The wind screamed and picked up fistfuls of sand, whipping it in their faces. It stung Sid’s eyes and felt as if it burrowed beneath his skin. Perhaps it was indeed getting inside of them all, and the deeper it dug, Sid suspected the more damage it would cause to everyone.
“Avery, Warren,” he screamed into the building storm. “This is no time for a fight. We need to pack up and look for a cave. A storm is coming.”
The sand lifted from the desert in great spirals now, and Sid could barely make out any of his traveling party through the flying grit. He squinted at two shadowy forms who appeared to walk away still. Another form came up on his right, and he thought he made out the face of Harris, but his eyes burned and teared so much he could scarcely keep them open.
Then he heard the scream and he ran in its direction, terrified of its implications.
The sand tore at his clothes. Hands of grit slashed his shirt to shreds. Nails of dirt raked down his face, leaving bloody streaks. But Sid ran on, ignoring the pain that lashed at him as he searched for his companions.
It would not happen again. He would not lose anyone to the Sands of Aziza this time. They were all going home.
Suddenly the storm stopped choking him. The djinn of the desert moved back. He could breathe again. The gravelly grit no longer coated his lungs, his throat, his skin. Sid stood still, hands braced on his knees, and took in great gulps of clean air.
Before him stood a dilapidated hut covered in tattered canvas and a thatched roof with gaping holes. The home of a desert guide, Sid guessed, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t find anything so innocent as an unsuspecting desert guide within.
He approached with extreme caution.
He swung the flap door opened and peered inside. The man at the tiny, square table never moved. Garrity Tyler was too busy talking to an invisible friend.
Sid listened as he crept closer. He searched the small area for a weapon as he approached. Luck smiled on him when he spotted a hatchet near the entrance, next to a tiny bundle of wood. He snapped the axe up and kept it behind his back.
“I don’t want to enter the void,” Garrity mumbled on. “I don’t want to join you. I just want out of here.”
This time, Sid heard the words of Garrity’s invisible friend, too. Kill him, the unseen djinn said. Kill him and I’ll show you the way out of the sands.
Garrity looked at Sid and the vampire froze. His hand tightened around the handle of the axe.
Garrity pulled a stake from behind his back. It was made of ash. A maniacal grin spread across his face as he rose from the table.
Kill him and be free, the djinn taunted close to Sid’s ear.
Sid tried to keep his cool. He kept his gaze locked on Garrity while he pondered how to deal with the unseen member of this pair.
Then a hand wrapped around the axe he held behind his back, and an iron grip snatched the weapon away. At the same time, a foot slammed into his shins and took him down. All this and Garrity had barely moved a foot from the table.
Sid lifted his head, saw Garrity draw nearer with the stake, and knew he was a goner.
The formless djinn laughed and flipped Sid onto his back.
But a flurry of fur and snarls interrupted them, and Garrity wasn’t fast enough to react. Sid watched the man’s face crumple in horror as something lithe, tall, and brown knocked him to the dirt floor. He went down in a cacophony of shrieks and snarls.
The formless djinn tried to pull Sid from the tent as the massacre ensued, but Sid remembered something from his training long ago. A spell Lord Richard had taught him before they went into the sands last time. And it had saved his life then. Perhaps it could now.
He grabbed at the gritty wrists of the disembodied djinn and went inward. In his mind he saw its hideous face, made of sand and bitter hate. A mouth full of jagged teeth opened and growled at the vampire.
Sid spoke the spell and held onto the djinn. A high pitched screech sounded, both inside his head and out. Then the sand went still all around him and the grip of the djinn relented.
Behind him, Sid heard Harris whisper, “I killed him.” Then the young werewolf gagged and vomited.
Sid went inside to find Harris back in human form, naked and curled up next to his victim in a pool of blood. He bent and took the young man in his arms, not caring about the gore that smeared over his clothes. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said, hugging Harris tight. “Now, let’s go fine the others and get out of this wretched hell.”
