Impostors' Kiss
Page 1
Table of Contents
~ Acclaim for Renea Mason ~
~ Look for these titles from Renea Mason ~
Copyright Warning
~ Dedication ~
Impostors’ Kiss
~ About the Author ~
~ Also by Renea Mason ~
More Paranormal Romance from Etopia Press
~ Acclaim for Renea Mason ~
“A supporting cast of hunky and hilarious friends, as well as enemies keeps this story from being simply a love story, and into more of mystery. A Symphony of Light and Winter is a great read! I definitely recommend it.”
—Inner Goddess (5 Stars)
“Symphony of Light and Winter had suspense, action, romance, an abundance of steam (adults only!), and lots of attitude. It will grab your attention right away and keep it until the end. There will be no setting this one aside. Not a chance!”
—Crazy for Books
“Very well written with intense character interaction, attitude and the growing heat of romance, Ms. Mason has proven she can write with a magnetic pull that will grip your imagination and hold you prisoner until that very last page!”
—Tome Tender (5 Stars)
“Holy Sexy Whirlwind!! From the beginning I was sucked in and didn’t come up once for air! Honestly, there are some many amazing things about this book I can’t even find a good place to start.”
—Taking it One Book at a Time (5 Stars)
“Renea Mason’s book has everything you could want- a unique world, a panty dropping alpha male, a gripping plot and seamless writing that would never let on this was her first novel. I’ll admit, I had her confused with another author and jumped to read the book. It wasn’t until I was done and realized how much better this book was that I realized I had the wrong author! Woohoo for accidents!”
—Book Bliss (5 Stars)
“If you love Alexandra Ivy, Lara Adrian, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Lynsay Sands, Laura Wright, and all those other amazing paranormal authors that I absolutely love with all my heart…then you will LOVE Renea Mason and her brand new Symphony of Light Series.”
—Book Reads and Reviews
“There are a lot of secrets, romance, violence and mystery. Linden and Cyril are wonderful characters you can’t help but love. This is not your typical paranormal book. There are times as you get to know Cyril more, you come close to tears... I recommend this book and hope that the next in the series comes out soon.”
—Paranormal Romance Guild (5 Stars)
~ Look for these titles from Renea Mason ~
Now Available
The Symphony of Light Series
Impostors’ Kiss (Book 0.5)
Symphony of Light and Winter (Book 1)
Impostors’ Kiss
Symphony of Light and Winter Book 0.5
Renea Mason
Copyright Warning
EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By
Etopia Press
1643 Warwick Ave., #124
Warwick, RI 02889
http://www.etopia-press.net
Impostors’ Kiss
Copyright © 2013 by Renea Mason
ISBN: 978-1-940223-62-9
Edited by Kyle Lewis
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: November 2013
~ Dedication ~
Special thanks to my wonderful boys, the Coffee Talk Writers, the Renea Mason Street Team, my editor Kyle Lewis, the Etopia Press staff, and all my family and friends, without whose support none of this would be possible.
Impostors’ Kiss
Dying sucked. Not just the pain. Sure, the agony—that moment just before the heart stops—and the uncertainty of how and when I might wake up left an impression. But the holes, those missing points in my timeline aggravated me most. Each time I died, I wondered how much of myself I’d lose. How many of those defining moments would remain forever dead? And most of all, despite being all-powerful, I became powerless to know what I had lost.
My family filled in the gaps, when I read their minds. Seeing my life through their eyes was like watching a movie—always tainted with the director’s perception. The events were clear, but my analysis lost. I’d tried journaling, but given the vast amount of time my existence spanned, it proved impractical. Frustrating to think that in the millenniums I had existed, there were mistakes I was damned to commit again because I had no recollection of the consequences.
From the beginning, only a few prominent memories had stuck with me. Like my time as Emperor in Asia, long before the Great Wall was built. I remember each of my family members' creations too. And…her. From the moment I existed, her vision has haunted me. I had no idea who she was, only that one day she would come to me. Losing her image was my greatest fear, so I painted her, wrote the words I imagined she’d say, and thought of her often in hopes that the next time I reincarnated, she’d make the journey with me.
It had been three hundred years since my last death, but I sensed that I would soon be facing an important crossroads in my destiny.
* * *
The air was stifling as I traversed the Scottish moors with Rhys. I couldn’t imagine the journey with anyone else. The boggy terrain and miles of nothing but sedges made for a tedious journey, but Rhys’s carefree and optimistic attitude made it bearable. Of all my “family” members, Rhys most often made me second-guess my choice to quit making—forming a new, enhanced being from the souls of three individuals. He had embraced his new life from the moment he took his first breath, in his new form, while most of the others resisted and only later came to terms with whom they had become. Most of them anyway.
