Dark Mercy
Masters of Mercy #1
By
Rebecca Lyndon
Copyright 2011 by Rebecca Lyndon
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written consent from the author/publisher.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to Lisa Alder and L.G.C. Smith. None of this would have been possible without you. I’ve read that in a thousand acknowledgement pages and never understood what it really meant until now. You are both more precious to me than you will ever know.
To Martha from The Alpha Division, for being her awesome alpha self.
And, of course, to Tom, my heart.
June 1098, outside the walls of Antioch
She came from the water.
Richard of Guildford caught sight of someone rising from the waves of the Orontes. Gooseflesh rose up along his arms despite the lingering heat of day. He couldn’t tell through the dark desert night who disturbed the surface of the river, but he held up his balled fist, silently signaling the eight men following behind him to stop. Richard hadn’t kept them alive on their trek to the Holy Land these past three years by ignoring his gut instincts.
They were far from the reinforcements of the siege camp, and, even though Richard believed to his core that his men were the best there were, none of them would stand a chance against a large enough ambush.
He pulled his sword from its scabbard as a lithe form rose above the water, a lone woman that moved with an unearthly grace. Gossamer silks clung to her body as she floated toward the bank. Silver moonlight glistened off the curve of her breasts and the wide swell of her hips. Her dark mound showed clearly beneath the thin fabric. Richard tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade even as his cock hardened.
She smiled as she stepped onto the grassy bank. Hardly the reaction one expected of a seemingly defenseless woman facing an armed band of warriors. But this was no ordinary woman. Even if Richard had not seen her gliding across the river, he still would have sensed it. Her amethyst eyes sparkled with their own light.
“Put down your weapons.”
Richard heard her voice, clear and loud in his mind, but her full, red lips had not moved. He was certain of it.
When Richard shook his head in an exaggerated manner, commanding his men to stand firm against her, she waved her hand. The steel tip of his sword was forced to the ground with such strength that it buried in the cracked earth at his feet. Richard turned to see that the same unseen force had disarmed them all.
“What are you?” Richard demanded.
The willowy creature slid her gaze appreciatively down his body as she stepped closer. Her dark nipples puckered. “I go by many names, but you may call me Ashira.”
“And I say, we are better off calling you by your true name,” Richard’s second in command, Rhys, said from directly behind him. “Demon.”
“Whatever name you choose for me is of little importance. You should be more interested in what I can do for you.”
“We want nothing from you, she-devil,”” Richard said.
She dragged a slender finger down his chest. Richard tried to raise his hand to slap her away but found he was frozen, held fast by invisible bonds.
“Is that so? Your minds, all of them, tell a different story. Each one of you is a powerful warrior. Together you are perhaps the most potent fighting force in this war. This crusade of yours has made brothers of you, but it has also worn you thin. You are tired,” she said, weaving through the line of men as her dark magic held them immobile. She stopped in front of each man, looking deep into his eyes, taking his measure. “Tired of watching good men cut down. Tired of watching your friends waste away with disease, their minds devoured by madness. But most of all, you are tired of waiting to get your due.”
“Lies,” Geoffrey Stark said as she passed him, but his voice lacked conviction.
But her words were all too true. They had all started out on this journey with thoughts of securing their places in heaven, but if the last three years had shown them anything, it was that hell was not some far off realm. The fires of perdition would pale in comparison to the agonies they had all endured in this infernal place.
“I can give you all that you desire,” she said.
“You can end the siege?” Richard asked.
“Of course. But I can give you much more than that.”
“What else?” he asked.
“Riches. Power. Immortality.”
Richard struggled to free himself from her spell, but he was hit by a powerful wave of lust as she returned to him. He imagined those red lips of hers wrapping around the length of his cock, sucking him dry.
Those same lips curved up in a knowing smile. “Yes, that as well.”
“And the price you ask for these precious gifts?”
Her teasing look turned serious. “Surrender your own release, and instead offer up to me the pleasure of all the women you touch.”
Give up his orgasm and become an incubus? He weighed the temptation of nearly limitless strength and wealth against the cost.
“For all eternity?”
She shook her head. “One day a woman will return your release to you. On that day you will know that your service is no longer required.”
“It is the devil’s bargain,” Rhys called out, but his voice was heavy with the same desire that rushed through Richard. “We would be empty shells. Nothing more than pleasureless demons.”
Ashira rubbed her breast with her hand as she looked up and down Richard’s Welsh friend. “Not pleasureless. You would still feel the ecstasy of every lick and stroke, but there will be no release.” She turned and rubbed her ass against Richards’s groin for emphasis. His cock was close to bursting. “Just think of the comforts that could be bought with all that wealth. Enough to fill a hundred lifetimes.”
