He placed both palms on my face. “I love you, Trifecta. And I solemnly swear that until you grow tired of me, I will be at your side, and only yours. I will follow you through every damned portal, but if we can avoid visiting any more prisons, I’d really appreciate it.”
My lips trembled. “How could I grow tired of you? You’re much too infuriating.”
“And handsome.”
I rolled my heated eyes. When they landed on his again, my heart struck my throat harder, and I almost forgot about the other subject I wanted to discuss. But it was important, so I brought it up. “I know you don’t want to discuss Gregor, but are you okay with the decision that was made tonight?”
His hands coasted off my face. I instantly missed their solid heat.
He gazed at his black boots, so dark against my pale carpet. His lids closed, and he inhaled deeply. “The outcome was unhoped for. I’m angry and not sure if I’ll ever visit him, but the boy for whom he was such a hero is relieved he won’t be put to death, however much he deserves it.”
This time I was the one who cupped his jaw. “You’ll visit him. Someday.”
His eyes opened, but he stayed quiet on the subject. He wouldn’t have long to visit him. Once on Earth, Gregor would age quickly, and since he was already in his late eighties, he could be gone in a matter of a few Neverrian months. Then again, the man was a force of nature, so perhaps he’d stick around longer.
I wished I hadn’t brought up Gregor, but I cared about Remo. If I’d learned anything from observing my parents, it was that shouldering the weight of each other’s grief was the only way to ensure the bearer wasn’t crushed beneath it.
“And I’ll go with you. If you want me there,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Anything else, Trifecta?” His voice was roughened by emotion. “Your dress is making it extremely hard for me to concentrate.”
Sensing he needed a distraction, and plenty happy to be that distraction, I said, “Is it? How about you take it off then?”
His hands were on me before I’d even finished talking. “Where’s the zipper?”
I smiled. “Zipper? Oh, there’s no zipper.”
“Then how do you remove it?”
I tapped my Infinity, smiling a little wickedly, because I had no intention of making it that easy. “Actually, I was thinking we could talk a little more.”
He grunted something unintelligible. “We can talk naked.”
“You’ll never be able to focus if I’m naked.”
His nostrils flared. “Fine. What should we talk about?”
My smile grew at his mounting frustration. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, muscles bulging under the tight black fabric.
“You’re regretting having used up your gajoï right now, aren’t you?”
His eyes flashed. And then his mouth twitched. “I know what you’re doing . . .”
“What I’m doing?” I asked with mock innocence. “What am I doing?”
“Forcing me to be creative.”
I frowned. “No, that’s—” I squeaked when my dress went up in flames, flames that didn’t burn my skin, just the pretty beaded fabric.
“Remo Farrow! You can’t use fire to undress me.”
“I think I just did.”
I hitched up a brow. He wanted to play . . . Fine. I sent my own wave of fire over his uniform and watched with great satisfaction as it chewed through the coated black fabric.
His grin became blinding. “My little villain.” Wreathed only in smoke, he backed me up against the bed.
“Villain? I saved Neverra from Kingston.”
He palmed my ass, yanked me up, and then tossed me on the bed. A moment later he was hovering over me, his warm breaths pulsing against the tip of my nose. “Fine, you can be the hero tonight.”
Grinning, I circled his waist and towed his magnificent body down against mine. “What was it you were saying earlier about your hands? And mouth?”
Remo’s knees and palms sank into the mattress, caging my body between his, and then his glistening lips curved. “I can’t remember. What was it I was saying?”
“That you might be good with them.”
“Might.” He grunted. “I’ll show you might.”
I laughed, and then I stopped laughing, because he did show me. With deft fingers, he fastened the strings the Cauldron had cast around us weeks ago, binding them around our bodies and knotting them around our hearts.
Want more Paranormal Romance from me?
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A Pack of Blood and Lies
The primal rule of winning: don’t fall in love with the contender.
Three months shy of her eighteenth birthday, Ness is forced to return to Colorado. Even though it’s been six years, and the wolves of her all-male pack don’t recognize her, she recognizes them. People who shun others because of their gender are hard to forget.
Especially Liam Kolane—son of Heath, the crudest and cruelest Alpha to have ruled the Boulder Pack. Liam is as handsome as he is infuriating, as kind as he is punishing, and he makes Ness’s traitorous heart race, which isn’t good. After all, he’s a Kolane. Like father like son, right?
When Heath dies, Liam vies to become the new Alpha and no one dares challenge him.
Except Ness.
Thus begins a treacherous game.
The rules: winner takes all…including loser’s life.
Fans of Kelley Armstrong and Patricia Briggs will devour A PACK OF BLOOD AND LIES.
Unless you like angels better >>
Feather
It was supposed to be a quick mission. The only thing quick about it was how rapidly I failed.
With only a month left to earn her missing feathers, twenty-year-old Leigh embarks on a trip to Paris to meet her newest project, twenty-five-year-old Jarod Adler, leader of the Parisian Mafia and the worst kind of sinner . . . a Triple.
