Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  “Not an option.”

  My blood pressure was rising. “So, what? You’re going to keep me here, or club me over the head and drag me away until I give in? How rogue of you.”

  “Don’t give me ideas. I’m holding onto a thin thread right now Asa.”

  “Tie a knot.”

  His expression changed. I wasn’t afraid, but I did hesitate. The depths of his eyes were like banked coals at the end of a fire. The orange was growing as he stared me down. “We will deal with this Asa. I am not leaving your side until we do.” He hissed out, a breath from my face.

  “Fine, then let’s. I’m more than I appear. You may have size, but I have speed.” I challenged.

  “What?!” He gasped, his head pulling back fractionally. “I’m not going to fight you, if that’s what you are implying.”

  “It’s the only option I’m giving you Nat.”

  His hands came up fast. I was expecting him to swing. His eyes shouted that he was fully enraged. I braced for it, missing the signals completely. Without warning, he had me by the shoulders, stealing my next words with a lip-lock that I’ll never forget.

  As if I had been imprisoned within myself, the bands that bound me all broke loose at the connection. Something inside of me leapt to close the distance between us too. Only my mind continued to struggle, but it couldn’t make my arms come up to push him away. I was only fighting myself, warring against the urge to mold myself to him.

  I lost.

  Soon enough, I could not tell where he ended and I began. Our clothes were in a tattered heap nearby, discarded without a second thought. The maelstrom between us was fierce and frenzied. We were standing, we were on the floor, he was standing and I was contorted impossibly. It was a blur. At one point, I was fighting not to pass out as the blood rushed to my head. With my knees up over his shoulders, he mastered the cleft of my sex, pushing me hard and fast to an orgasm that blinded me.

  He didn’t miss a beat as the wave crested, lowering me to the floor and continuing his quest. I was present, just as much as I was sent beyond my physical form to a euphoria I had never known. Languid and limber, he shifted and I found myself being turned. He began again from a new direction as I came face to face with his cock. I was still getting my bearings as he hit the trigger spot that left me panting.

  His hand pushed down as his hips came up and I was nose to balls, his fully engorged penis down my throat in one quick thrust. I didn’t need instructions. I swatted back at the hand of his that had come down over my head. He seized it, thrusting up from his hips.

  I reached to pull my hair out of the mix with my free hand. That one too was ensnared and held with the other at the small of my back. I didn’t have time to figure out how he was everywhere. His hips rocked up into my mouth, as his tongue speared deep through the folds of my sex. I was a writhing, bucking, orgasming, cock-sucking monster being driven by a fire-eyed beast who was not nearly done.

  His command cut through the sounds of sucking. “Harder Asa...” He said as he arched up hard, his full length across my tongue.

  I was rewarded with a deep, approving growl. It got louder as he slowly withdrew against my teeth. Why I was turned on further to see the score marks up his shaft, I can’t say, but I was. He didn’t fully withdraw. “Release me.” He finally said roughly a moment later.

  I didn’t. A resounding crack landed on the cheek of my ass. The sting was sharp and painful, but also a sweet agony. A second sounded out when I still hadn’t released my mouth from his tip. My gasp was his opening to reintroduce himself to my tonsils as I was once again face to face with his balls before he started pumping fiercely, but only for a moment.

  How our positions were shifted again, and without my effort, I will never know. It was accomplished however, and I’m sure everyone in residence knew when we finally lined up and connected. I’d had sex before, but I had never had sex like this. Before it was completed, I would have sworn I was going to be consumed by the inferno. From his first deep thrust, every stroke pushed the elusive boundary. I was consumed and spent, even as my body...my soul, begged for more. I died and was reborn with each punch forward of his hips, my sex weeping for him to return as he withdrew to stroke again.

  When his release finally roared forward, I was dumbstruck by the veracity of emotion in the sound, and playing across his face. No longer orange, his eyes were darkened, with the thinnest vertical slit of red at the center. I had no doubt he would be able to call forward his dragon now.