Richard swallowed hard. He knew some of his men would be persuaded by this creature’s promises of treasure and power. He didn’t fault them, but it was the thought of immortality that swayed Richard to Ashira’s side. He had lost half of his fighting force since leaving the shores of England, and he would gladly let heaven damn him if it meant he didn’t have to lose another friend.
“Spare my men, even any who don’t agree, and I will accept your deal,” Richard said.
Ashira smiled, and her look changed to one of pure hunger. She fell to her knees before him. She pulled at his chausses, freeing his cock. Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips.
“Then you are mine.” Her mouth descended on him, taking his full length in a single motion.
Richard groaned as her wet tongue encircled him. Her cheeks pulled in as she sucked hard on his shaft.
Realizing he was free from her divine bondage, Richard brutally grasped on to her long fall of golden hair and held her head still. Her glittering, purple-colored eyes looked up at him. Their corners lifted. She approved of his show of control.
He surged again and again into her mouth. He waited for the telltale sounds of her throat’s resistance, but she took all of him without complaint. He could feel the power surging through her body. His heart began to pound to t
he beat of it. He thrust in time to the primal rhythm. Her long fingers bit into the flesh of his hips, holding him as mercilessly as he held her.
He had gone past the usual point of climax, but she continued to pull the dark pleasure from him.
“Do you swear to serve me?” Her voice was clear in his mind even though her lips were wrapped tight around him.
“I swear,” Richard said through gritted teeth.
White-hot ecstasy overtook him. His release gushed down her throat. Roaring out into the dark night, he came his last.
Richard staggered backwards, and away from the creature he had entered into this damnable pact with. His skin felt branded by her touch. He opened and closed his fist, marveling at the feel of unnatural strength flowing into his body.
Then Richard watched as all eight others took their turn with Ashira.
San Francisco, Present Day
Cassandra Davis drew in a deep breath as she looked up at the towering facade of the Mercy Club.
The Arsenal, she corrected herself. Over a century ago, the giant stone building that took up a full city block had housed the largest military force on the west coast. It was one of the oldest structures in the city, a landmark San Franciscans could be proud of.
But not anymore. Not since a group of nine investors had pushed the sale of the old Arsenal through the city council a year ago. They had renovated the inside and turned it into an ultra-exclusive nightclub. The Mercy Club.
Rumors had been flying since the doors had opened three months ago about what exactly went on inside. People whispered it was a place where a person’s darkest fantasies came true, where deviant sexual desires were fulfilled.
Cassandra swallowed hard as the stories she’d been told of what went on inside these fortress walls flashed in her mind. They were the same wicked imaginings that had been stewing in her mind since she’d returned to her cubicle yesterday to find one of the Mercy Club’s coveted invitations on her desk. The same ones that that left her twisting in her sheets last night, unable to sleep.
But they were only rumors, mostly because the owners had yet to open their doors to members of the press. Until now.
Cassandra would be the first journalist admitted into the Mercy Club. She didn’t bother to fool herself over the reason. She had been the only one with more than a passing interest in the story. She had been the only one asking hard questions since the sale of the Arsenal was first introduced. Who were these nine men? Why did they have such influence over the city council? What was their real agenda in her hometown? Obviously, her poking around had gotten their attention.
Well, she would have her answers soon enough.
Cassandra smoothed her hand down her brown pencil skirt, the one that matched the color of her eyes. She checked that every strand of hair in her tight ponytail was in place. She had made sure the looked the part of the impartial journalist before she left her small Outer Richmond apartment that morning. Perfectly professional, she assured herself as she started up the steps.
Someone must have been watching her from inside. The barred door opened wide before she had a chance to reach it. A dark-skinned security guard dressed in all black tilted his head in greeting as he held it open for her.
“Cassandra Davis here to see Mr. Richard Guildford,” she said in her most businesslike voice as she stepped inside.
“Of course, Miss Davis,” he said as though he already knew who she was. As though he had been waiting for her.
She wasn’t sure what she expected to find in the front room of the Arsenal, a scene of harem-style depravity, perhaps. Bodies writhing in piles of silks and furs, or maybe leather-clad dominatrixes flogging a line of slaves.
She was half disappointed to find what looked like the lobby of any number of businesses with a line of cushy chairs ready for waiting patrons and a large fountain burbling in a corner. A few potted plants brought a little life to the cavernous interior. At first glance, the place could have passed for a day spa. A very well secured day spa.
Behind the reception desk, a dozen more massive security guards milled around computers and video monitors. The Arsenal appeared to be as well protected now as it had been a hundred and fifty years ago.
“Do I need to check in?” Cassandra asked the man at her side.
“That’s not necessary. My instructions were to deliver you to Mr. Guildford immediately.”
