Some Lycan Hot

by Michele Bardsley

  SOME LYCAN HOT

  Broken Heart 10

  By Michele Bardsley

  National Bestselling Author

  Copyright 2014 by Michele Bardsley

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Cover Art by Renée George

  http://www.reneegeorgeoriginals.com

  Dedication

  To the Viking

  My true love

  Acknowledgements

  My husband is made of awesome with a side of awesome covered in awesome sauce. He is magnificent. His love, support, and cheerleading are essential to me as a human being and as a writer. I am a lucky, lucky girl. (Also, he was the first one to use “ass goblin,” which still makes me laugh.)

  Renee George is the most amazing hand-holding, ass-kicking, cover-making, truth-giving, bestest-best friend in the universe. That’s right: THE UNIVERSE.

  She’s the reason this novella got done and got done right. She’s also the reason that Treese exists. If you wish to throw any tokens of appreciation at her (not too hard, though, she bruises easy), like her Facebook Fan Page.

  http://www.facebook.com/authorreneegeorge

  I also wish to note that I like Robyn Peterman Zhan because, holy shitballs, she’s a Broken Heart fan. Okay, the reason I really like her because she talks about acorn thongs and old-lady twerking and bedazzled merkins. She’s made me laugh until I peed myself. You can pee yourselves, too, by reading Robyn’s hysterical romantic comedies.

  http://www.robynpeterman.com/

  “That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying, ‘As you wish,’ what he meant was, ‘I love you.” And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back.”

  ~The Princess Bride (1987 Movie)

  “I hope your apple pie was freakin’ worth it!”

  ~Dean Winchester, Supernatural, “Scarecrow”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Legends of the Lycans

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  The Blood Moon Battle

  Book Extras: Cut Scenes with Author Commentary

  Excerpt: Valentine’s Day Sucks (Broken Heart 9.5)

  Excerpt: Harry Little, Leprechaun (Broken Heart 10.5)

  Michele’s Biography

  List of Michele’s Available Books

  Bonus! Chapter One: Love Gone Wild

  LEGENDS OF THE LYCANS

  IT IS SAID that the Moon Goddess wanted children, so she took her wolf form and mated with an alpha named Tark.

  She gave birth to twins. The firstborn was a wolf of black. And the second, a wolf of gray. Her oldest son had the ability to turn from human to wolf. However, her second-born could only assume his wolf nature on the night of the full moon.

  The Moon Goddess’s sons grew up, and soon they wanted wives and families. The Goddess offered her firstborn a beautiful female wolf, which she gave the ability to shift into human. To her second-born, the Goddess gave a beautiful female human. Since her son only assumed his wolf form during the full moon, she gave his mate the same ability.

  And so, some lycanthropes are full-bloods, shifting whenever they need, and others the Roma, shifting only on the full moon.

  This is the story told for generations from father to son, mother to daughter, of the lycanthrope heritage.

  It is, however, a lie.

  We must also consider the unexpected branch of the lycanthrope family tree: the loup de sang.

  In 1807, a small group of loup garou emigrated from France to the town of Vincennes, the capital city in Indian Territory. Among the newest arrivals was the widow Chantelle Marchand, who was eight months pregnant. She made the long, treacherous journey to the United States to join the pack of her father, Jacques Marchand.

  Not long after Chantelle arrived, a territorial dispute erupted among the loup garou and the deamhan fola—vampires. The pregnant widow was among the casualties of a short, but brutal skirmish. Unfortunately, the vampire who killed her also tried to Turn her.

  As she lay dying, her father delivered triplets: the first was a son, Gabriel, then a girl, Anise, and another son, Ren—all with the same strange condition. They were alive, but could only gain nourishment from blood. Gabriel was given to a lycan outcast. Anise and Ren were sent to live among the Vedere psychics.

  Marchand’s grandchildren were the first ever blood-drinking lycanthropes, and it was he who coined the term loup de sang. However, in his diary, he wrote only about the birth of Gabriel. He never mentioned Gabriel’s siblings.

  So, for reasons unknown, Marchand lied, too.

  Then, years ago, when renowned prophet Astria Vedere was still very young, she made a prophecy:

  A vampire queen shall come forth from the place of broken hearts. The seven powers of the Ancients will be hers to command. She shall bind with the outcast, and with this union, she will save the dual-natured. With her consort, she will rule vampires and lycanthropes as one.

  Alas, this, too, is a lie.

  Well … sorta.

  None of these tales include a whisper about the only known royal lycans—the triplet princes of all werewolves who are neither full-bloods nor Roma nor loup de sang.

  The story of their origin is not a lie.

  It’s a secret.

  OKAY, OKAY, IT used to be a secret. That secret was revealed in Must Love Lycans when the royal lycanthropes’ immortal parents, Aufanie and Tark, imparted the truth to Kelsey (who is now Damian’s mate).

