Mystic Realms: A Limited Edition Collection

by Nicole Morgan

  “You can’t keep tormenting me this way, Isaiah, just back off. I promise to be a good little mortal and stay out of your way. Once this whole mess is over, one of your brothers will wipe my memory regardless of what I want, and then all goes back to normal. You go back to dealing what you’re used to dealing with and I go back to being a mortal. A nobody.” She sounded pathetic, even to her own ears, but it was the truth. It was her constant reminder, and not only did his brothers never let her forget, neither did he. The slight movement of air told her he’d let his wings come forth, as the space she filled was suddenly too warm and too quiet. She felt safe, always safe when he was around. You’re disturbed. She needed to get to a phone and she needed to do so quickly. “Isaiah,” she pleaded. “I need to use your phone, I need to contact my friend. She will be concerned about me. Allow me to at least put her at ease.”

  The Angel took a step back, when he did, his hand was in front of her face, complete with cell attached. She was so delighted that he granted her this one request that she turned quickly into his embrace and kissed him. She wasn’t expecting him to return the kiss, but soon she found she was tightly wrapped in the arms of an Angel and was crushed to his chest. Phone still in hand, she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, knowing this was exactly what she should be avoiding. There was a rumbling against her chest, and she realized that Isaiah was growling. It warmed her heart and heated her flesh. Dalila felt the stirrings of thousands of neurons and electrons battling in her body to make a connection that only Isaiah could complete. She felt him on a cellular level, and even though her head couldn’t figure it out, her body was completely on board. Melding their bodies closer, Dalila lifted her legs and wound them around Isaiah’s waist. His hand skimmed her body, palming her ass, and as mouths crushed and tongues danced, he walked backward holding her, never breaking the kiss and sat on the couch. The hands on her ass moved to her waist and gripped tighter. She could feel his fingers flexing and massaging as he held her in his lap. Tiny pulses built into a thunderous beat. She no longer had one heart but two. Hers and his. Their counterparts, syncing to their rhythm, as her clit pounded and his cock hardened. She could feel the heat of him pulse and push against her spot.

  Breaking the kiss, Isaiah tugged on her lower lip, tracing it in slow tortuous strokes. “Woman, you have been driving me crazy since the moment I held you in my arms.” He whispered the words that she hadn’t known she had been waiting to hear. She watched through half-closed eyes as Isaiah lowered his lids and placed his head on the back of the couch. Dalila saw the corded muscles of his neck and watched his throat work as he swallowed. This man, this Warrior Angel was everything that dreams were made of: confidence, power, and sex, all rolled up with thunder and lighting and the scent of rain and earth. Isaiah was a force to be reckoned with, she was sure, inside as well as outside of the bedroom. She should be making the phone call, not sitting on the lap of a Seraphim Angel that could destroy her with his burning touches and lingering kisses.

  He tasted sinful, a duality of fire and ice, saturated in sugar. The fiery sweet taste still burned her lips in a chilling feeling. Dalila rocked back in his lap, knowing she was going to start a fire she couldn’t put out. She began a slow ride, moving her hips back and forth. This part of the seduction wasn’t new for her; she’d gotten all the way to third base before, but never with someone as potent and virile as Isaiah. The hands at her hips guided her in her motions, and his lap answered her movements with movement of its own. His erection was a match to her flame, striking over her center with sure movements, eliciting such heat and wetness that she knew she would soak through at any moment.

  Dalila stared into molten silver, which watched her with an arousal that went bone-deep and tugged on her soul. She was positive they were communicating in a language only their bodies spoke. Beautiful long lashes and a strong sensual jaw begged and taunted her. She wanted to kiss him again, connect their lips. Dalila bent forward and did just that. She kissed his eyes first, then his cheek, then slowly dragged her lips across his chin. She nipped his jaw until she reached his mouth and took it in a searing kiss. The sliding of tongues, the tasting of lips; recognition hit deep on a level that Dalila was sure he had to feel as strongly as she did. How could he not? The soul always knew when it found its other half.

  The story will continue with The Warriors Salvation coming soon to an e-reader near you.

  About the Authors

  Misha is a nomadic soul, living all over the US with her Scottish husband. During their travels, she fell in love with the written word and put her hands on the keyboard to romanticize her journeys. When not writing you can find her at Scottish Highland games (she’s there for the men in kilts) or at the beach…as long as it’s not hurricane season.

  You can follow Misha via her website or social media.

  Website: www.mishaelliott.com

  Facebook/Instagram/Twitter: @elliottmisha

  Bookbub: www.bookbub.com/authors/misha-elliott

  Tigris is a military brat who’s done her fair share of travelling, thanks to her Army father. She’s married to the infamous LL and has three boys. She currently resides in Houston and is actively seeking a book-buddy for the end of the world.

  You can find Tigris on Twitter, Facebook, and at her website.

  Twitter: @Tigris_Eden

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/TigrisEdenAuthor

  Website: www.tigriseden.com

  Three Days From Hell

  Kushiel’s Assassin

  Dariel Raye

  He’s the most dangerous man she’s ever met, but her wish is his command.

