by Kiki Howell
Rejection.
He’d followed through with the detachment. She’d likely never see Torren again. “I’m. . .” Her voice trembled before she got a handle on it. “I’m feeling much better. It might be over.”
Bex eyed Dovie. “Are you sure?”
Dovie sighed as relief washed over her, not from him following through, but from the lack of pain. “Yes. I’m going to be all right.” The longer she waited, the better she began to feel. She’d never been so glad to be free of pain. But the reality that Torren didn’t want her hit hard regardless.
A knock pounded at the door.
Dovie and Bex looked at each other.
The knock came again.
Bex got up and started to open the door as she said, “If it’s that dragon, I’m going to—”
“You’re going to what?” Torren asked.
Bex slapped his face.
“I suppose I deserved that.”
“You did, I think,” Dovie said. “Why are you here? I see the detachment went well.” She tried to keep her voice flat and cold even though she secretly smiled inside. He had come to her. Though she didn’t know why. . . it made her happy to see him.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Can I come in, past the doorjamb at least?”
Bex stared at him a moment, then looked over at Dovie. She nodded and Bex stepped out of the way.
Concern filled his gaze as he looked over Dovie. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. You shouldn’t have had to suffer like that. Are you okay?”
“I am now.” Dovie cleared her throat and wiped her damp hair back from her face.
“I didn’t go through with it.” His held her gaze.
“And that’s my cue to leave. D, call me later with details.” Bex grabbed her purse and shut the door on her way out.
“You didn’t?” Dovie’s hopes lifted. Did that mean he wanted her?
Torren sat on the couch beside her. “I can’t do it unless you tell me you don’t want to be with me. I realized at the challenge that I pushed you away. When you were attacked, it scared me and I thought. . .” He cleared his throat. “I thought you might not look at me the same. But when you didn’t show up to the detachment and Brooks said you left upset, I hoped. . .”
“You did?” Was this really happening?
“Will you have me? I mean, being bonded. I know humans do marriage and we can talk about that later. I want the chance to love you, I want the chance to be loved. If you’re scared, we can work around things. You can come into the human city during the moon shifts or whatever you need, but I want to try. I care right now, but I feel like it could grow to be so much more.” His words stopped and he waited. His champagne eyes slitted and then returned to normal.
Dovie smiled, her heart constricting with joy. He did want her. “I thought you’d rejected me. I was sure of it. When Brooks told me of the detachment, I fled because I couldn’t face seeing the rejection in your eyes. I’m not afraid of you or the others. The moonstruck, them I’m afraid of. We can work it—” Her words were cut off, replaced with a hot kiss claiming her mouth. His tongue darted inside, and warmth cascaded over her as an orgasm built inside her in a wave of need. She pulled at his shirt and then it was on the ground. Hers was ripped from her flesh. Her nipples pebbled and she crested as his hot chest found hers and pushed her back into the couch.
She wasn’t sure she would survive more orgasms, but her body was oh so willing to try. He pushed her pencil skirt up to her hips. A tear sounded and cool air met her wet core. Somehow he’d gotten completely naked in front of her as another orgasm crashed into her, lightning dancing through her system and zipped down to her clit.
His cock entered her, stretching her walls until she cried out in pleasure. Dovie clung to him, waiting for another orgasm to take her, but instead her body seemed to have adjusted. He moved inside her, slowly filling her inch by exquisite inch. She could hold onto the feeling forever. “Deeper,” she rasped.
Torren obliged, pulling out and then slamming back into her. Heat increased inside her and all she could think about was his touch. His lips moved over her cheek, fluttered down her neck as he pushed himself inside and pulled back out. Then his hot mouth was on her nipple. He sucked and slammed himself inside her and another orgasm crashed over her as if she’d never had one before. Wave after wave of pleasure, and he kept going, tugging on that nipple until she screamed out for him. She arched into him, meeting every single thrust and wanting more. Her body was on fire. He let loose her peak and pulled her astride him.
