Dark Promise

by M. L. Guida

  DARK PROMISE

  By M.L. GUIDA

  LYRICAL PRESS

  http://lyricalpress.com/

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader,

  I’m delighted you decided to read Dark Promise. I love this book because it is based in Frisco, CO. Frisco is like a second home to me and the beetle kill in Frisco killed many of our beautiful trees which broke my heart. The supernatural always finds a way to help cure the problems in the world. I’m currently working on Ravaged Soul, which is Toby’s story.

  I love to hear from readers. I am on all the social media sites, facebook, twitter (@ml_mlguida), and goodreads. I respond to emails, facebook posts and tweets, so don’t hesitate to contact me. You can reach me on my website http://www.mlguida.com/contact/ or follow my blog http://www.mlguida.com/blog/

  Book loaning and reviews are ways that readers can help authors get the word out about books they love, so don’t hesitate to spread the word about Dark Promise and leave a review on any of the media sites.

  If you’d like to receive new release email, please sign up at http://www.mlguida.com/

  Sincerely,

  M.L. Guida

  1

  Kill. Kill. Kill.

  The command thumped between his temples, urging him to hurt someone, anyone. Dragon fire burned in his chest and he forced the darkness back. It wouldn’t devour him like it had his father.

  The Golden Tree’s Song of Tranquility, nearly inaudible now, calmed his raging dragon fire, bringing it back under control, luring it back to sleep. But when would it awake?

  Someone clasped his arm. A dark figure stood next to him. The Wraith. He’d never seen her face, only her glowing red eyes staring at him from beneath her hood.

  “The Darkness is beginning to take hold of you, young prince,” the Wraith rasped. “Only a few leaves remain on the Golden Tree. You don’t have time to squander.”

  “I know,” he snapped. Darkness was consuming his people, strangling the tree. It was her damn fault. She refused to open the portal until the time was right, but accusing the Wraith would end up with his ass in a grave.

  “On the Eve of the Equinox, during the year of her twenty-first year, the silver haired human, tainted with angel blood, who is mated to the last Lord of the House Wyvern, and has looked upon the Wraith and the Undead unchanged, will breathe upon the Golden Tree and return the Light to the people.” The Wraith tilted her head toward Castle Basilisk, his father’s palace. “By royal decree, your father has ordered any Dragon Demon, who has not yet turned feral be taken to the Chamber to await Gryffin the Torturer. The poor souls imprisoned inside are counting on you to liberate them.”

  “No pressure there.” Eric vowed not to become a rabid demon, but each day, the fight became harder. Without the Song of Tranquility, his people had turned feral, fighting each other, tormenting each other, killing each other.

  “You must find Cassandra Wright and bring her back here,” the Wraith said.

  He kicked a rock, shaving off the weeds near the dying tree. “Cassandra doesn’t know anything about me or the Underworld. If you would have let me visit her, just once, we wouldn’t be in such dire need.”

  “She wasn’t ready for you yet.”

  He shoved his hands into his coat pockets to keep from wringing her neck. “She is now?”

  “Of course. The prophecy is already in motion. Her abilities have grown.”

  He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He was sick of hearing about how Cassandra could tolerate the Wraith, but not him. Christ, he might as well be a bloody leper. “Because she can tolerate seeing you?”

  “And see the Undead.”

  But the Wraith’s orders hadn’t stopped him from visiting Cassandra in her dreams for the past three years. Each time, he seduced her, kissing, licking and tasting her, thrusting in time to her soft whimpers as he thrust deep inside her. He never told her his name, always shrouding himself with mystery, hoping to stoke her desire for him and only him. Now, would be the real test. He wanted to feel her skin, taste her lips, bask in her smile rather than her image. “I won’t fail.”

  “You’ll not be able to use any magic up in her world.”

  “What?”

  “Since it is slowly dying, the Golden Tree’s magic will not run through you up in her world.”