  You can read this next part, or you can bookmark this spot, go read Must Love Lycans and Only Lycans Need Apply, and then return here.

  Excerpted from Must Love Lycans:

  “NEARLY A CENTURY ago, I made a bargain. It was necessary, but part of the terms included my departure from the earthly plane,” said Aufanie.

  “Forever?” I asked.

  “Only a hundred years—and I could not reveal the details of the bargain. The moment it was struck, I was barred from your world. But though I disappeared, my wolves did not lose their faith. Then several decades ago, I failed my children when they needed me most. Damian stopped speaking to me. Almost all of them did. Before that terrible night, you see, when they said their prayers or whispered their hopes, I could hear them. It gave us succor.” Tark clasped his wife’s shoulder. She offered him a grateful smile. “It has only been bearable because of Tark.”

  “He took the bargain, too?”

  “He was the bargain,” she said softly. Her expression shifted like mercury, and I knew I would get no further information. My instincts told me that was a conversation she wanted to have with Damian. I had no idea why Damian and the other werewolves had chucked their religion out the proverbial window, but if I knew anything about the man, it was not a decision made without cause.


  “Can you sense my emotions?” asked the goddess curiously. “Or his?” She nodded toward her husband.

  “I wasn’t really trying.” I lowered my shields and attempted to discern their emotions. Nothing. It was exactly like trying to read Jarred. “Is that a god thing?”

  “In a way,” she said. “You’ve known someone else you cannot read.”

  I nodded, unsure where my ex-boss fit in to the picture. “Jarred Dante. He’s like you?”

  “He is … and he isn’t,” she offered. She looked at me apologetically, obviously ill at ease with her non-answer. Then she said, “You must convince Damian to go home, Kelsey—to Schwarzwald.”

  I blinked at them. “You want me to convince Damian to go to Germany?”

  “To the Black Forest, to the place and the hopes he abandoned there. You must both be at the temple on the eve of Winter Solstice—to prepare for our arrival. The few priestesses who still loyally serve me will know what to do.” She smiled sadly. “I once had many names, but my favorite was Aufanie. You may call me that if you wish.”

  “Okay.” My head was starting itch from drying shampoo, and I felt chilled even though the air wasn’t cold at all. I wrapped my arms around myself as I felt a sudden, awful foreboding. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

  “You were never meant to be one of us,” said Tark kindly. He even looked a smidge sorry.

  “But she will be,” said Aufanie firmly. “Damian has chosen her. And we will not fail our son again.”

  Tark looked down at his wife, his gaze filled with tenderness. I didn’t have to be an empath to sense the deep and abiding love they had for each other. I felt a soul-deep ache as I watched them. I wanted what they had. And I knew—the same as I knew the earth was round and the sky was blue—that I could have that kind of love with Damian.

  You know, if I didn’t die.

  PROLOGUE

  “DAMIAN, CROWN PRINCE of lycanthropes and his mate. You do us a great honor.”

  Sitting in an oversized red-velvet wingback—Alaya Bennington waited. Her dress was more elaborate than those worn by the acolytes, a privilege of her rank as high priestess of the Moon Goddess. She also wore a long black veil, which hid her identity, and the face marred by fire.

  Even though she had received signs that the king of lycans and his queen would visit, she felt less like the high priestess and more like the girl she’d been so long ago. She’d grown up with the royal lycans, and had been a loyal friend. She missed them. Missed them all. But only one brought the ache to her heart and the tears to her eyes.

  Darrius.

  Was he okay?

  Had he found love?

  Was he a husband, a father?

  “You are the high priestess?” asked Damian.

  “I am.” She rose and an executed a graceful curtsey. “Your Highnesses.”

  Kelsey offered her a warm smile.

  Damian stared at her, his confused expression melding into shocked realization. “Alaya?” he choked out.

  Damn. She should’ve known he’d recognize her, even with the veil. She inclined her head.

  He grabbed her into a fierce hug. “We thought you lost! Why did you never contact us?”

  Oh, if only she could tell him. She wanted, so badly, to ask about Darrius, but she was afraid to know if he’d moved on. Had he found another? He deserved happiness. And children. And love. And everything they could never have together.

  “We all have our destinies,” she said, her voice rife with regret. “And our sacrifices.”

  Damian pulled back from her, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “Darrius searched for you. For weeks we all combed every inch of the village and the mountains looking for you and other survivors. We found none.”

  “I’m sorry he suffered, that you all suffered,” she said quietly. “We were separated after the first explosion, and he followed you to protect Anna.”

  “Yes. Then he returned to the village to look for you. We found him unconscious in the woods. What happened?”