  Can a punishing angel, a magical matchmaker, and a few moments of passion break the chains of Hell?

  Kushiel, one of three punishing angels, and warden of a special league of assassins, has many secrets. One of his best kept secrets is an assassin called Hunter.

  Deemed too dangerous to live among other wards of third Hell, let alone the general population of humans, Hunter resides in an isolated corridor of Hell. Unlike most of his cellmates, Hunter is allowed short periods above-ground, three-days, to be exact, each time to rectify a horrible wrong, meting out Kushiel’s justice.

  Orphaned in her teens, Anitra just wants a normal life - to feel safe - but when dark secrets rise from her past, she escapes to an exclusive resort to get away from it all.

  Anitra’s inhibitions take a vacation when she meets Hunter, but can a permanent resident of third Hell be trusted?

  To your inner child, lots of good, a touch of spice, who never quite fit in anywhere except in books, stories, and dreams, and your self-in-progress, unique, priceless, who sometimes doubts, but endeavors to overcome challenges every day. Dream bigger, challenge better, strengthen your armor with compassion, and make each moment worthy of life. Your legacy is yet to be fulfilled.

  Chapter One

  1400 AD, Egypt

  Hunter bolted upright, startled by the clanging noise of heavy metal sliding against itself as his father opened his cage. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he was certain dawn had not yet lit the sky, and he had only slept an hour, two at the most.

  “Get up. Khalil bought you for the day, and he wants you to come immediately. Go earn your keep, and do not dare to embarrass me in any way.” Azazel loomed over the small steel cage, glaring down at his ill-begotten son as the young man on the verge of adulthood rose from the cold, concrete floor and stood. The young man, Hunter, immediately averted his gaze just as he had been trained to do, bowing his head to stare at the floor. Despite his exceptional height, 6’5”, his father, one of the original fallen, still towered over him by at least five-inches.

  Azazel folded his arms and stepped back, allowing Hunter to move towards the door.

  “Catch something to eat on your way to Khalil’s abode.” The demon roared, laughing at his own cruel joke.

  Hunter shoved the door open and stepped outside. Finally, he could breathe. At the age of 15, he knew
all too well that his best chance of having peace rested in speaking to his father as little as possible. The daily ‘jobs’ at least allowed him temporary freedom from his cage, and every now and then, one of his patrons treated him with civility. Unfortunately, though, those times were few and far between, as most people treated him with an odd combination of fear and disdain.

  For as long as he could remember, he had been catching and preparing his own food, or conjuring it when he had no other choice. Like any other day, he made this his first priority. He had no idea how many hours Khalil would keep him, thus no idea when he would be allowed to eat again if he did not take care of it now.

  Khalil’s home was on the edge of the village, several miles from where Hunter slept. As he made his way there, people moved out of his path, allowing him a wide berth. Most of them knew who and what he was, and those who did not were told immediately. Even though he did his best to keep his wings hidden from view, nothing he did seemed to mitigate the air of evil surrounding him.

  He stopped to watch some of the village children playing a game with stones and pebbles. They laughed, hitting one another lightly and running. He longed for a chance to play games, enjoy companionship with other youth. He longed for companionship with anyone who would allow it. He would promise not to hurt them, but when they looked up and saw him, they always scattered. Their parents pulled them inside, their eyes large and filled with terror.

  Hunter’s heart sank, and he turned away, continuing towards his job for the day. He had given up on the idea of being lovable a long time ago. There was only one who cared about him, Lenora, but even she was powerless over his situation, Azazel’s treatment of him. If he was late, or did anything wrong, Azazel would mutilate one of the village animals, children, or women, and force him to watch. His father had started his training by physically abusing him, but soon found that Hunter’s high threshold for pain made that approach less productive. The demon had then turned to hurting others, knowing that Hunter would do anything to protect the innocent from harm.

  Catching a glimpse of furry black feet, Hunter sprinted towards the garden behind a villager’s home. The rabbit darted away as quickly as it could, and Hunter could hear the helpless creature’s heart racing with fear. He had no desire to catch or hurt the tiny animal. He simply enjoyed watching them.

  He made himself a simple breakfast of greens, wheat, and a ripe, red plum before teleporting to Khalil’s. The children’s rebuff had given him enough of the village for a while. He promised himself that from that day forth, he would simply teleport directly from his cage to wherever his father sent him. Unlike his father, he had no desire to incite fear in the villagers.

  When he arrived at Khalil’s, Hunter was happy to learn the stubby little man only wanted him to conjure a one-of-a-kind gift for a young lady Khalil wished to woo into his bed. Hunter envisioned a diamond necklace, and when it appeared, Khalil’s dark eyes lit up like stars.

  “Yes, yes!” Khalil expressed joy, but there was no gratitude in his eyes when he turned his attention back to Hunter, only the same fear and loathing he was accustomed to. “Now, go! Get away from here. She can never know that you made this. I paid for it. Understand?”

  Hunter simply remained silent and turned to leave, willing the door to open before he reached it.