  “So, exactly how am I supposed to get her to come with me?” The dragon fire flared, demanding he attack the Wraith, a stupid Neanderthal move, which would end with the Wraith turning him into dragon dust. Not wanting to become like his father, he took a deep breath and concentrated on the Song of the Tranquility until he controlled his anger.

  “Woo her, Prince, woo her.” She laughed. She laughed more like the wind whistling through a tree.

  “Woo her?” How the hell was he supposed to woo her? He was a Prince for God’s sake. Dragon Demon women fell at his feet, begging him to take them, vying to be the next Princess.

  The Wraith stretched out a twisted hand and in her palm, lay a black wallet. “You’ll need this where you are going, Prince. You’ll need to buy clothes and ski attire.”

  He opened the wallet. A credit card, a license and stack of hundred dollars bills were tucked neatly inside. He stuffed it into his back pocket. “So, I will not have any magic?”

  “Some, but it will fade fast. Use it wisely, Prince.” She pointed at the twirling blue sky. The wind howled and Eric’s hair whipped his face, cold air rushing over him. White clouds churned overhead.

  The Wraith stood erect, her robe never moving. “When you have her, the gate will open. Go now, Prince, before it’s too late.”

  Eric flipped out his wings and flew into the spinning sky. The wind roared and pushed him back toward the Underworld, but he fought the turbulence and headed for a small black opening. White foamy clouds blurred his vision and moisture stung his cheeks. Cold air gripped him.

  His teeth chattering uncontrollably, he passed through the opening. Black midnight sky, a glowing full moon and glittering stars greeted him. He landed on the edge of the chasm and folded his wings. He moved his hand down his body and a black duster jacket clothed him, but did little to warm him. He shivered, clenching and unclenching stiff fingers. He jammed his gloved hands into his jacket.

  Behind him lay a black sinkhole as wide as the Grand Turquoise Canyon back home. Back in the Underworld, the temperature never fell below seventy, but he wasn’t home. Here in the Rocky Mountains on a winter night, the ground rumbled. Dirt and snow closed the fracture.

  Frosted pine and naked aspen trees decorated the park and lined an icy path. Last time he was here, he’d been a boy. His parents brought him for a vacation. Walter Byron Park was the gateway between two worlds, unknown to humans.

  He exhaled and foggy breath swirled around him. Fresh jasmine overpowered the mountain pine. Cassandra. Thanks to his dragon ancestors, he could smell his mate a hundred miles away. His dragon fire roared, boiling his blood, raising his body temperature, sweat running down his back.

  Pursuing the scent, he jogged past jagged icicles hanging from picnic tables and benches and snow covered green monkey bars, a wooden teeter-totter and curvy metal slide. A wooden sign read Walter Byron Park.

  Murder. Murder. Murder.

  As he picked up his pace, he gulped mountain air, easing the fire back to a flicker. Shit, he wasn’t even by her yet. What would happen when he found her? When he touched her? He had to manage his dragon fire or he’d terrify Cassandra. He wanted to win her heart, see her smile and hear her laugh. A demonic inferno would have her scampering up a pine tree like a frightened chipmunk.

  His boots crunching on the ice, he followed her titillating scent across
a bridge, over a frozen river and down a dimly lit street. In front of a large two-story white home with a turret, a snow covered sign read Galena Mountain Street Inn. Cassandra was in there. Not caring if the inn had a room, he marched up to the front porch and ripped open the oak door.

  Eric squeezed between the hideous purple settee and coffee table to get to the desk. The clock over the front desk read one AM, but he rang the bell anyway.

  Bloody hell, where did one find such mismatched furnishings? He reached to hit the bell again when a door creaked.

  A yawning blond woman shuffled to the counter. “I’m Isabella. Are you Steven? We’ve been waiting for you. Running a little late, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not Steven, but I need a room.”

  She flipped limp, disheveled hair out of her eyes and frowned. “You are?”

  “Wyvern. Eric Wyvern.”

  “Do you have any identification?”

  “Yes.” He gave her the license.

  She examined it, glancing back at him several times before she handed it back. “We had a cancellation. You’re lucky Mr. Wyvern.”