Our travels had taken weeks and still more days awaited us. We were to rendezvous with Stanton Overton, another trusted member of my family. If the message had come from anyone else, I would have declined and remained in my castle with a fire blazing in the hearth. I missed the feast each evening and the plethora of chambermaids at my service.
I was about to curse Stanton’s name for sending the urgent message requesting my presence and causing the dreadful journey, when Rhys and I happened upon a young boy lying in a ditch. His blond, matted hair was tinted crimson with blood seeping from an open wound on his head. The holes in his trousers revealed more lacerations.
Rhys rushed to his aid. He pressed his ear to the boy’s chest, glanced at me, and nodded. The boy, not more than eleven or twelve years of age, was alive, but unconscious.
We ripped fragments of fabric from our shirts and tended the boy’s wounds. I lifted his limp body and placed him on my shoulder. On the horizon, at the end of the gravel covered trodden path, were outlines of shanties on the outskirts of the small village of McElwin.
The child's unconscious mind was easy to read. He was the innkeeper's son. Bandits h
ad tried to kill him as retribution against his father. The boy's constitution was hearty. He would likely survive, but his father needed to be warned.
I carried the boy to the tavern door and transferred him to Rhys's welcoming arms. I didn’t do so well in…social situations, especially with women. Best I remained out of sight.
I took a seat upon a haystack in the empty stable across from the tavern. A welcomed breeze kicked up, thankfully rushing out the thick moist air. But it didn't escape me that the conditions were the perfect ingredients for a storm.
Once situated on the hay, I grabbed a branch and with the tip began to draw in the mud. The subject was always the same—the woman who haunted my every waking moment. Her portrait was all my wandering mind desired.
After about an hour of intense concentration, I had not done her features justice. I looked up and spotted Rhys emerging from the rustic, well-worn establishment.
“Cyril,” he called out as he gathered his long black hair in both hands and secured it from the wiping wind with a black leather thong.
I stood, leaned the branch against the wall, and prepared to resume our jaunt. I could have easily read Rhys’s mind to get my answers, but I had taken to actively blocking my family’s thoughts. My constant intrusion had placed a strain on our friendship, so whenever possible, I tried my best to engage in normal conversations. Even when I was unsuccessful, I pretended for their sake.
“Has the boy been claimed?” I took a few steps toward him.
“Si. Muy afortunados.” The breeze carried Rhys’s thick Spanish accent. He moved closer but I had received his message.
I took a deep breath and shifted my sword. “The boy is recovering?”
Rhys closed the distance. From his position, the honey gold of his eyes, much like the sand of the desert I’d rescued him from, glinted with each peek of the sun through the clouds. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Si. El niño will be fine. The innkeeper appreciated the news about the bandits. As a token of his appreciation he has gifted you a night with his eldest daughter. She is muy bonita and patiently waiting just as you require.”
I shot him an approving smile, but had to ask, “Is she…”
“Fear not, she is not timid or untouched.” Rhys patted my arm. “It’s been weeks mi amigo, waste no time.”
A welcome turn of events. My travels had left me without companionship and in desperate need of release.
I clasped both of Rhys’s hands in mine then made for the inn.
The cold handle, thick wood, and ironbound door that greeted me opened with ease. The noisy patrons bustled, but as my feet connected with the worn wood floor, all commotion stopped. The clanging of dropped utensils the only sound. The scent of lamb stew and stout hung heavy in the air. I scanned the crowd, careful not to allow my gaze to linger too long. All eyes focused on me. With my threat assessment complete, I was determined not to allow my curse to ruin this opportunity.
I lowered my head, allowing black strands of hair to hide my face as I ascended the rickety stairs. Built to support mere mortals, the wood creaked and moaned under my six feet five inches of muscled frame.
I was built for sex. When my goddess designed me, she exacted every detail of human perfection and embellished them to make certain I delivered an experience no man could replicate. The innkeeper’s daughter was about to find out just how meticulous my creator was.
At the end of the hall, the door gaped open, and I saw her. It was late afternoon. The shadow cast by the clouds through the open window caused flickers of sunlight to dance across the brilliant copper and dark rust in her long auburn locks.
I paused. So familiar, yet not her. Would it hurt to pretend? I had so many times before. The beautiful redheaded vision may have eluded me, but tonight in this small village, the innkeeper’s daughter would play her part in my rehearsal. Someday, somewhere, my Light would be mine, but not tonight.
I slowed my steps as I approached her kneeling form. Rhys had blindfolded her. It made things simpler. I couldn't risk that she become a victim of my curse. The goddess was cruel indeed to gift me sexual prowess beyond any man, but deny me the ability to look into my lover's eyes. For to do so would traumatize her beyond any horror. Bloody irony. My curse. True intimacy eluded me, but lust was easily squelched with a little ingenuity.
