Masters of Seduction Volume 2: Books 5-8: Paranormal Romance Box Set

by Lara Adrian et el

  “Where is he?” Disappointment and confusion made her voice sound small, as raw as she was starting to feel. “Did he…leave?”

  “Called away unexpectedly on urgent business.” Milo’s tone was not unkind, but she could see that he would tell her no more than necessary. No more than he’d been instructed by Sorin, of course. “He did not want you to worry about him. However, as he doesn’t know when he might be returning, Master Sorin asked me to see that you made it safely back to Chicago. Travel has been arranged, and we can leave as soon as you’re ready, miss.”

  “Oh,” she murmured woodenly. “Of course…okay.”

  Sorin didn’t want her to wait for him. The knowledge stung, but she’d known what morning was going to bring. She’d made a deal with the Master of Ebarron. A deal she’d lost when she gave in to the desire she felt for him.

  Even worse, that desire had somehow blossomed into something more.

  Something that carved a sharp ache in her breast at the realization that their time was over, and that he had thought it best to slip away in the middle of the night while she slept, sated and oblivious, in his bed.

  Ashayla struggled to suppress the despairing moan that sat lodged in her throat.

  She’d have to be a naive fool to expect they would wake up today and…what? Set up house together? Ignore the rest of the world so they could spend another night or twenty making love until neither of them could stand up or catch their breath?

  Even if some idiotic part of her had hoped for something close to that, she wouldn’t have had the option anyway. Gran was waiting for her. Asha needed to be home, where she belonged. Even she had to return home without Gran’s prized heirloom.

  In her miserable silence, the Watchman quietly cleared his throat. “Master Sorin asked me to give you this.”

  He bent to retrieve a white vellum envelope from the cocktail table nearby. She could tell there was something heavy inside. More than one item, by the look of it.

  Ashayla took the envelope and lifted the seal.

  When she peered inside, her breath caught in her throat.

  Gran’s pendant…and the vial of Nephilim magic she’d hidden under the mattress.

  Oh, God.

  Panic raced through her at the sight of the potion she had smuggled into Sorin’s home. He knew. Obviously, he knew what it was and what she’d intended to do with it.

  And now he was gone.

  Gone with instructions for his Watchman to send her home.

  Gone without giving her a chance to explain herself.

  “Is anything wrong, Miss Palatine?” Milo watched her, and she knew her face must have looked as stricken as she felt.

  She gave a numb shake of her head. “I’ll just… Will you excuse me now, please? I’ll collect my things and get ready to leave.”

  The Watchman nodded, and turned toward the door.

  Ashayla sagged to her knees on a jagged sob the instant he left her in the room alone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Chicago

  Three days later

  Ashayla decided to walk home from Gran’s funeral.

  The ceremony had been a small, private gathering. A handful of neighbors whose lives Gran had touched with her kindness over the years, and a few Nephilim cousins from the area who’d come to pay their respects.

  Although Asha missed her grandmother’s company already, she couldn’t find it in her to mourn her passing. Gran had lived a long, full life. And in the end, she’d slipped away with grace and calm.

  And peace.

  Asha had known the return of the pendant would be a relief for her grandmother. The expression on the dying Nephilim’s face when she saw the pale blue stone dangling from its silver chain had been nothing short of beatific.

  “Oh, my dear child…you’ve found it!” Gran had exclaimed from her sickbed as Asha had brought the pendant to her when she returned home from Ebarron. Though Gran had been weak and near death, she’d sat up to receive the heirloom with bright eyes and eager hands. “All this time, I feared it was gone forever. I worried that our family had failed Leila in our promise to safeguard Inanna’s Tear.”

  Asha hadn’t understood what Gran meant. The names were unfamiliar, something Gran had never mentioned before. She’d suspected the old woman’s mind had been fading.

  The truth was something far different.

  The pendant was an heirloom, an extraordinary one. A priceless one, if Gran’s explanation of its history proved to be fact.

  Inanna’s Tear.

  That’s what the female who’d created it had called the unusual piece. Her name was Leila, and she had been the last living Succubus.

  Before she was slain along with the rest of her Succubus sisters and cousins in the last great war over the Obsidian Throne, Leila entrusted Inanna’s Tear to the women of Asha’s line, with the promise that they would keep it safe until the time came to use it.

  But to use it for what?

  Gran didn’t know.

  And now it was up to Asha to ensure the pendant’s safekeeping.

  She wore it around her neck now, beneath her blouse as she strolled back home under a sunny afternoon sky. As much as she ached to be away from Sorin and the incredible night they’d shared, as much as it shredded her not to have heard from him in the days since, the familiarity of the old neighborhood she’d grown up in was a welcome balm.

  Since she’d been back, she’d drafted a dozen messages to him, only to throw them all away. She didn’t know what to say to him. Even worse, she didn’t know if there was anything she could say…other than she was sorry. But that was a message she hoped to deliver in person.

  If he would ever want to see her again.

  That uncertainty made her steps heavy as she approached a farm stand about a block from her house. She would never be as good a cook as Gran, but the lure of fresh produce drew her to the stand to collect a few things for dinner. She put a squash and some bright peppers in her basket, then drifted over to the bins of fresh fruit.