  He wondered if it was coincidence. His magic might be gone, but obviously the Wraith still possessed hers.

  Clutching the key, he headed up the burgundy-carpeted stairs to the room. The sweet perfume of jasmine permeated from behind a door. He stopped. Cassandra was in there. He gripped the doorknob, but forced his hand back.

  Control. Get a hold of yourself, man.

  He opened the door across from Cassandra’s and turned on the lights. It was too much of coincidence for him to get a room so close to Cassandra. Definitely the Wraith’s intervention. Shutting the door, he tossed the keys onto a nightstand next to a bowl of shriveled up flowers. He whipped off his jacket and hung it in the closet.

  A chill hung in the air and he wanted to have a glass of wine and warm his shivering body. Instead, he stripped, shut off the lights and climbed into bed. Hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t have time to waste. What if Cassandra refused to come? She didn’t have much choice. He would not let his people die.

  No demon had ever been mated to a human, but the Wraith had foreseen his union with Cassandra. The Wraith was never wrong. What if this time her vision failed her?

  Tomorrow there would be no more dreams. Tomorrow he’d be able to touch, kiss and suck her satiny skin. How the hell would he be able to sleep?

  Wanting her to desire him when they met, he drew upon his magic. His spirit hesitated to come forth. Shit, this had never happened before. Struggling, he forced his spirit to infiltrate Cassandra’s dream.

  * * * *

  Clad only in her nightgown, Cassandra Wright walked barefoot through Walter Byron Park. Snow covered the ground. Why wasn’t she cold?

  Leaning against an aspen tree, arms crossed over his naked chest, he smiled at her, the man who’d haunted her dreams since she was sixteen. Every dream ended with delicious lovemaking. He’d never told her his name, and each time, he left her quivering in bliss.

  Her normal cautiousness fled. Wicked desire filled her and she wanted to run her hands over his muscles, feel his strength, but she stayed rooted in the snow.

  His muscles glistening, he unfolded his arms and approached her, his black leather pants hugging sculpted thighs, black boots outlining powerful calves. He motioned. “Come here, Cassandra.”

  Her heart quickened. She wanted to do anything and everything he asked. Even if she couldn’t breathe or think with wanting him. She obeyed him.

  He grabbed her and pulled her to him. Taller than any man she knew, he could crush her, but he never did in her dreams. His rough wild lips captured hers, and he swept an arm around her waist.

  She was safe, cherished, coveted that only he could conjure. Cassandra wove her fingers through his long thick hair, wanting to feel his silky strands caressing her. Indulging in the kiss, she swirled her tongue, tasting his seasoned masculinity.

  He broke the kiss and hoisted her nightgown over her head. The gown dropped onto the icy ground. Passion filled his eyes as he pulled her to him. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

  She slid her arms around his neck and he glided his big hands down her back, slipped them under her panties and kneaded her buttocks. Wanting to feel the strength within them as he moved, she drifted her hands down to his brawny shoulders. He was powerful, a warrior, her warrior.

  Calloused hands skimmed her heated skin. She shivered. He cupped and played with her breasts, squeezing and pulling her nipples. He was hard and muscular while she was all curves and he glided his hands over her every curve, setting her on fire. God, she wanted him, demanded him.

  His steaminess turned her into a sultry snow bunny.

  Her dream lover stared at her, his hooded brown eyes brimming with passion. Possession. Ownership. Raw sensuality. She ached for him, itchy to touch him. He lowered her down to the snow bank and rather than icy cold, a feathery and soft downy snow quilt cushioned her. With him, here in her dream, she could satisfy her wild side, play the harlot, rather than being safe, logical Cassandra. Her heart beat wild as his dark head lowered and he drew her nipple into his hot mouth, sucking hard enough to send her head spinning.

  Running her hands over the heated contour of skin, she spread her fingers, feeling the strong ridges of muscles and tracing the straight line of his spine, knowing this inflamed him. She knew every crevice, every dip and knew how to entice desire from her strong warrior. He shivered beneath her touch. Good, she had power too.