I towered over her form and looked down on the crown of her head, alive with russet strands of silk.
“Lass, what is your name?”
With her arms hanging limp at her sides, she whispered, “Celestine.”
I knelt beside her and brushed the tips of my fingers through her hair. “Celestine,” I breathed in her ear. “That is a beautiful name. Do you know why I’m here?”
She shivered, her voice rough, “Yes.”
“Have you lain with a man?” Rhys seemed certain, but he had been lied to before. I continued to brush her hair in long, soothing strokes—twirling my fingers in the soft, lazy curls.
“Yes.” She gulped and muscles under the skin of her forearms trembled.
My cock stirred. “Did you enjoy it?” I stroked a finger under her chin. She swallowed hard but did not answer.
“Celestine?” I traced her cheek and she flinched. I paused. My brow furrowed. It would be easy just to take what I wanted. Needed.
“No need to answer.” I cupped her cheek and pressed my forehead against hers. She did not resist, but swayed when I entered her mind. I found all the answers I needed. Abuse. Subjugation. She was currency and nothing more. But beyond the hurt that encased her heart, a love for the father who neglected and misused her ran absolute. This was her duty, and it required her to surrender her identity.
She wobbled as I released her mind. I grabbed her arm, steadying her. She didn’t inquire about what happened. She remained motionless, waiting.
“Young lady, your father offered you as payment. You are a token of his gratitude to me for my saving your brother’s life. What do you have to say to that?”
“What do you wish?”
I hesitated. The war of need and right waged within me. My cock was two-steps ahead, but would be disappointed this night. I would love nothing more than to sink into the beauty before me and pretend she was the green-eyed lover from my dreams, but I would not place myself among the list of those who victimized her. Her mind was beautiful, pure, and gasped for freedom.
“A kiss. That’s what I desire.”
“As you wish.” She forced a pucker with her lips and leaned in, but the blindfold gave her lousy aim. I had intended for a peck on the cheek, but instead her lips landed against mine.
I pulled back for a moment, cradled her face in both my hands, closed my eyes, wet my lips, and then enveloped hers. Tugging, I parted her mouth and began my dance. It wasn’t fair. Though I could never love her, I could show her what it was like to love someone. What I shared was the kiss I would give my mystical lover when I finally met her.
My tongue parted her mouth, and I grasped the back of her head with one hand, forcing her closer. I poured my soul into the lesson, speeding up and slowing down to linger, caress, and then begin again.
In my finale, I pressed my forehead against hers once more as our lips parted. My chest heaved with heavy breaths, and her panting sigh fueled my ego.
Her face flushed and the scent of her arousal hit me, making my task that much more difficult.
“My sweet. Will you do me a favor?”
“Of course. I’m yours for the evening.”
“I think you misunderstand. You’re debt has been paid.” I clasped her hands in mine. “First, you will tell your father I was pleased.” I let out a deep sigh. “After that, I want you to find a man who kisses you just as I did. When you do, I want you to leave this place with him. Have no doubt, a kiss such as that is one powered by love. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded.
I kissed her on the forehead, then reached around and untied her blindfold, dropping it to the floor beside her. I rose and walked out
of the room, closing the door behind me.
In the hallway, I paused, took a deep breath, and willed my body to calm down. I wanted her in so many ways, but it was Stanton who’d taught me that taking advantage of free will was one thing, while imposing my needs had lasting consequences. For many centuries, Rhys or one of my other family members always secured me a room to retreat to in just these cases.
I had a singular focus upon entering the room. I wasn’t capable of sleep, but tending to myself was in order. As I loosened the laces on my leather pants, I was thankful that bitch of a goddess allowed me to keep my thumbs. My swollen, ready cock poked through the laces, and I grasped it, hard, then stroked it several times before sitting on the edge of the bed to remove my boots. I pulled on the laces of each, held them by the sole, and slipped them off. I stood and removed my pants, freeing my straining member.
Not every encounter ended with me fisting my cock. Sometimes, I got lucky and my encounters were naughty, wanton vixens. I gave them what they asked for, but rarely did things work out when one didn’t come to me of their own free will. Given what I was capable of, upholding my oath was paramount. Supernatural or not, men did what was necessary to satisfy their desires. I was no different.
I had no shirt to remove, since it had been used for bandages, so I lay down on the bed, prepared to daydream of her, the one with ivory soft skin and plump red lips. If only I knew her name. She was always in the forefront of my mind, beautiful and outlined in white luminescence. My light. I had to believe she would one day save me from myself—and this curse. If it were only a delusion, then at least hope would be my constant companion.