  The strawberries smelled amazing, as did the peaches. She lifted one of the velvet-skinned fruits and brought it to her nose. Eyes closed, she breathed in its sweet perfume, recalling all too vividly the sound of Sorin’s voice when he had his head buried between her thighs and described the taste of her.

  Peaches and cream.

  She moaned at the memory, and at the longing she still felt when she thought of him.

  A longing she knew would stay with her for the rest of her life. In the days she’d been away from Ebarron, Asha had felt bereft, empty. And as much as she had wanted to deny her desire for him when they first met, what she felt for Sorin now was irrefutable. She cared for him like she had no other man. Like she never would for another.

  As impossible as it seemed, she had fallen halfway in love with him already. Heaven help her, she’d fallen more than halfway.

  Asha sighed and started to place the peach in her basket.

  That’s when her gaze snagged on something unusual in the bin.

  A coin with a griffin emblem on it.

  No, not a coin. A chip from the Ebarron casino.

  She glanced up on a gasp, her heart climbing into her throat. Sorin?

  She searched all around her, a frantic visual pan of the sidewalk and street as she pivoted where she stood, praying she wasn’t hallucinating.

  And then…there he was.

  He stepped out of the entrance alcove of the building next door, dressed in an open-collared, white button-down and charcoal suit pants, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he strode toward her.

  “You’re here,” she whispered, unable to think beyond the fact that he was standing there, in Chicago, his topaz eyes locked on her in that stare that always reached out to her like a physical embrace. “Sorin, I didn’t think you would… What are you doing here?”

  “My business took longer than anticipated. And I have to leave again soon to meet with the other Masters.”

  She n
odded, unsure why he would feel the need to come all this way just to tell her he was leaving again. He walked toward her, his fluid, powerfully masculine stride making her body come alive with awareness. With desire that had only been banked since she’d been away from him, but not yet extinguished.

  He walked closer, until there were only a few scant inches between them. God, he smelled good. And he looked good—even better than the memories she’d been reliving with torturous repetition in the days since she’d left Ebarron.

  Hope flared in her, bright and sharp. She didn’t dare trust that feeling. Not when he still hadn’t said anything to her. Hadn’t reached out to her. His handsome face was sober. More solemn than she’d ever seen him.

  “I heard about your grandmother’s passing, Asha. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “Gran died in her sleep the night after I came home. She was happy, at peace in her final moments.”

  There was so much she wanted to tell Sorin now. That she was sorry for how she’d arrived at Ebarron, what she’d intended to do once she got there. That he’d been right about the pendant—it was something more than just an heirloom. Something much more. Something precious and rare, though she couldn’t begin to understand what the true value of Inanna’s Tear might be.

  And more than anything, she wanted to tell Sorin that she’d cherished every moment she’d spent with him and regretted every one they’d been apart.

  She swallowed. “I want you to know that I never would’ve betrayed you. Not after you and I—not after everything we shared. You have to know that I would’ve left the pendant behind—”

  “I didn’t come here for your apology, Asha. None of that matters to me.”

  “Why, then?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze intense, contemplative. “Someone once called me a selfish, pompous jackass devoid of compassion. That same someone implied I was a cheat, that I would resort to tricks or games to get what I wanted.”

  Ashayla shook her head. “No. That was before I knew you—”

  “You were right,” he said, his deep voice level, unreadable. “I am selfish. Pompous too, though it pains me to admit it. And a jackass? Well…you’ve seen enough firsthand evidence to attest to that.”

  She bit her lip, giving him a small shrug. “But you have compassion, Sorin. You proved that to me when you gave me Gran’s pendant, even after I lost our wager.”

  “You didn’t lose, Asha.”

  Her breath caught. “What?”

  “You didn’t lose, because there was no wager to be won.” His mouth lifted at one corner, a wicked smirk. “Which brings me to the charge of cheat.”

  “What are you talking about? We made a deal. You said if we had sex—”

  He moved closer now, and reached out to smooth his hand over her loose platinum hair. “I said, sweet Asha, that I would prove you wanted me as much as I wanted you. I said I’d have you begging for me before the night was through.”

  “And you did,” she admitted, feeling the rush of desire flood her just to be near him again. “You proved your point and I lost. You didn’t trick me. I know you didn’t use the thrall to seduce me. There was no need for that, Sorin.”

  He grunted, grinning now. “You did lose that part of our wager. Spectacularly, I might add. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

  “I have?”

  He gave a serious nod. “You ruined me from the moment I first laid eyes on you in my casino. Before that, in fact. From the first letter you wrote to me. And all the ones that followed.”

  The confession sent her heart into a gallop behind her sternum. Could he possibly feel the same way she did? That the few hours they spent together hadn’t been enough—would never be enough?

  Could he possibly care about her as deeply as she did about him?

  Her excitement nearly diverted her from the other subject at hand. “What do you mean, there was no wager to be won? How did you—” And then it dawned on her. “Back at the roulette table. You rigged the wheel?”

