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

by Kiki Howell

  Her scent enticed him. Even as the dead haunted him behind her eyes, the pull to her was sobering. Attraction was magnetic. He would've embraced death more fondly if he'd known earlier that Master Darkness had a mistress. An untamed beauty of frightening proportions.

  Tristan's eyes followed the line of blood as it trailed down the valley of her perfect breasts, gently flowing along the honeyed curve, forcing his cock to harden as his eyes watched the smooth skin of her areola pucker around her erect nipple. It begged to be tasted. Claimed.

  His hand reached out and held her face as he pulled her closer with a force and quickness that surprised her. She hissed as he ran his tongue over her flesh to catch the tempting trail of black blood. Slowly, up between her valley, across her sensitive nipple and up the hollow of her throat.

  A foreign shiver ran through her at the sensation of his touch on her skin. It flowed directly to her core that already ached for him. Her resistance already ran her hot like an engine. Then finally, she closed her eyes as he sank his teeth into her throat.

  She had a pulse like a human, and the hypnotic rhythm drove him even further from sanity. Her warm blood flowed into his mouth and began to beat away the agony of the shifter bite.

  “More,” she whispered as he drank.

  His lips were soft against her flesh as he sucked. He was lost to the bliss of such fire in his veins, his other hand curved around her waist, pulling her closer against him. Her breasts flush to his chest as she sat almost grinding against his already steel erection straining in his pants was too much to bear. He crushed her against him and he swore he heard her moan.

  Her fingers raked up from the nape of his neck and through his hair. Her touch was dangerous, urging. Mistress Darkness wanted to claim someone tonight, but he wanted to claim her first.

  Her fangs extended in the promise of his blood, and her body begged for a taste of him. Just a little, she soothed to herself. Enough to take the edge off while he fed.

  Tristan pushed himself away, panting. He ran his tongue across his lips, tasting the last of her precious blood. Watching the puncture wounds close and heal, hunger still lingered in his eyes. As he leaned toward her, Zoë backed away, trying to put some distance.

  “Don’t,” she warned. “Your blood calls to me like the hounds of hell, vampire.”

  She trailed a finger down his throat, down his torso where his blood-stained shirt clung to his chest.

  “Tristan...” She was now horny as hell and he’d become her favorite torment. He was both the carrot and the stick. “In fact, if I wasn't so hellbent on proving that I had some self-control, you'd be either in unfathomable pain or abysmal pleasure. I haven't decided yet.”

  He didn’t remember how she’d finally learned it, but he loved the way his name sounded in her mouth. Her sultry voice captured it, toying with the syllables against her full lips. The tone chased away the distorted voices that taunted him.

  There was nothing safe about being in the arms of a Black Blood Slayer. Not for a vampire, and yet, with his sanity and resolve being stacked from one risk to another, dying either beneath or on top of her seemed to make all the sense in the world if Master Darkness wanted him tonight. If a shifter bite wasn’t going to take him, surely Zoë would.

  “I think you’ve already made that decision when you brought me here, Zoë. Why are you so determined to save me? You have no idea what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I want you all to myself. Maybe I want to choose how you die, vampire.”

  Tristan leaned closer, looking her over. “I make no fantasies about what it is you really want from me. I’m barely coherent enough to stand, but if I’m dying, then here’s what I want from you. He gripped her wrist and jerked her toward him.

  Zoë grabbed his shirt, leaned in and kissed him. Her mouth passionately ravished his, letting a soft moan escape as she felt his tongue stroke against her fang as she nicked him.

  Just a little taste, cowboy. To calm me.

  Oh, her body roared at the heady taste of him. This was much more potent than mere chocolate. Far more than a passing fancy. With the way it heated her bones and rocked her core, she felt his blood could sate the appetite of a hundred fallen.

  She was a liar. Zoë wanted much more than a taste.

  She ripped at his shirt, ignoring the buttons that flew off as she stripped him of anything barring her gaze of his flesh. Their lips barely broke union as she helped him pull off his shirt.