  She shook her head. “The second explosion was practically under my feet. Maria and another priestess found me. They got me to the temple and sealed it against the invaders. My sisters cared for me, but it took a long time to heal. Even when I regained my full strength, I was left scarred. Too scarred, Damian.”

  She was telling him the truth, but not all of it. Not the part where Darrius had found her fighting with Nefertiti—the soulless vampire who’d led the village attack. He took the poisoned blade meant for Alaya, and was felled. Nefertiti had laughed, and then ran away, leaving Alaya to watch her true love die.

  “You do a disservice to my brother,” said Damian. “Do you think he will judge you for your scars? He sees you with his heart.”

  She knew that, damn it. Darrius had loved her deeply, the same fervent way she’d loved him. But she couldn’t see him again. Not ever. It was the only way for him to live.

  “I freed him.”

  “You freed yourself.”

  Damian wouldn’t understand—not unless she told him about the bargain she’d made. She knew the royals too well. Not only would they call in Darrius, but Drake, too, and she’d have the Three Musketeers hunting down Nemesis. They would do everything in their power to break the curse, including put themselves in danger. Darrius would risk his life for hers.

  There’d been enough sacrificing.

  Alaya closed her eyes and swallowed the knot clogging her throat. Even after seven decades, she felt the pain of that day, the day she let Darrius go—to save him. She pulled out of Damian’s embrace. “What’s done is done. You must promise not to tell him about me.”

  “I cannot.”

  Alaya placed her gloved hand on his cheek. “Would you hurt him with the truth? What purpose would it serve now to tell him I live?”

  Damian considered her words. She could tell by his expression that he was conflicted about keeping her secret. His instincts were no doubt screaming at him to be straight with his brother—and let his brother deal with her.

  “Please, Damian. Please.”

  “I will honor your wish,” said Damian. “For now.”

  AFTER DAMIAN AND his mate left her sanctuary, Alaya felt restless, unnerved. She pulled off the veil and gloves, and tossed them onto the desk. Then she paced in front of the hearth.

  “Zeus Almighty! The drama!”

  Alaya recognized the snide voice instantly. She whirled around and saw Nemesis sitting in the chair she’d vacated. Her sword lay against her thigh, her fingers draped over the hilt. The goddess of wrath was dressed in her usual outfit: a tight black leather vest and even tighter black leather pants, and shiny black boots. Her long dark hair was woven into a long braid, and her face was porcelain beauty—strangely expressionless except for her eyes. Her eyes were black and within, burned twin flames representing wrath and judgment..

  In other words, she was a bitch.

  “What the hell do you want?” asked Alaya.

  “Oh, the usual. Peace. Love. Torment.”

  “I thought you only tormented on Saturdays.”

  “I have a flexible schedule.” Nemesis lifted a black eyebrow. “So, your true love is within your grasp. It’s too bad about the whole dying thing. Remember, if he sees your face, our little bargain is nullified and poor Darrius—” She drew a finger across her throat and then pretended to cough and choke.

  Alaya rolled her eyes and turned toward the hearth. Giving up Darrius had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. The price she paid to have his life restored—and no memory of his death—was to give him up. She remembered Nemesis’s words. She thought about them every single day: The price for his life is his love. If he should ever see this face of yours again, his shall die.

  “I’ll honor the terms of our bargain,” said Alaya. She turned and glared at the goddess. “Stay away from him.”

  Nemesis laughed. “I can go near him all I like. It’s you that needs to keep the distance.”

  �
�I’m aware,” snapped Alaya. “Don’t you have something else to do? Like kick puppies and take candy from children?”

  “Not in these modern times,” said Nemesis with a sigh. “Back in the old days, we could take the candy and the children.” She rose from the chair and picked up her sword. “If Damian is reclaiming his kingship and his castle, you can count on his brothers making an appearance. It would be a shame if Damian’s first act as lycan king is to bury his youngest brother.”

  “I get it, Nemesis,” said Alaya. “I’ll leave tonight. He won’t see my face. And FYI? I don’t want to see yours, either.”

  “Aw, now you’ve hurt my feelings.” Nemesis winked. “See you soon, pooch.” She disappeared.

  Fury curled through Alaya. Making a bargain with Nemesis had opened the door to the goddess’s constant torture. Whatever the goddess had once been—daughter of justice, balancer of good and evil, punisher of the heartless—she had turned into a seething mass of bitterness and cruelty.

  What did it matter? Alaya would gladly pay the price again for the life of her true love. She hated that he grieved from her loss. Yet, it was better he believed her dead than track her down and lose his own life.

  She grasped the locket around her neck and lifted it so she could unclasp the silver heart. Inside was a grainy black and white picture of Darrius: his smile wide; his eyes twinkling; his face oh-so-handsome.

  “I love you,” she said, kissing the picture. “I always will.”