***
“We’re sorry we accused you of cheating,” Warren said, giving a sheepish look to Sid as they strolled to Council Headquarters for a special Underground birthday celebration.
“Yeah,” the troll added. “Apologies to you both, Sid and Harris. The desert got to us.”
Sid shook a finger in the troll’s face. “So you admit the place is haunted.”
The troll rolled his eyes. “Not at all. I admit that place plays on a monster’s mind. That’s it.”
Sid shook his head. “Stubborn behemoth bastard…”
Harris squeezed in between Avery and Sid, holding a decorated dwarf evergreen out in front of him. “Oh, don’t fight you two. This is Christmas.”
“Underground’s birthday,” Sid corrected him with a cheeky smirk.
“That too,” the young werewolf quipped, smiling. “So no arguments.”
Warren looked at Harris and chuckled. “Listen to the young wolf. No fighting.” The he swung an arm over Harris’ shoulder. “So what’re your plans now Garrity’s dead?”
Harris looked at his shoes, then at the looming sandcastle-like structure before them. “Don’t really know. Lord Richard said I could stay with him for a while if I wanted—”
“Oh, you can’t stay with that rake,” Sid interjected. “Your virtue will never be safe.”
Harris laughed at that.
“That’s Sid’s way of inviting you to come stay with us,” Avery said, a small smile quirking up the corner of his lips. “Vampires never speak directly.”
Sid was just about to say “Bullshit,” when Warren pushed a finger to his lips.
“And you can stay as long as you like,” Warren said.
Behind the finger pressed to his lips, Sid grinned when Harris accepted their offer with sincere gratitude. Everything was falling into place, and he remembered his vision of Harris as the new leader of the Council Hunters.
Yesterday, during his first good sleep since leaving the desert behind him, he’d had another vision within a dream. One where the triad became members of Council Headquarters. Harris had been there, overseeing the ceremony to swear them in. It would seem the triad were destined to train this young werewolf all along, and Sid welcomed another member into their monster family with a sense of contentment growing in his undead heart.
***
(Old cover)
(New cover)
Surrender To His Pleasure
Surrender Series Volume 7
A Surrender Novella
By Anita Lawless
BDSM romance with a switch caught between a MMA fighter and a sexy dom.
Includes:
Surrender To His Pleasure
Bonus Story: Roberta’s Younger Man by Louise Bohmer
Surrender To His Pleasure
“And then she said ‘Your dress is too short, honey,” the little blonde at his side chirped. “Can you believe it? Who is she to tell me whether my dress is too short or not…”
Her words melted into the blur of voices surrounding him. At one time, Nash would’ve already sweet talked her phone number out of her. She was cute, even if she was a chronic chirper. Instead he just let the woman yammer on about whatever and gave a noncommittal “Ummhmm,” when he thought he should. His mind wasn’t on getting laid tonight. Hadn’t been on it in a while. Not since Fiona walked out of his life six months ago.
Sure, there had been women. There had been sex. But every partner he took to his bed wore her face. His ex-wife was determined to
haunt him to his grave.
His brother Thomas appeared in the crowd and moved swiftly toward him. Just as the little blonde wrapped a hand around his bicep, Thomas stopped in front of him.
“You busy?” Thomas’ gaze darted from Nash to the blonde.
“Nah, what do you need?” Nash stood up and the little blonde pouted. He murmured, “Sorry, honey,” to the tiny chirper and then focused on his brother/boss.
“Got a situation in one of the private rooms.” He pointed a thumb toward the balcony that wrapped around the second floor of the club. “I need some muscle to back me up.”
Nash called to Bernie, who was deep in conversation with a curvy brunette near the bar. “Take over for me.”
Bernie nodded and left the lady to take up Nash’s post. The little blonde brightened when the tall, well muscled Scandinavian took the stool Nash just vacated. She reached up and rubbed Bernie’s bald head and snuggled close.