“Ride me.” His husky voice caressed her sensitized skin.
Dovie lifted herself and then slammed back down on him and his head fell back into the couch, exposing his Adam’s apple. Dovie leaned in and kissed it. He growled and put both hands on her hips.
She ground into him, circling left and right. His thumb found her clit and she swelled with need, an ache so deep inside her she didn’t know how to fill it. Torren thrust his hips up and flicked her nub. Dovie’s back arched in pleasure, white dots dancing behind her eyes as she held her breath and waited for that wave to crest. Again, he slammed into her, pushing her down with his other hand until she was so full of him. He swelled inside her and the crest came. She crashed over the edge as the air rushed from her lungs and he grunted along with her, releasing his seed.
Her breath came fast and hard as she fell into his chest. To her surprise, they were touching and she wasn’t instantly coming all over again.
“We are bound, Duv.” He pushed her up and gazed into her eyes. The scales adorning his body were a rich, bright honey. Torren ran his fingertips over her flesh, and goose bumps rose along her skin. His eyes followed his hand, as if memorizing each naked inch of her.
“You’re staring,” Dovie purred as his soft hands skimmed her bare shoulders.
“I know.”
The end
About the author:
USA TODAY & INTERNATIONAL Bestselling Author Decadent Kane is an indie paranormal romance writer with a pen name taken from a burlesque name generator and began her career on a dare...
She lives in Wyoming with her two girls, fiancé, and furbabies.
Find out more about Decadent Kane:
Website
Amazon
Newsletter
Kiss of the Fallen
by Kharma Kelley
Copyright © 2017 by Kharma Kelley. All rights reserved.
Editor: Nicole R. Locker
Cover Design: Kharma Kelley
Kiss of the Fallen
by Kharma Kelley
Dear Reader,
I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted nothing to do with the war brewing among all the supernaturals and have grown tired of fighting all these centuries. All of us are screwed up anyway; but who am I to judge who drinks blood and who eats souls?
As luck (or lack thereof) would have it, I get sucked into one last mission from my vampire government and the next thing I knew, I find a half-naked demon chained to my bed; and let's just say she's not happy. And, as much as I enjoy seeing a beautiful woman grace my nocturnal bed, unfortunately, I'm not happy either. Of all demons, someone delivers to me, a Black Blood Slayer—demons bred to do one thing and one thing only: kill vampires. Her blood is spiked with a desire I long to tame, but if I do, I could be six-feet under; this time forever. Her fighter's spirit shakes me to my missing soul, wanting to claim her with a need I can't name. But with both of us on the run trying to uncover a conspiracy within the vampire ranks, how can I be sure she wants me to love or to kill?
—Commander Tristan Castillion, Vampire Royal Guard
Chapter One: The Darkest Night
"SOONER OR LATER, MR. Darkness comes for us all," Tristan spoke through his earpiece. "And you will be no different."
He stood fixed and unstirring on the stone platform on the church roof, waiting and watching the world from a grim, birds eye view. The old Byzantine cathedral was and always would be hi
s place to watch the world unfold. Or unravel...whichever one made the most sense. In New Orleans, it was a fifty-fifty chance.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. We can die again, and this time it's awful. It's not necessarily like our second lives are fleeting, Tristan," a rich, Manhattan accent retorted dismissively through the earpiece. "So tell me, why hasn't Master Darkness come for you yet?" Gregory asked, perched atop another building at least twenty clicks away from where Tristan was posted.
He groaned as he stretched his lean body upwards, momentarily looking up at the night's cloudy, storm-brewing sky. You better not fucking pour down right now. He was wearing his new, cashmere pea coat, and if luck had anything to do with it, he would be stuck here, drenched in a ruined, new coat while listening to Tristan's brooding during this stupid stake out. "I mean, it's not like you haven't walked up to his door and knocked on occasion."