  I was momentarily disoriented. A soft click in the direction above my head drew both of our attention. “Oh good. You two made up.” My father’s voice came across the distance before another soft click followed.

  “That was awkward.” I said up to Nat as he looked down at me.

  “Agreed.”

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “I know. But, I can work with that.”

  Black Guard

  WHAT HAPPENED OR didn’t after we recovered, is a blur. There were questions, and there were answers. When each happened, or things were decided, I can’t say, and it really doesn’t matter. I was his, but I was also still my own. And, I had a promise to keep.

  “Where you going?” He asked.

  “Who said I was going anywhere?” I queried, more than curious how he knew I was planning to leave.

  “I can feel it.”

  “Nat, I have something I need to do. I can’t do it here, because the players are not here.”

  “Players?”

  “Sorry, bad choice of words.” I amended. “I know what is between us. I know where my future lies. But, I made a promise, and for everything that I am or am not, I am nothing if I can’t keep it.”

  His head tipped to the side as he studied me. “Who did you promise?”

  “Myself.”

  “What is the promise?”

  I did not feel any malice from him. I was not yet willing to acknowledge that I could sense him as clearly as perhaps he could me, but I could sense him. That much was true. He was not going to let this drop. “To find, and eradicate the assassins who killed my mother.”

  “You don’t know who they are.” My father interjected from behind me, causing me to spin around.

  “No, perhaps not. But I know where to start.”

  “And you’re okay with this?” He asked Nat.

  A fierceness bloomed in my chest. It took me a moment to recognize that it was not my emotion, but Nat’s, I was feeling. When he spoke, I knew it was confidence in me, and pride. It was all I needed. “Now that we are one, and I can find her anywhere, yes. Yes, I’m okay with it.”

  The look on my father’s face was surprisingly unreadable. If he was afraid, I didn’t see that. If he was anxious for retribution, I didn’t see that either. He studied me for a long moment before he spoke again. “Return to me then when you finish. Complete your quest, and return. I’ve missed you long enough, but, I understand what you must do, and why. I’ll give my blessings to your endeavor,” he held up a single finger, “on one condition. Take the Black Guard with you.”

  “What’s the Black Guard?” I asked.

  I felt Nat change. Turning, I was overcome by the vision of him. Standing where he had been, was a massive black dragon. “I am.” He said as I tried to determine which of his three heads was speaking.

  Yes, this was going to happen. We would find them, and they would rue the day we crossed their paths. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life. I almost didn’t need the Una-Mor, but an old friend was always welcome.

  I knew Nat could feel my response, but just in case, and more for my father’s benefit, I spoke it. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I announced as I unfurled my own silver-gilt wings, finally becoming as I was meant to be.

  About the Author

  A LIFELONG LOVER of words and reading, Savannah Verte hasn’t quite figured out what she wants to write when she grows up. Born and raised in the upper Midwest, Savannah’s gypsy spirit and neve
r quit attitude keep her busy and seldom idle. For so many reasons, Savannah considers herself a ‘Contemporary Vagabond’ when it comes to writing and hopes others find her diverse offerings as enjoyable to read as they are to write.

  As the primary owner and driving force behind Eclectic Bard Books she considers herself immensely fortunate to see writing from varied perspectives as she endeavors to publish the authors rostered there. Working with other writers, Savannah gets to expand her horizons every day as someone brings a new idea to the table and the brainstorming begins. There is something addictive about the creative process for her and helping other authors embrace their dreams make hers a reality daily.

