revelations 02 - on a white horse
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgments
ON A WHITE HORSE
AN APOCALYPTIC PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Monica Corwin
¶
PRONOUN
Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.
All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.
Copyright © 2016 by Monica Corwin
Cover image © Victoria Miller
Interior design by Pronoun
Edited by Victoria Miller
Distribution by Pronoun
ISBN: 9781508038726
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgments
Dedication: This book is dedicated to the NCOWs.
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Chapter One
“Excuse me, miss. Can I speak to your mother?”
The male voice broke Bianca’s concentration as she dried the mugs she’d stacked in neat lines on the shelf. Order never mattered much to her, but recently it seemed to help more than imagining humans fighting or causing fights, which Cloris frowned upon. At least to keep her from acting out the dangerous melee that assaulted her on a daily basis. That this human deigned himself important enough to interrupt her when she clearly needed to relax, with an insult no less.
Her brain skittered, and she considered throwing the mug at his head. The satisfying thud the ceramic would make as it collided with his skull might be worth it. She smiled to herself, but humans remained fragile creatures and she didn’t want Cloris to yell at her. She set the mug down, the glass tinkling against its brethren, and then tossed the white towel on top of them before turning to him.
She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the man. He wore a business suit, off the rack, and smelled of onion, yet rules of propriety insisted she be nice. “I am the owner of this establishment, sir. How can I help you?”
She attempted to keep the bite from her words, but perfection eluded her.
He gave her the once-over men liked to do, where they start at the breasts before sparing a glance to the toes, and then back up to the face. “How old are you?”
When did it become okay for a man to ask a woman’s age?
She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath before answering, slower and with more force than the last time. “I don’t believe my age is any of your business, sir. What can I do for you?”
He blinked, and by his expression she’d failed at curbing her growing rage and moderating her tone.
Katherine, of course, exited the kitchen and approached the counter at the perfect moment. The soft woosh of the door swinging closed accompanied her. “How can I help you, sir?”
The customer sagged in relief as he focused his attention on Katherine. As if he hadn’t endured an unfortunate incident with a teenager only moments ago. He didn’t give Katherine the look-over but met her eye-to-eye like a reasonable adult.
Bianca shook her head, slipped behind Katherine to the kitchen, and then rushed to the alley to grab some air.
Ever since the battle in the Underworld forced her to use her powers, she’d danced on the edge of control. The precipice of doing monstrous acts she would one day regret. As Bianca began to stretch and shift her sore muscles, Cloris—coifed to perfection in stilettos and a black sheath dress—strutted up the alley. Strange men probably never ask her age.
Cloris stopped an arm’s length from Bianca and took stock of her before asking, “are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just dealt with a difficult customer. Katherine took over, and I wanted some air.” She stopped and considered her tumultuous emotions for a minute. “I think I’m actually going to leave. I might go out tonight, blow off some steam.”
Cloris nodded and pulled a card from God only knows where. This remained a mystery to Bianca as she never carried a bag and her dresses fit tightly—too tightly to hold anything in her tits.
“Go to the club. Take this. They will let you in, and you can have the run of the place.”
Bianca accepted the gold embossed card and traced Cloris’ name across the face, the words raised and thick against the pad of her index finger. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”
She patted Cloris on the shoulder as she passed and headed up the alley. The warm spring air meant she didn’t need the jacket she left inside. At the curb, she raised her arm to signal a taxi to take her to the brownstone she shared with Katherine. Really, the entire top floor belonged to her, and Katherine maintained a respectful distance.
Once home, she trekked up the stairs, her legs growing heavier with every step. She flopped on the bed face-first into the pillow. The scent of summer flowers washed into her sinus cavity. Katherine knew she didn’t have to do Bianca’s housework, but it calmed her like order and routine did Bianca. So she allowed Katherine to mother her, even if she didn’t need it.
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Six-thirty. If she hurried she could primp in time to leave for the club by eight P.M. She’d been there the one time, but many aspects of it drew her attention, and without any of her friends present it might be the perfect opportunity to try them out.
She scooted down the bed and hopped up, trekking to her closet to survey her clothing options. She’d witnessed the dress code at the club, but she wanted an outfit made for standing out. She wanted the attention despite the fact no human deserved hers.
She grabbed a hanger and traced her fingers down the fabric. “Perfect.”