If Leigh can get Jarod to accomplish a single act of kindness, she stands to win 100 feathers, more than enough to complete her wings and ascend to Elysium, the land of angels.
What she doesn’t count on is Jarod's dark charm costing her feathers.
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Until he realizes destroying her wings is also destroying her heart.
A heart he longs to hear beat only for him.
A modern ROMEO & JULIET retelling featuring an epic sinner and the angel who'll stop at nothing to save him. Perfect for fans of dark supernatural romance.
Acknowledgments
I hope you’ve enjoyed diving back into my faerie world with Amara and Remo; I certainly did. Writing about Ace, Cat, and the gang felt like hanging out with old friends. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them until I set fingers to keyboard and traveled back to Neverra.
Thank you to all the lovers of The Lost Clan. I adore receiving your messages and comments. You wanted more Neverra, and I listened. This book was written entirely for you. Although a sixth book isn’t in the works, the seeds for one are slowly sprouting inside my mind. I’m certain you can imagine whom it will be about. After all, one main man still hasn’t gotten his happy ending . . . Shall I give him one?
I started writing Reckless Cruel Heirs back in December 2019 when the world wasn’t yet ravaged by a pandemic that forced entire countries to close their borders and confine their citizens, and then I finished writing it during the first week of lockdown in Switzerland. For a while, I debated whether to change certain aspects of the story—shorten Amara’s and Remo’s confinement, add people in their jail cells earlier on so that it wasn’t just the two of them. I was afraid that we’d been subjected to enough isolation in real life that no one would want to read an entire novel about isolation. In the end, I decided to tell my story as it was meant to be told. After all, fiction has always mirrored reality.
A huge thank you to my Facebook reader group. You guys are amazing and inspire me every day. As Amara and Remo�
�s journey took shape, I asked for visuals pertaining to the different places my characters visited. So many of you took the time to scour the internet for outlandish tropical plants, old-timey frontier towns, and spectacular creatures.
Special thanks to Valeria Orlando for finding the Brazilian grape tree that led to the beetles in the last cell, to Amanda Curley for her torrent of visuals ranging from jungles to frontier towns to white-picket fences, to Julie Green Booth for all her peculiar flower finds, to Courtenay Oros and Amber Everett, whose vampiric flower specimen inspired my fluted, fanged fiends. There are so many others from Olivia’s Darling Readers who deserve my gratitude but listing them would take a whole page. Know that you are all deeply valued.
Thank you to my beta readers—Theresea Barrett, Katie Hayoz, Astrid Arditi, Joanne Milkins, and Celia McMahon—for poring over the long manuscript and helping me tighten the story and refine the characters.
To my phenomenal editor Jessica Nelson and hawk-eyed proofreader Katelyn Anderson. I so enjoyed working with you both on RCH.
To my three children, quarantining with you guys was eye-opening. I feel like I discovered something new about each one of you every day. Adam, Gabrielle and Estée, you are wonderful and smart, sweet and funny. You make me incredibly proud to be your mother.
To my husband, like Amara and Remo, we were stuck together because of this crazy pandemic. Is it wrong of me to say how much I enjoyed the time we spent in lockdown?
To my family abroad and the one in Switzerland where I live, thank you for your ceaseless support.
If you’d like to learn more about me and my books, visit http://oliviawildenstein.com and make sure to join my Facebook reader group, Olivia’s Darling Readers, where so much magic happens. You can also find me on Instagram—I’m @olives21, the one with too many pictures of books and children.
Also by Olivia Wildenstein
YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
The Lost Clan series
ROSE PETAL GRAVES
ROWAN WOOD LEGENDS
RISING SILVER MIST
RAGING RIVAL HEARTS
RECKLESS CRUEL HEIRS
A Pack of Blood and Lies series
A PACK OF BLOOD AND LIES
A PACK OF VOWS AND TEARS
A PACK OF LOVE AND HATE
A PACK OF STORMS AND STARS
Angels of Elysium series
FEATHER
CELESTIAL
YA CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
GHOSTBOY, CHAMELEON & THE DUKE OF GRAFFITI
NOT ANOTHER LOVE SONG
YA ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
Masterful series
THE MASTERKEY
THE MASTERPIECERS
THE MASTERMINDS
About the Author
USA TODAY bestselling author Olivia Wildenstein grew up in New York City, the daughter of a French father with a great sense of humor, and a Swedish mother whom she speaks to at least three times a day. She chose Brown University to complete her undergraduate studies and earned a bachelor’s in comparative literature. After designing jewelry for a few years, Wildenstein traded in her tools for a laptop computer and a very comfortable chair. This line of work made more sense, considering her college degree.
When she’s not writing, she’s psychoanalyzing everyone she meets (Yes. Everyone), eavesdropping on conversations to gather material for her next book, baking up a storm (that she actually eats), going to the gym (because she eats), and attempting not to be late at her children’s school (like she is 4 out of 5 mornings, on good weeks).
Wildenstein lives with her husband and three children in Geneva, Switzerland, where she’s an active member of the writing community.
oliviawildenstein.com
[email protected]
Reckless Cruel Heirs Page 38