  That’s the official Savannah, the unofficial version is this: a girl who loves experiencing life with every twist and turn it takes. When she was born, she had such fine, light hair that her mother used to tape bows to her head so people would know she was a girl. She’s had a host of crazy unrelated jobs- everything from cake decorator, dry cleaner, and insurance agent to Emergency Room assistant, bartender, crime lab tech and bouncer. Savannah loves air hockey but completely sucks at it. She loves good jazz, good scotch, and antiques but also old rock, a quiet tea, and a tidy home. She’s completely technology impaired and can get it after she’s broken the computer or done it ass-backwards a few times... Thank Gods that there are some amazing meme creators that let her pilfer images or she’d be lost.

  Lime green is her color, the rhinoceros is her logo & philosophy, and she’s completely mad about seeing new authors try.

  Where to find more of Savannah Verte

  Savannah’s Website: My Revolution www.savannahverte.com

  Twitter: @savannahverte

  Newsletter signup: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/x7k4o0

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorsavannahverte

  House website: www.eclecticbardbooks.com

  Other titles:

  Viva Zapata & the Magic 8-Ball

  Kingdoms Fall (The Vengelys Series book III)

  Book of Time (Custos Series I)

  Book of Change (Custos Series II)

  Book of Mysteries (Custos Series III)

  C.A.S.E. Revelations

  Immortal Alchemy (Prowlers & Growlers)

  Immortal Deflagration (Sultry & Sinful: The Femmes of Paranormal)

  Veil Break (Halloween in Savannah)

  ImpossiBella

  Hexing Hearts

  by Alyssa Drake

  © Copyright Alyssa Drake, 2017

  Edited by YM Zachery and JB Joseph Editing Services

  Cover by Spellbound Cover Design

  Dedication:

  For Donna, who listens to every story idea, no matter how wild or crazy. Thank you for your endless encouragement, enthusiasm, and honesty through all the madness.

  Acknowledgements:

  I cannot express my gratitude enough to Lori; I hope one day I can repay the favor or at least pass it forward. Also, I wish to extend a special thank you to Megan and Yvette for their positive attitudes and willingness to help; I am truly blessed to know wonderful people like you. Lastly, one final expression of gratefulness to Gina, for her faith in me.

  Hexing Hearts

  by Alyssa Drake

  At eighteen, undeveloped witch, Remy Vasile abandoned her island home without a backward glance. Five years later, circumstances outside of Remy’s control have drawn her back to Firefly Island, dredging up painful memories which lay dormant during her absence.

  Sebastian Ayres enjoyed a life of pleasure pursuits. However, his blasé attitude evaporates the moment Remy’s hand brushes against his. Irresistibly drawn to his mate, Sebastian must undertake the daunting task of persuading Remy that he is not just any man, but the only man, for her.

  Unbeknownst to either, dark secrets, hidden since Remy’s birth, are about to be uncovered and Remy will be confronted with a life-altering decision. With the help of her sister and some unexpected allies, Remy must decide if she will fight and risk her heart or continue running from her destiny.

  Prologue

  WITCH; SCREAMED IN accusation, sung in rhyme, whispered through bathroom stalls, and written on notes passed through crowded hallways. The word tortured; it bled through the school walls, a constant cloud of mockery bestowed by childhood bullies on the one person who did not possess any magical ability whatsoever, Remina Vasile.

  Waking before the sun on her thirteenth birthday, Remy squeezed her eyes shut tightly, wishing fervently; her lips blurred in silent prayer. Flipping over on her stomach, she gazed at the bedroom door, willing the handle to twist open. Nothing.

  “Something smaller,” she murmured, focusing on a chewed pencil balanced precariously on her schoolbooks.

  “Move,” she whispered, pushing every ounce of her energy at the pencil. Again, nothing.

  “I don’t know why you insist on practicing that every morning,” an ethereal voice floated up from the bottom bunk.

  “How else will I know when I have my talents, Cassie?” Remy grumbled.

  “The odds of our parents having two early developed children is astronomical, Remy,” Cassie replied in a bored tone; Remy detected a hint of pity. “Not all coven children receive their full powers at thirteen; some develop at later ages,” continued Cassie, kindly. “Have faith, Remy. Your gifts will come in time.”

