Highland Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Unknown

  She grinned and hugged him tighter. “Whatever shall we do?”

  Monika reveled in that thunderous laugh of his, which filled the cabin and her soul. His lips caressed her breasts and belly, tender kisses and teasing licks of his tongue.

  “I meant what I said before.” She brushed his auburn hair from his face as he continued to love her with his mouth.

  “Meant what, Blossom?” He nuzzled her bellybutton, then fluttered his tongue.

  She moaned. “I want to find a way for you to stay awake and unharmed during the day.”

  He nibbled her hip. “Do you really think it’s possible?” Though his eyes were hooded with passion, there was a glimmer of hope.

  “I don’t know, but if I can find a cure for the werewolf curse, perhaps I can protect you from the sun.” She curled her fingers under his chin. “I will certainly make it my life’s work to do so if it would make you happy.”

  “You make me happy.” He maneuvered himself between her legs and kissed her inner thigh. “As long as I have you, Blossom, I’m happy.”

  She smiled and sighed, letting her head fall back when his tongue trailed to the sensitive spot where her buttock met her thigh. “Bite me there,” she whispered.

  Broderick hitched his breath and groaned. She dropped her gaze to his and those silver eyes glowed between her legs. “Just a simple request from your lips and The Hunger is at your bidding. You truly are a witch.” He smirked, bringing out that adorable dimple.

  Broderick slid his hands under her knees, pushing her thighs to her chest and giving him better access to her arse. Monika gasped as his fangs sank into her flesh, swooning under the influence of his feeding. She moaned as he fluttered his finger over her clitoris and Broderick coaxed a climax from her again…and again…and again.

  * * * * *

  “Are you certain?” Rasheed tossed his book aside and rose from his chair on the balcony overlooking the lower level of their parlor. In two strides, he was gripping the wrought iron rail and assessing his companion below.

  Ammon nodded up at him from the center of the large Turkish rug. “Absolutely. I saw Broderick MacDougal and his new wife actually cure her father.”

  “You realize this will win us favor with the King.” Mikhail put his wine glass on the marble table before him and sat at the edge of his chair, eyes aglow.

  Ammon chuckled. “That isn’t all.” He strolled to the gilded cart and poured himself a glass of the blood-laced vintage from a crystal decanter. “Angus has created a cloak that makes him immune to the incantation.” He swirled the ruby liquid before drinking.

  “What?” Rasheed stalked to the staircase and descended with rapid steps.

  “Yes, our prophecy brothers have been busy.” Ammon joined Mikhail at the twin chair by the hearth, sitting back and enjoying his refreshment and the attention. “From what information I could gather, Angus has been feeding from members of the Army of Light—he has some method to taint their blood so it won’t harm a Vamsyrian—and then harvesting their blood to stain the cloak. I can only imagine that since their blood is blessed, it is immune to the incantation and one just needs to be encased within. I don’t know for certain, but I would guess the leather is lambskin.”

  Rasheed crossed his arms and frowned. “I suppose you weren’t able to obtain this cloak from him, were you?”

  Ammon pursed his lips. “As you ordered me, rather emphatically, I was not to engage with him or Broderick because we did not want them to know we’ve been following them. Besides, I’m not sure it works anymore. It was burned during their dramatic battle.”

  “This cure for the werewolf curse and the cloak will soften the blow of this prophecy business.” Rasheed paced the length of the rug. “I’m not sure it will be enough to save our necks, though.”

  “Ammon, you are too full of yourself at the moment,” Mikhail said. He grabbed his glass and sat back, mimicking his companion’s lazy twirl of his wrist as he played with his wine. “You have saved the best news for last. I know that expression.”

  Ammon’s grin spread wide. “The Elementals are not extinct after all.”

  Mikhail choked on his beverage, staining the front of his laced cravat.

  “You’re a liar!” Rasheed scowled and crossed his arms. “There has been no sign of them in over fifty years.”

  “You can thank the blasted church for that,” Ammon snapped. “They all went into hiding because of these ridiculous witch trials and religious wars. However, with the Peace of Prague and the new accession of peace between the Protestants and Catholics of the Imperial Free Cities, the bloody trials are finally dying out, making it safe enough for them to resurface.”

  “How do you know this?” Rasheed still doubted Ammon knew what he was talking about. He wanted more than just hearsay.