Tristan sighed. Though Greg was being cheeky, there was a bit of truth to that. He had died once, and ever since has longed to test the boundaries of death. How many times had he jumped into frays between other supernaturals, heavily outnumbered? How annoyed was Tristan when he came back victorious? If he was already deemed as reckless when he was a human, what the hell was the term for what he was now? The blood, and the sin along with it, was all he had these days. It made a date with Master Darkness a pretty tempting one.
"Maybe he's saving me for one more dance, Greg. If The Three keeps giving us jobs like this, he might pick up my dance card a lot sooner than later."
Greg scoffed at his brooding partner. "Gees, Tristan. You need to get more positive, old buddy. You should think about getting a companion, you know?" He laughed to himself. "Have someone to hunt with, live out eternity with... Bang it out when eternity gets frustrating."
Greg got tickled at the thought of Tristan being whipped over a companion. The 400 year old vampire was insanely old school. He enjoyed doing missions with Tristan, but took some time getting used to his dark sense of humor. In fact, he didn't remember ever seeing the guy smile.
Tristan grunted. "Yeah, well I like my freedom. Besides, I have you to hunt with. I'm fine with eternity on my own, and the other thing, let's just say I can find it when I need it. No need to have it chained to me."
"Yeah, why not, when you've got two fully functional hands, right chief?" Greg smiled until he didn't get a confirmation. "Tristan?"
Tristan tensed as he zeroed in on a young, dark-haired woman in a frosty gray dress who popped out of a book store and walked hastily down the sidewalk. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, and the brown, paper gift bag she grasped in her right hand.
"Heads up, Greg. I got a visual. Green Girl heading northbound towards you. She's carrying a brown bag full of goodies."
Tristan continued to watch her. He had to be certain she didn't make any exchanges with anyone. If there was a grimoire in that bag, their job was to retrieve it.
Greg frowned hearing Tristan's warning and hopped down onto a ledge to get a better look. Finally, seeing the woman power-walk through a crowd, he nodded. "I see her. I'm gonna tail her."
"Hey," Tristan warned. "You just tail her, alright? Don't approach her or spook her."
Eagerly, Greg leaped to the other building, running parallel and trying to keep up with her. "Tristan, I'm not afraid of some fucking witch, alright? I got her!"
Tristan began to hop down from the roof onto a stain glass ledge. Being the more seasoned hunter, he always took the low road, while a watcher took the high. They always hunted in pairs, and you never broke protocol, not if you wanted to live.
"Don't underestimate Green Girls, Greg. Just let me know where she is, and I'll get to her on the ground."
"Yeah, yeah, Tristan. Let's bag this Green Girl and go home!" Greg continued to leap from building to building, watching the dark-haired girl move through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. She looked around frantically, the look of suspicion clear on her face.
Tristan vaulted down fifty feet onto the steps of the cathedral and began running across the street, catching up to her. "Greg! Give me coordinates! Where is she?"
He bumped and pushed people out of his way, sending some pedestrians flying against walls as he moved through, his eyes searching for the woman.
"Greg!"
Greg leapt down from the building and landed only a few feet from her last steps. "She's past the music shop," he huffed. "She still has the bag. I'm right on her tail."
Tristan ran faster, knowing where Greg was referring to. "Stay right there, Greg! I'm coming! Don't do anything until I get there!"
Greg snorted and continued to follow the woman even as she turned to meet his eyes. He was way closer to her than Tristan. He could totally take her down.
"Tris, no worries, I can still see her with the bag." He moved through the crowd, continuing to focus on just her and the brown bag.
Finally cornering her against the gate, Gregory stood at the opening of the alley, smiling. Their little cat-and-mouse game finally drew to a close, leaving them both panting in the alley.
"Double, double, Toil and Trouble! What do we have here? What's in the bag, Green Girl?" Greg ran his fingers against the bricks on the wall. "I hope its treats, being so close to Halloween and all."
The dark-haired woman with eyes like fireflies leaned against the gate and pulled the bag to her chest. "None of your business, vamp!" she barked. "You have no right to harass me here. Now let me go!"