Laying the outfit and matching shoes on the bed, she headed to the shower. Making quick work of it and stepping out into a haze of steam, she studied her features in the foggy mirror. Dark eyes, dark hair, fair skin, and a light wash of freckles across the bridge of her nose. As long as she’d lived, she bore the face and form of a teenager. Tonight she’d change her perception and garner the attention due to her.
Once she slid the outfit over her curves
, it all clicked into place. She glanced at the accompanying mask before grabbing the phone and calling Cloris’ car service. She didn’t want to hail a cab dressed for a sex club. Something bad might happen…like a human exploding. She smiled at the visual before shaking it off. No, those were the thoughts she needed to make more of an effort to stay away from. Humans weren’t supposed to explode, and she wasn’t supposed to enjoy the image.
While she waited, she checked her cell phone until a text alerted her to the car’s arrival. She exited the house, and the driver didn’t even bat a lash at her encasement in black leather from breast to knees.
“I’m going to the club,” she said before climbing in the back of the car.
“Very good, miss,” he said, avoiding a direct look at her, before closing the door and taking his place up front. She kept her eyes on the back of his head as he drove until they pulled up in the alley and he opened the car door for her to exit.
The red door of The Underworld sat unassuming and ordinary until she pressed the doorbell three times. A beautiful woman with midnight dark skin and a black top hat showed her to the key boxes. Bianca placed her cell phone and wallet in the box and took the gold chain from the lock, tucking the key into her breasts.
The concierge simpered at her approach, and Bianca handed her Cloris’ card before slipping on her mask. The girl smiled further. “Right this way.”
Bianca followed her down a side corridor, but not the one she’d gone down when she visited with everyone. The girl opened the door, and as Bianca brushed past she gasped aloud: her first taste of Tartarus.
______
Gwyn stepped from the shadows and observed Bianca’s awe at witnessing Tartarus. His heart hammered in his chest, and he itched to throw himself at her feet. He’d followed her for the last couple of weeks, and so far she’d not seemed to notice even when he purposefully put himself in her path. Strangely not the reaction he usually received from the opposite sex. He monitored her trek through the room from a darkened corner. If she only looked up she would see him. If she only saw him, she’d know how much he needed her.
He swallowed the emotions threatening to push their way up. She meant nothing more than a means to an end. Yes, he did need her, but for a particular purpose. One not involving emotional attachments or feelings.
She trailed her hand across the back of a red, crushed velvet sofa. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. He quelled very different emotions the more she touched things and reacted to them.
When she pressed herself into one of the first cages for a peek Gwyn’s heart picked up an unsteady rhythm. A man kneeled inside, and even in the low lighting Gwyn caught the trickle of sweat shining on his skin. Bianca’s lingering look brought to mind ice cream cones in summer. She wanted that man, and it knocked the breath from Gwyn to spy longing in the line of her beautiful body.
She continued through the room and peeked in more cages, and Gwyn stepped from the lurking shadows to sit on the sofa. He wore black tonight, signaling to anyone else present he was a Dominant. Although, for the right woman, he might change his tune. Well, not any woman…only Bianca.
He settled in and a lovely server brought him a small glass of gin and soda. She scuttled away with a blush after he kissed her fingertips in gratitude.
Bianca stood next to the cage of a girl tied Shibari-style on her knees, and Bianca’s fingers clutched the bars with surprising force. Her knuckles were white before she soon let go and trailed her hand along the metal toward the next cage.
The lights flickered, and a woman strutted into the center of the room. “Tonight we have a special guest.”
Gwyn barely spared the woman a glance; he only had eyes for Bianca. Her body stiffened, and she shrank back away from the woman around the edge of the room as if she feared her. Gwyn stood and buttoned his tuxedo jacket ready and willing to protect her against any threat.
Before he could clear the distance to her, cage was pushed from behind a curtain bearing another beautiful man and any fear Bianca showed before vanished. She peered into the bars, and Gwyn grew hard watching her press her hips into the metal and work her bottom lip between her teeth. She’d chosen her prize for the night.
He skirted to the other side of the cage almost daring her to look his way this time, but her attention never wavered from the lovely man inside. Risking her notice further, Gwyn gripped the bars and listened to the heated cadence of her tone as she asked the ring leader the man’s name. He barely caught the name, and he formed the word with his mouth, tasting it: Victor. Was this what Bianca wanted in a man? Gwyn’s looks and charm had always easily held the attention of his partner’s, but Victor’s elemental beauty was something else. His hair shone under the low light like ribbons of ebony and his skin was darker than the tan Gwyn could attain. The shape of his face and the slant of his eyes spoke of Middle Eastern descent. Ah, how he remembered the Middle East so fondly.