  Tossing it aside, his hand cupped her breast, teasing it with his thumb as she moaned into his mouth. She leaned forward to unbuckle his pants when he rolled her over onto her back.

  After she kicked off her boots, he gripped the edges of her jeans and tugged them as she slightly lifted her hips to the sky. All that was left was thin, lacy panties that reminded him of the pair he’d first seen her in. The tension between them turned into a dark lust that would damn them both, but neither of them cared.

  Tristan kneeled between her olive thighs, ready to worship her, but first, he needed to see the altar.

  “Take them off for me,” he commanded in his deep, husky tone. His gaze was forceful, ready, and his bold command made her wet and anxious.

  Slipping her thumbs inside the hems of her thong, she gently and slowly slid them until they were past her ankles. Bending her knees, she parted her legs in invitation, all the while eyeing Tristan. Even as her hand lowered to stroke her drenched petals, Zoë crooked another finger as he positioned himself between those thighs and reclaimed her lips.

  Within seconds, she unbuckled and pushed his pants down, finally freeing him. Almost purring, she wrapped her fingers around him and gently stroked.

  He hissed at the seductive feel of her hands on him. He pulled back. Nudging her legs further apart, he lifted her hips onto his lap, and with full force slid into her deep.

  Her tight walls contracted, gripping him as he pinned her hands over her head. He wanted, for one moment, to claim death’s dark mistress with everything he had. Her beauty, her danger; he wanted all of it.

  Zoë gasped as he entered her, his thickness building her pleasure with each stroke. She locked her ankles around his waist, eager for more. He leaned against her clit and her hands bawled into fists as he fucked her with primal need.

  She wanted to sink her teeth into him, taste that old fighter’s blood that lured and tempted her, to feel that sweet pain and pleasure all wrapped up in a delectable wrapper that was Tristan’s body.

  Picking her up, he shifted her onto his lap and she rode him hard, crooning at the position change that she loved so much. Face to face, she found herself staring into his lust filled eyes and realized the position offered much more intimacy than she preferred with her prey.

  But he isn’t prey.

  Oh, yes he is. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Her internal thoughts were desperate to be appeased, but she wasn’t ready yet. The thoughts were blown away when he leaned down and took one of her breasts into his mouth. He alternated between light tongue flicks to hard sucks, grazing her nipple with his teeth, exploring her body in a fashion that most failed to bother.

  Her body shuddered with his intense thrusts and the sensations of his hands and mouth. She gripped him in an embrace, her arms around his neck as each stroke kept her climbing higher and higher towards a zenith.

  Tristan didn’t know how much longer he could keep from coming. As bizarre as it seemed, he craved to stay inside her forever, like he belonged there.

  But it was daytime. and though her blood was a sweet elixir to nasty shifter bites, he needed to rest or else he wouldn’t be much good to the fight. He still needed to heal.

  Fuck it. She felt like a goddess wrapped around him, moaning her pleasure against his ear as she rode his cock deep and steady. Then, when he felt her fangs brush against his throat, he tilted his head away for wider access.

  “If that’s what you want. Take it.”

  Zoë, torn between pleasure and hunge
r, violently shook her head. “No.”

  I don’t trust myself.

  Taking a page from her book, he dragged his fingernail across the flesh right below his ear, opening his skin to shed a bit of his blood.

  She breathed it in and clutched him tighter. He wasn’t playing fair. Her fingers raked through his hair, and her tongue sought out the trail of blood until she gave in to the thrill and bit into his neck as her orgasm erupted, sending shockwaves between her legs.

  Tristan sucked in a breath as her nails dug into his flesh. He held on tight as he felt her come, close on the heels of his own. She was a succubus, siphoning all of him until she had her fill.

  Her sheath tightened and, combined with her thirst, Tristan roared out as he found his release.

  Shifting onto his back, Tristan felt Zoë continuing to drink. His body grew weak, and he clenched her shoulder.

  "Zoë..."

  Just a bit more...

  Zoë clung to him, reveling in the taste, until the sound of the back door breaking finally broke the trance.