  “You don’t have to go to that school,” muttered Remy, flopping onto her back; she kicked her foot against the ceiling. “The Mainlanders are mean to me.”

  Bedsprings squeaked as Cassie sat up eagerly. “Who are they? What are their names?”

  Remy leaned over the edge of her bunk, watching Cassie rubbed her hands together gleefully as she plotted vengeance. Remy forced a tight smile. “No, thank you, Cassie. I don’t want you to get into trouble. Defying island law carries a far worse punishment than breaking mainland policies.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t be home-schooled like the other coven children.”

  Remy sighed, rolling over the edge of the bunk. She somersaulted and landed with a soft thud. “Mother and Father are both extremely busy. You know that. I can handle it; it’s just a few more weeks.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Cassie, sinking back into her pillow. Her eyelids fluttered close, “you’re tough.”

  Remy ripped on the same clothes as the previous day, discarded on a nearby chair. Quickly, she pushed up the bedroom window and climbed out onto the roof. Crawling up the eaves, she scooted around the chimney, heading for an old weathervane. Straddling the roof ridge, she flicked the weathervane, watching it spin wildly. When the sun broke the horizon, she rose and stretched her arms wide, inhaling deeply.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please, please, please; make me normal.”

  “Remina!” a voice yelled from below. “Get down from there.”

  Remy squinted at the ground, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. She spotted her father strolling down the lane; his suitcase bounced merrily along the dirt path. A tiny cloud of dust trailed behind him.

  “Yes, Father,” she called back, waving exuberantly. Squealing with excitement, she nimbly scurried along the shingles and slipped back through the open window. Dashing across the room, Remy purposefully slammed the door. It rattled the walls, waking her sister again. Her grumbles chased Remy down two flights of stairs. Sailing into her father’s arms, Remy planted a large kiss on his bearded cheek.

  “You’re here,” she announced happily, ignoring the scratches from his stubble.

  “Of course,” he smiled back. “How could I miss my girl’s birthday?”

  Remy beamed at him. “You must save me from the decorations,” she implored with wide eyes; she pulled on the lapels of his coat.

  “How have you already seen the decorations?” he asked in amusement, setting her lightly on the bottom stair.

  “I may have snuck into the living room last night and taken a tiny peek,” admitted Remy; she winked.

  Her father laughed. “What exactly is wron
g with the decorations?”

  “Everything is pink,” Remy announced in disgust.

  “Everything?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Come see.” Remy lightly grasped his hand and dragged him into the living room. Pink streamers and balloons exploded across the walls and ceiling; the color dyed every surface.

  “Yes, it is quite pink.”

  “Can you do something, please?” begged Remy. “I hate the color.”

  Her father tousled her tangled hair. “I’ll speak with your mother. Go change before everyone arrives for breakfast.”

  “Okay,” sang Remy. She skipped upstairs, humming happily. Bursting into the room, Remy woke Cassie a third time. “Father’s home,” Remy announced, stamping through the room.

  Cassie mumbled and pulled the covers over her head; Remy ripped them off her bed. “Hey!” yelled Cassie, clutching at the sheet.

  “Grandfather will be here soon too; Father says you have to get up.”

  “Fine,” grumbled Cassie, sitting up. She glanced at Remy and tilted her head with an evil grin. “Did you see the living room?” she inquired nonchalantly.

  “That was your doing?” growled Remy, glaring at Cassie.

  “Yup,” she smiled widely. “I told Mother how much you loved the color.”

  Remy launched herself at Cassie, who rolled sideways, anticipating the attack. Remy’s shoulder slammed into the wall as Cassie lithely slipped from the bunk, cackling. “Too slow again, little sis.”

  “I’ll get you next time,” declared Remy, sticking out her tongue.

  “Doubtful,” taunted Cassie from the doorway. “You should change before breakfast,” she wrinkled her nose, “those clothes smell.”