of friends all those years ago, but I never participated in the terrible things they did.”

I shake myself from his grip and hurry to help my Mum up from the floor.

“What in all Saints’ names was that?” She exclaims, looking desperate and brushing invisible cockroaches off her body. She’s horrified, hysterical, making it hard to help her up. “He’s a monster! A monster!”

I struggle with her to help her calm down, and it’s a real fight until she manages to get a grip.

***

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Full Moon and the Serpent – Ep. 12 of The Marquis

Saphira doesn’t fully trust the Marquis, yet she can’t resist his pull. She finds herself giving in to his advances, but this is no ordinary night in which they can just be together. Full moon sheds light on another one of the Marquis’ secrets, which proves perilous for the young woman.

***

The Marquis’ mouth closes on mine, soft and warm, while his arm curls around my waist, pressing me gently to him. His body feels stone hard under his shirt, and he smells young and manly and alluring. I turn to jelly in his arms, allowing him to stretch me on the bed under him with no resistance. His kiss makes me dizzy, and small stars seem to circle my head.

This feels very different from what happened last night, even though his passion grows in the same possessive way. His hands explore my body greedily as his tongue consumes me in deep kisses. My mind empties and I part my legs, ready to accept him, but he breaks the intimacy, bridging to distance with thirsty pecks on my lips.

He pulls away and stands, yet the expression in his face shows it’s not easy. His neckline is open, his hair a bit ruffled and his face so youthful and handsome that it hurts. He retreats as I scramble out of bed and advance toward him, wanting him so badly that I lose control and all sense of shame.

“Please,” I beg, losing my bra and letting my panties fall to the floor. I now stand completely naked before him, smeared with soot, my hair a messy blonde broom, hoping that I look depraved enough to stir the animal in him. I want him inside of me so much I barely refrain from touching myself.

His dark, hypnotic eyes wander all over me with a hunger that makes me moisten and lose a sigh.

“Please,” I repeat, but manage to keep in place.

“It can’t be, Saphira, not now,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain.” He retreats further, his white hand now on the doorknob. I see the skin patching into alligator leather, then fading into white human flesh, then pulsing into faint spots of leather again, and I realize he’s fighting to keep back the serpent.

My eyes find his just in time to see them narrowing, his black irises turning to slits. He makes a pained grimace and pulls the door open. The fight between human and serpent makes him bare his teeth, a pointy tongue slithering out and licking his upper lip. When he speaks, his slivery voice makes my hair stand on end.

“Trust me, Saphira. Please, trust me,” he hisses and throws the door open, lunging into the obscurity.

For moments I stand there, naked, stunned and with my heart pounding until Zed appears in the doorframe. His stony features are locked in urgency. He can’t help looking me up and down –I’m a naked person dirty with soot. I snatch the duvet from the bed and wrap it fast around me.

“What’s with the Marquis?” I inquire.

“It’s a bad night,” Zed says and throws a glance out the window. I do the same.

“Full moon? But, is that –”

“It has nothing to do with the occult or cheesy magic,” Zed explains in an even tone. “The moon has power on the inner workings of the Serpent as it does over the tide.”

He turns to leave, but then turns to me again on a second thought. “We have strong reason to believe your friend Vivien Grant is alive. The Marquis ordered us to find her and protect her. For your sake. Believe it or not, you’re high up on his list of priorities, and in a good way. You have every reason to trust him.”

“Have you been eavesdropping?” I breathe, getting the goosebumps at his words.

He looks me up and down coldly, but not without interest – more like curiosity – and he leaves without replying.

***

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The Mysterious Man – Ep. 11 of The Marquis

Forced to face the dangerous Marquis in the dark tower, fear took hold of Saphira. But it turned out the Marquis wasn’t there to hurt her, but to disclaim any fault in her best friend’s supposed death. And he doesn’t stop there. He has truths for Saphira that will shake everything she thought she knew, including information about a mysterious enemy.

***

 

I measure him up and down. Tall and strong, dark eyes intense and sovereign in his ivory face, he looks honest and confident, and even a shade respectable. I decide to at least assume he’s telling the truth.

“Say I take that for a fact. What do you suppose the ‘mysterious man’ was after? Why did he need to get inside the asylum?”

“The sewers underneath the asylum link to the catacombs under this manor. He wanted access to those sewers and therefore to me. He wants my head.”

A revelation hits me. “You think the mysterious man is Ivan Basarab. The Slayer.”

The Marquis snorts as if insulted. “The Slayer. Undeserved distinction for a coward who fights from the shadow. He’s afraid to face me for real.”

“You think he succeeded in breaching the sewers?”

“If he did, it’s irrelevant. I secured them from halfway to here. But I do have something more on Basarab’s true identity. I think he’s a Northville local.”

A shock. “Say what?”

The Marquis continues. “Your friend Vivien Grant clearly knew him. Her mother too. I also think that he was a member of the group that raped and killed Catherine, and that gave me over to the people who turned me into what I am today.”

The pathos with which he speaks the words, the fearlessness in “rape” and “kill” and “what I am today” emphasize his entitlement to revenge. I surprise myself indulging him. And accepting his theory. Tension dissolves from my body as I begin to understand things. I let go of my knees.

“When you proved to be stronger and deadlier than the other serpents, you became dangerous to your makers,” I draw the conclusion. “Then you went independent. That’s when they must’ve activated Basarab, the Slayer. He’s always been one of them.”

The Marquis smiles a disturbingly charming smile. “You’re very bright, Saphira.”

“So Ivan Basarab is a false name for a man we already know.” I attempt to ignore how his praise makes me feel.

“That’s right.”

He looks hard at me with those impossibly black eyes that seem to hypnotize me, only that this time I’m sure he’s not trying. Silence settles between us for moments in which I just stare, unable to rip my eyes from him.

“What are you thinking?” He whispers, lowering himself so close that his bitter-sweet breath touches my face, the mattress and the pillows giving in under his weight as he leans on his hands. I feel lost.

“I’m wondering why I find it so easy to take your word for everything,” I whisper.

His expression deepens, his eyes now flooding mine. It’s hard to breathe, they seem to weigh on me.

“Because I may be a villain, but I’m the only person without a reason to lie to you. All you ever got from me was the truth. You’re beginning to trust me.”

I let my gaze wander all over his marble face.

“I must be really stupid.”

“By no means. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, actually. And I wish to win  your complete trust.”

“What use do you have for it?”

“It’s the key to your affection.”

My heart flutters. “You desire my affection?”

“Ardently,” he says, his eyes lowering to my lips.

 

***

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