  With a growl, she looked up to see several Were-shifters run in, including a grey-eyed one towering nearly six and a half feet tall. His pure blonde hair fell around his shoulders as he crossed his muscular arms.

  Otto looked at the display and said something in Albanian to the shifters behind him.

  "Hmm. I thought you said she was protecting the vampire?" He tilted his head at the Black Blood Slayer, nude and wrapped around the equally naked and possibly late great Tristan Castillion of The Three's Royal Guard.

  I always knew the vampire loved to play with matches.

  “Doesn’t look like that to me.”

  Zoë looked down, shocked to find a half-drained Tristan unconscious on the floor.

  "Shit!"

  Chapter Fifteen: Howling for You

  TRISTAN WOKE UP with a start, greeted with total darkness surrounding him. As his eyes adjusted, he shifted on the soft platform of the bed and ripped the covers from his naked body.

  Scanning the room, there were no sign of anyone in there. The thick curtains were tightly drawn, but the heavy scent of wet dog told him this wasn’t a vampire’s sleeping quarters.

  He looked at his arm which was completely healed. Zoë. She hadn’t killed him. In fact, he felt a lot like his old self. Maybe even more than his old self. His internal clock told him it was two hours past sundown and gave him plenty of time to recuperate from...

  Where the hell was she?

  The soft sounds of talking were coming from below him, but too low to recognize. Tristan quietly slid off the bed and sifted through his clothing piled in a chair for anything to be used for a weapon. To his surprise, his gun was on the floor behind the chair.

  Stooping down on his haunches, he checked the clip to find only a couple rounds left. Well, this time I will not miss.

  Tristan tugged on his pants and boots, staying quiet until it was time for his exit. He guessed maybe three or four Were-shifters were downstairs

  They were probably thinking he was not quite ready for questioning; however, his thoughts couldn’t go forward without the concern for Zoë. She’d made light work of the Were-shifters before, so what did they do to her? Her soft, powdery scent was all over his skin, a stark reminder of how close he’d come to death. Or life.

  Hearing voices move up the stairs, Tristan moved swiftly to the other side of the door, his gun cocked and ready against his shoulder. The male voice lowered and went back downstairs. He used the opportunity to slowly, very slowly, open the door at just a crack.

  Peeking through the sliver of light, he saw the steps cleared as a large shifter walked past his view at the base of the stairs. Opening the door wider, he cringed as the hinges made a bit more sound than he anticipated.

  A low pitched creaking sound droned for a split second until he caught the door. The talking continued downstairs without hesitation, apparently unaware of the noise. Tristan began to step out when he heard a toilet flush to his right.

  Waiting back, he watched a male walk out. Before he made it down the stairs, Tristan quickly stepped out for a hostage.

  The shifter froze as Tristan’s arm caught him around the neck, pressing the gun against his temple.

  “Make one sound and your pack will be eating your remains in remembrance by daybreak,” Tristan whispered to the subdued Were-shifter.

  His only response was a curt nod and slightly raising his hands in surrender.

  Good. He had his attention.

  “Now, how many are down there?”

  The Were-shifter hesitated, then finally bent his pinkie and ring finger on one hand, leaving eight. Damn. He was gonna need more bullets.

  Pack sizes varied, but eight was nearly half a pack of wolves. He was outgunned, but that wasn’t nearly as alarming as the fact they were down there just hanging out while he slumbered.

  Something didn’t feel right. He needed to find Zoë and get the hell outta dodge before they even knew they were gone. He wasn’t trying to get bitten again.

  “Okay, where's the woman? Hmm? The Black Blood Slayer? Is she alive?

  Another quick nod.

  “Good boy. You’re going to take me to her. Nice and quiet. If you do anything to warn your brothers, I will end you. Do you understand?”

  Another quick nod.

  The Were-shifter proceeded to move down the stairs quietly with Tristan following close behind as they walked. The shifters sounded like they were in the kitchen area, speaking in maybe Albanian, which was where the alpha spawns originated from.

  Thirty-one alpha male shifters of different species were born in the Balkan Mountains, and when the time came, all of them spread across the globe, building packs and societies. Otto, of course was the ancient wolf alpha, finding himself enjoying the Americas.