Nash followed his brother through the crowd toward the wrought iron, spiral staircase that led to the private rooms. He’d worked as a bouncer at Claim Me, a Surrender Inc. BDSM club, for a few months now. His brother bought the place to add to his list of investments. Thomas mainly earned his money in casinos—something Nash teased him about, saying this made him a walking cliché: an aboriginal who acquired his wealth through a string of gambling joints. But now he was moving into the domination and submission trade with this place. Then main floor was a night club, complete with a bar, dance floor, booming hip hop, and bodies writhing. Scattered through it were faux rooms with glass walls through which patrons could watch BDSM scenes. A femdom flogging her submissive. A towering dom spanking his mistress. Whatever your pleasure, Claim Me had it. But the real action happened in the private rooms upstairs.
Thomas led him to Room 9 and stopped before he turned the knob. “The woman’s got a gun. She’s holding one of my best switches and her client hostage. We have to be careful.”
Nash frowned. “I thought you said you screened everyone thoroughly. How the hell did this shit get in?”
Thomas sighed. “The guy lied. Told us his divorce was final. Said his wife wasn’t cool with spanking him, so he had to get it elsewhere. Everything checked out. Anyway… See for yourself.”
Thomas opened the door and the screeching started.
“Get out! This is between me and them.” A pretty woman in tight jeans and a leather jacket whirled toward them, pointing a pistol right at Nash’s waist. At six foot seven, the woman would have to look up and aim higher to get his chest.
“Ma’am, put the gun down.” Thomas took another step into the room. “We can all talk about this in my office.”
When Nash’s gaze swept to the pair she was holding hostage, his stomach tightened and his heart squeezed in his chest, but he didn’t show it. Instead he stared at his ex-wife, Fiona, and she stared back with a riding crop poised just above the bare ass of her balding client.
“Rebecca!” the prone man shouted at his distraught wife. “Put the gun down and get out of here now. I won’t press charges if you just walk away.”
“You promised we’d try and work things out.” The lady with blonde chunks running through her black hair sobbed.
“Sweetie, there is nothing left to work out,” her husband continued. “We both tried. But we’re from different worlds. I need this.” With his head, he motioned to the riding crop Fiona had ready to strike. “You can’t do it. Opposites attract, sure, but they don’t always make it for the long haul.”
While the husband tried to talk her down, and Rebecca’s focus was solely on the man, Nash managed to slip around behind her slowly. For a big man, he was stealthy. He remembered when he and Fiona lived together he could often sneak up behind her without his wife realizing. She used to say he was too light on his feet for her own good.
“Put the gun down, ma’am.” Nash wrapped a big hand around Rebecca’s and forced her to point the weapon at the ground before she could react.
A shot went off, booming through the room and piercing the hardwood beneath them.
“Fuck!” Thomas shouted. “Get that gun away from this crazy bitch.” Then he ran out of the room to see if anyone was wounded below, leaving Nash to deal with his ex and the mess alone.
Rebecca was reduced to tears and easily gave up the pistol as Nash led her to a spanking bench and sat her down.
Fiona helped her client out of his straps and he quickly dressed then came over to his wife. He glanced warily at Nash as he spoke, “I’m so sorry. I’ll get her out of here.”
Thomas reappeared just as the man was leading his wife toward the door. He glared down at the guy. “Consider your membership cancelled. I better never see your face in here again.”
The guy nodded and mumbled something before he and his crying wife disappeared.
Thomas heaved a sigh of relief and ran his fingers through his blue-black hair. Nash looked at him then at Fiona. She cleared her throat, glanced down at the riding crop she still held. His ex-wife was scorching hot in a tight black corset and leather pants that clung to her curves. Her red hair fell in a cloud of curls around her pale, freckled shoulders. He wanted her so bad in that moment.
And he hated his brother for not telling him Fiona was here.
Nash gave Thomas an accusatory glare.
Thomas smirked. “What? I figured you two would run into each other eventually.” Then he shoved his hands in the pockets of his expensive dress pants and walked out.
Nash stared at her. She stared back. As if willing him to be the first to look away, she held his gaze and refused to blink.