Deliver? Cassandra paused at the choice of words, but not for long. Her courier started off without her, past the desk and into the heart of the building. Cassandra’s heels beat a fast tattoo on the marble floor as she raced to catch up.
She met up with him at the base of the main staircase that zigzagged back and forth through all four stories of the building.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Cassandra said as she followed him up.
“Marcus.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened as a tall, beautiful, and completely topless woman turned the first corner of the staircase. There wasn’t a speck of shame in her eyes as she gave Cassandra a friendly smile. “Pardon me,” she said as she passed.
Cassandra politely averted her eyes and nodded. “Is that sort of thing a common occurrence around here?”
Far ahead of her, Marcus shrugged his broad shoulders.
“How long have you been working at the Mercy Club?”
Nothing. He didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge her question. She pressed on.
“Do you enjoy working here?”
Marcus stopped on the second floor landing and turned toward her, but his face was still as expressionless as stone. It appeared he was only allowing her short legs time to catch up to his long stride. The second she was back at his side, he silently led her down a long hallway.
Damn. She’d had more luck getting answers out of reluctant generals. As long as he was stonewalling her, she might as well forget about the rapport-building questions and dive straight into the heart of the matter.
“How well do you know the nine men who bought this building?”
Marcus stopped short, and Cassandra thought she was finally going to get an answer out of him.
“I’m sure that Mr. Guildford will answer all of your questions, Miss Davis.” He rapped three times on the door before him. Without waiting for an answer, Marcus swung the door wide, and gestured for her to enter.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest like a shield. Courage, she chided herself. She had been in much more dangerous places than this.
The room that Cassandra stepped into was lushly decorated. Modern paintings hung on the stone walls next to rows of what looked to be medieval weaponry. There were a fair amount of chains and whips as well, Cassandra noted, but it was the enormous four poster bed that demanded her attention.
She pulled her gaze away from it and focused it instead on the well-dressed man standing by the window. Neatly trimmed jet black hair fell just to the top of his ears. His deep blue eyes were focused on her as she stepped into the room. His features were sharp, his jaw line chiseled. His lips were the only part of him that looked soft.
He was handsome, devastatingly so, but more than that, there was an intensity that practically rolled off him.
Another few seconds ticked by. Why was he still staring at her like that?
He wore a dark blue, button-down shirt and an expensive pair of tailored pants. She’d never paid much mind to clothes, but there was something about him that made Cassandra self-conscious of her big box store sweater. So, she was a journalist and not a trust fund baby. That was nothing to be ashamed of.
“Mr. Guildford,” she prompted him when she couldn’t stand his silent scrutiny any longer.
He broke his gaze long enough to nod to Marcus over her shoulder. Cassandra jumped a little as the door closed with a sharp click behind her.
“You may call me Richard.” He pushed away from the wall.
“All right.” Cassandra smiled tightly. Though she would have preferred to keep a comforting fo
rmal distance between them, she knew better than to upset such an important interview over something so small.
“You seem uncomfortable.” He stopped at the first post of the bed and leaned against it.
“To be honest Mr. Guild—Richard, I expected we would be conducting this interview in your office, not in your bedroom.”
There was no apology in his smile. “I’m afraid this is as close to an office as I have.”
Cassandra swallowed a frustrated sigh. She was never this easily rattled. She had to regain her composure. Seriously, he wasn’t that hot. Well, okay, he was, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was the story that she had been working on for over a year.
She looked away from his searing gaze, and her eyes caught on the six-foot wooden X standing in the corner.
“That is a St. Andrew’s Cross.” His voice was as smooth as fresh cream.
“I know what it is,” she said.
“Do you indeed?” He arched a single brow. Damn, the combination of those eyes and that voice. No wonder he had the whole city as his feet. “You’re not at all how I imagined you would be.”
“You imagined me?” Cassandra asked before she could stop herself.
“Not surprising. I’m sure you spent the better part of the day picturing me in your mind.”
A hot flush started to burn in Cassandra’s cheeks. “What I meant was, you know who I am?”
“Of course. Miss Cassandra Davis, you’re an easy person to know. You spent several months overseas reporting on the war. Last year, you nearly cost the mayor his job when you broke the story on his office’s accounting discrepancies.”
Cassandra shook her head. “No, the mayor did that all by himself. I just found out about it.”
The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction of an inch. It wasn’t quite a smile, but the effect was still devastating.
“You like uncovering secrets.” It wasn’t a question.
“It’s my job.”
“It’s mine as well.”
His eyes stayed on her. He hadn’t glanced away once since she’d entered. His stare made her want to squirm, want to rub her legs together and release some of the pressure that had formed there. She didn’t dare. She had the distinct feeling that he would know exactly what she was doing.
Dark Mercy (Masters of Mercy #1 BDSM Erotica) Page 1