  Walking down to the base of the stairs, the wolf turned to the other side of the staircase toward the library room. Pushing the Were inside, he looked through the darkness to see Zoë against the wall with her hands pulled above her head in restraint.

  Walking closer, he saw she was chained up. They’d used the bit of sully chain Jay had given him. She dangled quietly. Unresponsive. Growling low in his throat, anger rose within him.

  “What did you do to her? Tell me.”

  The Were-shifter shook his head. “Nothing! She’s fine,” he whispered.

  “Oh yeah? She’s fine, eh?” Tristan pushed him towards her. “You have five seconds to untie her.” He frowned in disgust. “Five...” His counting paused as the Were-shifter quickly turned to challenge him.

  “Eat shit, vamper!”

  A gunshot would have all of them aware, so Tristan used the shifter’s momentum to flip him onto his back. Greeting him with the gun to his forehead, he refrained from rising.

  Instead he growled. “You fire that shot and every one of them out there will be on your ass!”

  “Perhaps,” Tristan sighed. “Wanna call my bluff?”

  “I’m going to rip your limbs off and eat them for Bronwyn, vamper!”

  Tristan heard one of them coming towards the room. Grabbing Rafe, Tristan backed towards Zoë’s body, his gun aimed as another ran into the room.

  “What the hell is going on here?” the shifter asked. “Rafe!”

  Tristan’s eyes reflected as he zeroed in at the growing threat. “I will put a bullet in your brother before another shifter comes closer. I’m not fucking around. I’m just here for her. Let me take her and we’re square.”

  “Ah, he’s alive,” a smooth Balkan accent rumbled as a tall, familiar shifter walked in behind them, making his way to the front. His bright grey eyes were eerie through the darkness of the room.

  Otto never seemed to rush for anything. Unless it was time to kill. Then all you saw was death, and only heard silence.

  “For a moment there, we thought you were not going to make it. I’m sure Rafe there was hoping a bit more than the others. Speaking of which, why don’t you lower your weapon and le
t him go.”

  “Fuck you, Otto. At least I didn’t tie him up like an animal like you did to her.” He pushed the gun harder against Rafe’s temple. “So, this fuckhead is going to untie her, before I really get pissed off.”

  Otto shook his head. “She asked us to do that, Tristan.”

  He frowned. “I don’t give a shit. She can’t speak for herself right now. What did you do to her?”

  Otto cut his eyes to her, then to Tristan. These last several hours had been quite interesting. First starting with an emergency call from Rafe and the others about the mission having gone bad and a Black Blood Slayer who had forced them to take her and a vampire to one of his dens.

  And if that hadn’t been enough, he’d gotten to see the Black Blood in flagrante before she had to work a miracle to revive him. All of this on a Monday night.

  “You did that to her,” Otto stated.

  Tristan scowled. “What?”

  “You don’t remember much, do you? I don’t think I’d ever forget. I caught you two banging away like dogs in heat, and she was feasting on your blood like it was the last call at a local vamp bar. If we didn’t barge in, you’d probably be dead. If she didn’t break her trance and give you her blood, you’d be dead.” He crossed his arms. “Don’t believe me? Talk to someone you would.” He turned and said something in Albanian and one of the wolves left.

  “I want his blood, Otto!,” Rafe hissed with a sneer.

  “Hesht, budalla!” Otto replied, seething to the Were held captive. “Your defense is for shit, Rafe.”

  Another familiar face was pushed to the forefront by the shifter who ran out to fetch someone.

  “Jay?”

  His face was less than pleased, but nonetheless, clean and void of bruises, blood, or black eyes. The shifters hadn’t touched him.

  “She’s okay, Tristan,” he said in a flat tone. “She needs to rest so she can recoup what strength she lost. We had to tie her up, but she also asked us to so she wouldn’t try to go back for seconds.”

  Tristan glanced over to her dangling in silence. He didn’t like seeing her so vulnerable, but with Jay there, the story checked out. He looked back to Jay, then Otto, pushed Rafe over towards them and lowered his gun.