“Can I touch him?” Bianca’s voice cut through his reminiscence, and he stood helpless and hard as she grabbed a handful of Victor’s luscious black ringlets and jerked the man’s head back to look at her.
Bianca’s next statement gutted Gwyn. “I’ll take him.”
The words cut him deep, and Gwyn stared helplessly as she released Victor and the women freed him from the cage. He could reveal himself, step forward, and let it all fall where it might. But his mind trailed to his brother and he stepped back, released the cage, obscuring himself in the shadows. No. He needed her for other reasons, not singularly for her powers as Conquest. As much as his skin ached to know how well she wielded a whip, he couldn’t risk all his hard work for something as simple as lust.
Gwyn continued his retreat into the cover of darkness as she preceded Victor to the back rooms. The man towered over her yet, to Gwyn, Victor’s submission shone perfectly clear. He knew it well because it matched his own cravings. Gwyn tossed back the gin and sat the glass on a table before heading to the exit. He didn’t need to imagine what a night Victor was in for, and he certainly didn’t want to sit around and witness them exit the room tousled and bruised. He straightened his coat and left without a backward glance. Soon enough would be soon enough.
______
Bianca headed down the hall and picked door number two. How appropriate. She turned the giant gold key in the lock and pushed the door open. The room provided more than her little twisted heart could have imagined: whips, chains, and a bed luscious enough to live in.
Victor followed her in and locked the door before bending to kneel barely beyond the entrance. As she perused the room, he sat silently waiting for her command.
Once she explored her fill, she turned toward Victor gesturing to her feet. “Come here.”
He stood and approached. “Yes, Mistress?”
“You can call me Lethe if you like, or Mistress if it’s more comfortable for you.”
She headed to the bed and climbed up, the leather encasing her entire form proving difficult to maneuver in. She shook her head and stood again. “Help me out of this dress.”
He obeyed immediately, traversing the room in a couple strides before unzipping the leather and peeling it from her skin. He held it in his hands and she smiled, catching the uncertainty in his face. Reaching out she said, “I’ll take it.”
She laid it across a chair and stood in her black lace panties, matching bra, and high heels. She caught him gaping at her before glancing down to his toes again. “You can look at me.”
He lifted his head and inhaled sharply. Then he reached out as if he might touch her before jerking his hand away. His regard wasn’t the same as the man in the coffee shop who’d so offended her. Victor’s perusal set a tingle under her skin. She enjoyed his attention. “Tell me about yourself,” she prompted, circling him and enjoying every bit of the view. His skin glowed deep and rich, the color of medium roast coffee with lots of cream, and he had a dusting of hair from the top of his thighs up to his groin, then trailing to his chest, circling his brown
nipples.
“What do you want to know, Mistress?”
His voice broke her own perusal of him. “How long have you been coming to this club?”
“This is my first time, Mistress.”
Surprise and pleasure coursed through her. No one else had marked him, and her hand would be the first. “You jumped right in then.” An admirable quality in a man.
“This is the most prestigious club in the city. If you want to be a sub in The Underworld, you have no choice but to jump in.”
She enjoyed the way his mouth created each syllable. Forming them perfectly with his full lips. For a moment, she debated on confiding it was her first night too, but this was also her first foray into the BDSM world, well at least amongst humans in the last few hundred years. Not that she expected them to be any different than immortals…maybe simply more fragile. In the void, she rarely had cause to interact with a mortal, and if she did it was because they were the plaything to one god or another. She wouldn’t hurt him too badly to begin with, but she didn’t want him thinking less of her right out the gate.
“Tell me why you’re a sub.”
“I deal with powerful people all day long. I’m in charge and have to be in control. Sometimes it’s nice to give up control, especially to a beautiful woman.”
She smiled and reached out to touch him for the second time. She pressed her palm between his pecs and the heavy beat of his heart thumped against it. “Do you find me beautiful?”
He stumbled over the words at first, “Of course, Mistress. I couldn’t believe my luck when you chose me. If it isn’t too impertinent to say.”
“No, I like it.”
He gave her a sheepish grin, and she noticed a dimple sprout on one of his cheeks. Yet another adorable trait.
She gently pushed his shoulders, and he wordlessly followed her unspoken command. As if he were made to kneel before her. While he settled on his knees, she ran her fingers through those curls again. He’d put some kind of oil in it so they shone in the low lighting and the silky soft strands slid effortlessly through her fingers.