  But her smugness lessened as he swirled his tongue around her peak, caressing and sucking her until she groaned with pleasure, melting into the snow. Lord! Hang on. She was going to explode into a million pieces. He took her even higher, licking and kissing her hot skin down to her belly button where he slowly explored her navel driving her mad. “Oh, God.”

  He lifted up from her belly button and edged her underwear down her buttocks, her thighs and calves. She sucked in her breath at the possessiveness reflecting in his eyes. Did they turn red? Or was the light playing tricks on her?

  “You’re beautiful, Cassandra.”

  She squirmed, eager to dive into sinful delight as he tossed her underwear aside and lifted her thighs over his massive shoulders. Cassandra closed her eyes as his hot mouth kissed her soft mound of curls. He swiped his tongue over her pussy and she arched off the snow bank with a loud gasp. She prayed for sweet relief from emotions of pumping through her veins, but no relief was in sight, only more guilty pleasure.

  He was mystifying and seductive and oh, so dangerous. She should have chosen a nice accountant rather than a dark stranger. With his tongue, he circled her clit, teasing, torturing, driving her insane. He held her trembling thighs tight as he sucked her pussy. She screamed in sinful torment.

  He slipped a finger inside her sex and she feared she explode into tiny fragments. He thrust his finger in and out, flaming another orgasm. “You’re such a sweet mess.” Adding another finger, he intensified the slow agony and she wanted to respond but his motion left her too breathless to talk. He leisurely led her to another blissful erotic orgasm. Making her wait. But she wanted more, so much more. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  Heat spread over her cheeks. She couldn’t tell him, beg him to thrust inside her so she took the coward’s way out. “Will you tell me your name?” She waited for his patent answer.

  A smile spread across his lips. “Tomorrow, you’ll not only find out my name and meet me, but I’ll be thrusting inside you.”

  Oh, shit. For real?

  2

  Cassandra woke with a start, her nightgown bunched around her waist and her core throbbing. Usually the dream was only a couple times a week. But for the past six months, it had been every night. The dreams seemed urgent, as if the man was desperate for her.

  Would she really find out his name? Hell, who cares about the name? He said he was real. Alive. She was nothing but a desperate
fool.

  She ran her fingers along the empty pillow next to her, wishing he was stretched out beside her. Cold gripped her body where his had provided warmth and she curled into a tight ball, wanting his hands on her hot skin. Her dream man had ruined her every pursuing a relationship with a real man. No one came close to him, not even Luke.

  Sunlight poured through the half open red and gold drapes. She almost believed his masculine taste lingered on her lips—cinnamon. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, recapture the erotic fantasy, but her body was too alive, begging to be kissed and touched.

  She sighed and opened her eyes. Her best friend from college, Lilly Grace, softly snored in the bed opposite of hers. Cassandra gripped the downy comforter tighter and buried her face into the pillow. She’d give anything to be spooning the man of her dreams.

  Lilly gave her a sleepy smile, stretched her arms over her head and arched her back like a spoiled cat. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” Cassandra said.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah,” Cassandra whispered.

  Lilly sat up, pushing black curls out of her face and leaned against the headboard. “Ready to hit the slopes?”

  “Definitely.”

  Lilly studied her with her knowing blue eyes. “Cassie, why is your face so red? You’re sweating.” A sly grin spread across Lilly’s face. “Did you have the same dream again?”

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. All Lilly cared about was hearing about the sex, the dream was more than hot sex. The man was part of her, her soul mate. A man she could trust.

  Lilly gestured. “Come on Cassandra, tell me about the dream.”

  “He was so real. I swear I can still feel his arms around me, smell his scent.” And feel him kissing and sucking every sensitive spot. Stop.

  “What does he smell like?”

  “Fresh warm cinnamon rolls.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “You have no idea.” Heat fanned her cheeks. She grabbed a tissue from the nightstand. Her fever would boil an igloo.