  Khalil stood beside him with his mouth open in awe, shock, or whatever. Hunter didn’t bother trying to figure what was going on in the rude, ungrateful little man’s mind. He decided to walk the entire distance home.

  Moments before reaching the mountain-ledge cave he and his father called home, his heart began to race, and he felt unbearably hot. Hell’s fire.

  Something was very wrong.

  He burst through the door, splintering the heavy cypress fixture and sending it flying against the opposite wall. Catching the floral scent of Lenora, the succubus who had become something of a mother figure to him, the only one he had ever known, he realized her scent was coming from his cage.

  Soon as he stepped inside, Azazel shoved him in and slammed the door shut, locking Hunter inside with what he immediately realized was Lenora’s barely conscious body.

  “I decided to be merciful and not force you to watch me kill the slut, but when she had the nerve to question me about how I raised you, and how you were treated, it was time for her ass to go, and time to remind you what happens when you allow anyone to get too close to you. With all of your wondrous powers, healing is not among them.” Azazel continued, taunting Hunter, but Hunter could no longer hear him.

  Furious and broken-hearted at once, Hunter could no longer think or maintain control. Overtaken by rage, he unleashed the full extent of his powers, focusing on the destruction of his imprisoner, abuser, and father. The locked gate of his cage meant nothing. Azazel’s final, and irrevocable act was to underestimate the offspring he had so violently used and cultivated.

  Kushiel observed his Keep from Third Heaven, his conversation with God uninterrupted. Every movement his charges made, every word spoken, touched his eyes and ears as if he stood in their midst, but he watched them from above. He would make his rounds soon enough. First and foremost, he considered his recent conversation with Lillian. One of her comments, in particular, struck him – so much so, that he could not put it from his mind.

  “Imagine being imprisoned for centuries, tortured until every hope of freedom recedes to a corner of your mind you no longer bother to visit. Yes, he broke a cardinal rule, but he did not ask to be what he is.” Lillian’s astute observation troubled him because he had never considered it himself.

  The young man, born of an innocent human mother and an escaped demon, fell, hitting the hot coal floor with a boom, overshadowing the sound of his bones breaking, his body bent at unnatural angles, fire from the pit searing his flesh as joints and organs immediately and painfully healed. Hunter. He was a particularly talented one.

  For eons, Kushiel, God’s appointed “punishing angel,” meted out punishment for crimes committed on earth, but there was more to Kushiel than his billions of charges could possibly see, and as an angel, he was not completely lacking in mercy.

  Kushiel noted Hunter’s lack of surprise, fear, or emotion of any kind. Even the chains wrapping around his body and slamming him into the jagged stone wall as he stood, left him cold as if accustomed to them – well-acquainted with pain. Sighing, Kushiel felt an unusual mix of dismay and elation at Hunter’s arrival.

  Of course, Kushiel knew Hunter’s story. He knew of his fallen brother, Azazel, and the demon’s evil, unspeakable treatment of the child, the child of his blood, now a man, and God answered Kushiel’s unspoken request before the thought came to completion.

  “Yes, my Lord…”

  “Yes. Yes, Master. It will be as you command.”

  With a thought, Kushiel stood facing Hunter, assessing him in the same way he assessed each possible addition to his special unit of assassins, aptly called Kushiel’s Keep. Each member of this elite group was chosen because of her or his exceptional abilities and the gray area in which their own crimes fell – a gray area Kushiel understood all too well. Unlike the majority of Kushiel’s wards, his Keep had little or no control over the acts they committed, and Hunter fit the profile, but the young man’s lack of emotion concerned him. Hunter had lost everything and everyone he’d ever cared about, and his tolerance for physical pain was unrivaled. This predicament left very little leverage.

  Kushiel’s elite wards, his chosen assassins, were allowed special leave to locate and return escaped souls like Hunter’s father, to Hell. Each assassin, unique in his or her abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, retained a spark of desire for something – freedom, redemption, and even revenge. This spark bound them, a common thread.

  Hunter had lost everything, his spark barely discernable, but Kushiel was as much a master of locating hope as he was of extinguishing it - thus, utilizing his unique gift to mold and control souls, whether his goal happened to be abject misery or unexpected red
emption, he searched.

  Kushiel continued to watch Hunter, the ward lowering his head, resigned to his station, and Kushiel set a plan in motion, centuries in the making. Finally, he offered Hunter a simple statement.

  “I have a purpose for you.”

  Hunter met Kushiel’s gaze for the first time since his incarceration.

  Present Day

  One moment she sat at her office desk thinking about the surprise text message, hopeful for the first time in months since the humiliating break-up with her so-called fiancé, and the next, she felt an all too familiar unease, her hair rising from her scalp as she glanced up, making sure her movements were imperceptible to others in her office.

  Anitra lowered her head even more, and responded to the text with another exclamation point. Her mysterious overseer’s text message also served to notify her that she was in imminent danger. Anitra bent down under the desk, shoved her rolling chair back, then pulled her favorite fighting knife from the compartment sewn into the inside of her boot in case she could not get away fast enough. She had survived thus far because of her instincts. They were impeccable, and she seldom doubted them.