  “Not me, but my croupier knew what I needed him to do.” Sorin shrugged, unapologetic. Unrepentantly Incubus. “I told you I was a man who liked to win.”

  She gasped in outrage and smacked her palm on his powerful chest. “You cheated! With Korda Marakel too?”

  “No, he lost to the House fair and square. You were the only prize I truly couldn’t stand to lose that night.” He pulled her against him, their faces less than a breath apart. “Do you forgive me?”

  Ashayla looked into his mesmerizing eyes, eyes that held her with such care and emotion her chest was near to bursting. “I more than forgive you. I love you, Sorin.”

  His curse was soft, reverent. “Oh, my sweet Asha. I love you too. I want you with me, by my side. Starting right now.”

  He kissed her, an unhurried joining of their mouths that made her legs weak beneath her. Devotion filled his gaze when he drew back a moment later. His large hands trembled when they came up to cradle her face with utmost tender care.

  “You belong to me now,” he murmured. “You are more priceless than any treasure Ebarron will ever own.”

  Elation filled her, flooding every cell in her being. “I’m yours, Sorin. And you are mine. Forever.”

  He claimed her mouth again, long and slow and deep.

  His kiss tasted of passion and tenderness…and the promise of a future she couldn’t wait to begin with him.

  ~* ~

  BOUNDLESS: HOUSE OF DROHAS ~ by Donna Grant

  Masters of Seduction (Book 6)

  As Master of the House of Drohas, Javan has a personal stake in his family's art business. The enigmatic Incubus has never embraced that duty more than when a beautiful and talented new artist catches his eye. The Drohas name and influence can help Naomi's career, but she's interested in Javan for a different reason. Believing him to be her sister's killer, Naomi soon finds herself fighting an all-consuming desire for the dangerous man, and thrust into a world she never dreamed existed-a world of angels and demons, poised at the brink of a brewing war.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Javan Drohas was scrolling on his iPad through pictures of artwork he was considering purchasing for one of his galleries when a file folder sailed across his desk and slid to a stop in front of him.

  He lifted his gaze to his Watchman, Elijah. Elijah stood tall with one hand in the pants pocket of his black suit. His crisp white shirt was accented with a crimson and black tie.

  Elijah carried the coloring of his ancestors with his mocha skin and inky black hair that tended to curl. He kept his hair short and neat, but it didn’t matter whether he was in a tux or jeans—nothing could hide the warrior that he was.

  Elijah’s unusual teal gaze watched Javan with amused interest. His expression told Javan he was going to have to listen to whatever Elijah said if he wanted to get back to work anytime soon.

  “What is this?” Javan asked as he looked askance at the file.

  One side of Elijah’s lips lifted in a grin. “I found the perfect artist to use at this year’s exhibit. We had an empty spot to fill.”

  “It’s a bit late to be adding anyone since the exhibit is in three days.” But Javan was intrigued enough to open the file.

  His family had been art dealers for generations. They had discovered some of the best artists to ever come out of Australia, and each year their annual exhibit of the Drohas Foundation brought in the wealthiest people from all over the world to look at the latest talent.

  Javan studied the first picture. The photographer had an amazing eye. The female model was pretty without being gorgeous, but it was the fractures of light that blurred the model in places, and the pose, that really caught his eye.

  The photographer didn’t focus on the model’s face, but her body. The fluid lines of the model who kept her back to the camera in a deep squat, and her long skirt billowing around her with her arms wide and her head thrown back, was captivating.

  “
I know,” Elijah said.

  “The photographer is extraordinary,” Javan said as he moved on to the next picture. “How have we not heard of him before?”

  “Her,” Elijah corrected.

  Javan shrugged, mesmerized by the photos. “Has she agreed to be in the exhibit?”

  “She’s the one who came to us.”

  Javan set down the photos, concern making him pause. “So late? Why didn’t she submit her work a year ago as everyone else did?”

  “You can ask her yourself.”

  “She’s here?”

  Elijah turned to the side. “She’s downstairs.”

  Javan glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in ten minutes, and the rest of his day was just as full. There was no time to spare talking to the photographer. “She’s talented.”

  “That she is. If she hadn’t come so late, we would’ve had her in the exhibit. She deserves to be there. She’s done a lot on her own, but you know being in the exhibit could propel her career.”

  “She’ll get there on her own,” Javan mused as he looked at the photos again. “She’s that good. However, I also like the idea of being able to claim we found another talented artist. Add her in.”

  Elijah gave a nod. “I’ll let her know. Do you still intend to go to the meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  The meeting. It grated on Javan’s nerves that Marakel had once more leveled claims on the House of Drohas that Javan and his men were trying to dethrone him.

  Javan wanted nothing more. Everyone knew it was time for the Sovereign to step down from the Obsidian Throne. His phase was up, and since he had no heirs, the right to rule passed to another House.

  Whispers had reached Javan that Canaan Romerac wasn’t dead after all. After five hundred years with Canaan’s brother running House Romerac, it was now said that Canaan had killed his brother for betraying him.

  Javan discovered just an hour earlier that those rumors were true. He was anxious to talk to Canaan and learn what had transpired in those centuries.