The last thing Fiona needed was a surprise like this. She hadn’t seen Nash Falcon in over six months, though she’d tried to get a hold of him after the accident. Damn, he was as gorgeous as she remembered—all towering muscles, brown skin, and hair and eyes as black as midnight. She hated herself for wanting him so badly. Her heart sped up at the sight of him and her lower belly tingled, but she refused to show it.
“What’re you doing here?” he snapped.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“My brother owns the place.”
She bit her bottom lip, as if physically chewing on her words. No way would she tell him why she was working in Thomas’ BDSM club. But she didn’t need to give him a reason anyway. She owed him nothing. Their relationship was over because he was a hypocrite and she was stubborn.
“How’ve you been?” she asked.
“Changing the subject.” Nash shook his head as he sat on the edge of the spanking bench. “Classic Fiona.”
Anger spiked in her belly. “You did a lot of subject changing during our marriage. Nice to know you’re still a hypocrite.”
This sent him flying to his feet. “I am not a hypocrite.”
She took a step closer. “But you do have double standards.”
Their argument referred to the situation that broke their marriage. Nash had been a player. Fiona knew that when she married him, so she’d insisted if they were going to have an open marriage it had to be open on both ends. Nash wouldn’t stand for that. He could sleep with other women, but Fiona was his and his alone. Fiona said to hell with that. If he could mess around with other females then she could take home other males. Nash went nuclear at the idea.
“You’re my wife!” he screamed one night, just before the divorce, as she was packing her things up in their two bedroom townhouse.
She’d whirled on him. “And you’re my husband! If you want a threesome, want to sleep with other people, then I should get the same fringe benefits. This marriage has to be equal. And since you can’t handle that, I’m leaving.”
Nash had broached the subject of a ménage a trios. Fiona and him with another woman. Fiona had agreed, just so long as Nash returned the favor. Nash said no way. And if her husband couldn’t treat her as an equal in all aspects of their relationship, Fiona wouldn’t stay with him.
“I loved you!” he shouted now, dragging her back t
o the present. “We could’ve worked things out if you had stayed.”
“We tried, Nash.” She sighed and placed a hand just below his chest. “You wouldn’t budge. Neither would I. And I got tired of catching you in bed with other women. We became oil and water.”
He sneered. “You could’ve at least called after the accident.”
She slapped him hard in the gut then. “I tried! You didn’t answer my calls. And how about when I came to the hospital, hmmm? You told them I wasn’t family so they wouldn’t let me in. The divorce wasn’t even final yet.”
He let out an ‘oof’ from her punch and his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”
She rubbed the spot she’d hit. “So am I.”
He sat again on the bench, took her hand, and this time she joined him.
“How’s it going at Strength Inc.?” He couldn’t look at her when he asked.
Her throat tightened in time with her stomach. She couldn’t tell him the truth. “Good. I’m managing less fighters these days. So I came here. Wanted to try something different.”
Strength Inc. held a big place in their lives during their three year marriage. Nash and Fiona had met back when he was still working with the rez police on the reservation he’d grown up at. On weekends, he’d come to the matches a local wrestling circuit held. She was a promoter with the small time organization and she’d spotted the massive man not long after he attended his first event. She’d approached him, asked if he’d ever thought of getting in the ring? Nash had told her he’d carried a lifelong dream to be a fighter and she’d encouraged it, taking him all the way to the International Fighting World Championship. He’d been a mixed martial arts star in no time.
But that was before the divorce, and the motorcycle accident that left him with major spinal cord trauma and a leg broken in eight places. The trauma was bad enough that, despite physical therapy, Nash would never be able to fight professionally again.
“Truce?” he said, holding out his hand.
She smiled. She wanted that. For them to at least be friends. “Sure.” But instead of taking his hand, she stretched her short arms around his massive torso and wrapped him in a hug.
Surrender Boxed Set (Surrender Series Volume 1 - 7. BDSM romance with man love, bad boys, and billionaires.) Page 55