"Give me the bag and I'll let you walk outta here." His dominating voice echoed in the small alley. "Refuse, then you'll be lucky to crawl outta here. Your choice."
The dark-haired witch violently shook her head, little tears flinging off her young face. "No! You'll have to come take it!" She stood like iron even in the midst of her terror, conjuring bravery through her mind when her body felt differently.
Greg smiled and licked his fangs in anticipation. Witches were the bane of his existence. He always felt they regarded themselves higher than many other creatures, but in the end they were just like any other human—food.
"Ohhhh, an invitation!" He moved with such speed, he appeared to have teleported right in front of her face.
The witch screeched and tried to back up. "Please! Don't hurt me!" Tears trailed down her cheeks.
Greg leered down at her, disgusted at her crying. Weaklings taste horrible. "Now, I can drain you dry, but I hear your kind's blood tastes like shit and takes forever to rinse out. I don't see the big deal with your kind anyway. Bunch of sniveling, spell-bending sluts if you ask me. But if you give me the book, I will spare you. You have my word. Now, reach down like a good girl and pull out the book."
Tristan saw Greg cornering their target in the alley and rushed forward. "Greg! Don't!"
Greg looked back at Tristan with a smirk. "It's alright, Tris. I got her!"
The witch, slowly with a sneer, reached in and pulled out a small, silver orb. As Greg turned to face her with a gaping smile exposing his fangs, she quickly stuffed the orb into his mouth.
"Ab intus illuminet!" she shouted, throwing her hands towards him.
Greg roared and convulsed briefly as the silver orb within him lit up brilliantly, casting blinding streams of light through his eyes and mouth until he burned to a pillar of ash.
The witch tossed more orbs out towards Tristan, who quickly shadowed before she could detonate them.
Horrified, she looked around frantically, bouncing her eyes from one side to the other, clutching the brown bag in one hand, her last orb in the other. "Show yourself! Or leave me alone! I'll toast you just like I did your friend!"
"I'm sorry he terrorized you." a deep voice of Tristan echoed. "But I'm gonna need that grimoire. If you relinquish it to me, I will not harm you. You have my word."
She scoffed. "What good is a vamper's word?" She clutched the orb tighter. "You are no ally of witches. You seek to watch us burn! And I'll kill every one of you lying, monstrous, parasitic vampires as long as there's a breath in my damn body!"
"There's no way I can persuade you to give me the book?" He asked again.
"No!" She threw the orb down. "Illustr—"
Before she could complete her spell, Tristan appeared behind her and covered her mouth.
"Fine, have it your way, Green Girl." He dropped his other arm with force on the back of her neck, knocking her unconscious. The witch sunk to the pavement like a sack of potatoes. He looked down at her and shook his head. "Now I'm down another partner, thanks to you."
Tristan cast his eye on the ashy remains of his fallen comrade. He should kill her. After all, she did kill a vampire, and to keep the peace it was really 'eye for an eye' in the supernatural world. You kill my brother, I kill your sister kinda thing.
But what did it matter? The witch had a right to protect herself, and Greg was being foolish underestimating her. Witches never were what they seemed, and they played the victim well, but they were, no pun intended, quite crafty. They used that perceived weakness to their advantage. Killing her would only bring more unhappy discourse between his kind and the Green Girls, their derogatory code word for witches.
He walked over to the brown bag and pulled out a thick, red and black covered book and examined it. The red paint on the cover was not paint, but old blood stained to color the hard cover. He smelled it and sighed. That made the book truly bonafide. The creator of the grimoire always colored it with their blood, letting the thick, red liquid of life stain the fibers. There were many wanna-be witches and frauds out there who made grimoires, but he felt the power on this one. It definitely was legit.
The Three would be happier than a vamp in a blood bank to get this, as it would be an invaluable bargaining chip to hold over the witches. Granted, that was why they found it necessary to dispatch him and Greg to retrieve it on such short notice.