  “MacDougal’s new wife is a Fire Witch. Her grandmother Wilhelmina, an Air Witch. I believe her father is an Earth Mage, but I couldn’t confirm it since the werewolf curse seemed to be blocking his powers and I wasn’t around long enough to watch him.”

  “You saw them wield their magick?” Mikhail’s face near shimmered with excitement.

  Rasheed rolled his eyes.

  “Wilhelmina stirred the air to feed the fires of the pyre so Monika’s bonds would burn, thereby setting her free. Monika was not only unharmed by the flames, but commanded them around her.” Ammon sat back and grinned, taking another long sip from his glass.

  “We would have to work very hard to reestablish those alliances.” Rasheed paced. “That will mean a lot of money to court the leaders of their Groves and—”

  Mikhail swatted Ammon’s knee with the back of his hand. “Come now! There’s still more. I can see it in your eyes!”

  He grinned and sipped his wine, dragging out the moment. “Broderick was not harmed from the flames either.”

  Rasheed and Mikhail stared with blank expressions.

  “Shall I spell it out for you?” Ammon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his glass. “He fed from her…thereby—”

  “Gaining her abilities?” Mikhail leapt from his chair, dropping his wine glass and didn’t flinch as it shattered across the stone floor.

  Rasheed sat down on the shallow marble table, his mouth hanging open.

  Ammon smiled. “Yes, Rasheed. I am certain. We won’t need to make alliances with the Groves. We make them our blood slaves. We breed them like cattle and not only use them for sustenance, but gain the abilities of their powers as well.”

  Rasheed threw his head back and laughed. “This will please the King!”

  Ammon rose and strutted to the cart to refill his glass. “Might I make a suggestion?”

  Rasheed grinned. “For this information, you may have anything you like.”

  Ammon glanced over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his lips. “I like the sound of that.” He slid the crystal bottle top into the decanter and stalked toward Rasheed, circling him like a predator.

  Rasheed shivered and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Why bring any of this before the King? What if we decided to harvest their powers?”

  The blood drained from Rasheed’s face.

  Mikhail clutched his friend’s shoulder. “He would have us skinned alive for centuries!”

  “Not if we had all these weapons at our disposal,” Rasheed whispered.

  “Both of you are mad!” Mikhail’s gawking face swerved between Ammon and Rasheed.

  Ammon winked at Mikhail. “Imagine, the King couldn’t touch us if we wielded the elements and had an army of werewolves at our command.”

  Rasheed lifted Ammon’s wine glass from his fingers and downed its contents. Setting the glass on the marble table, he smirked and glanced down at the erection straining against Ammon’s breeches. “You do love power, don’t you?” Rasheed rubbed his palm over the bulge and Ammon shuddered.

  “Oh, no,” Mikhail scolded. He tugged at his blood-and-wine-stained cravat and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I am the on
e who needs convincing. You two have a long night of kissing my arse…among other things…before I’ll bend to your will on this one.”

  The End

  Introducing

  A New Series by Arial Burnz

  Les Petites Morts

  (pronounced lay peh-TEETS mohr)

  The Title of the Series

  La petite mort, meaning “the little death”, is a French idiom or euphemism for “orgasm”. The new series consists of individual, stand-alone erotic short stories and each of them has the following in common:

  10,000 words or less

  HOT erotic tales

  Paranormal

  Twist ending

  Les Petites Morts is a double entendre of “the little death”: orgasm (erotic), little (short story), death (horror). The term pluralized, then, means multiple orgasms/multiple short erotic stories.

  Historical Notes

  There were a few surprising tidbits I learned while conducting my research for Midnight Hunt. According to some of my sources, the Protestants were just as responsible as the Catholics for the persecutions during the witch trials, where my previous studies had led me to believe the Roman Catholic Church was the ultimate villain in history. To add another twist, most of the trials were conducted in the secular courts and by the local legal authorities. However, at this point in history, much of the law was still majorly influenced by the church, and the bulk of the Thirty Years War was about religion—a war between the Catholics and Protestants. Of course, this little scrap of information I provide here only scratches the surface of the complexity of this bloody war, responsible for a loss of more than one-third of the European population during the 17th century.

  The witch trials were only a response to the panic and devastation of the Thirty Years War, and fed by the need to lay blame. The year my story takes place is near the tail-end of the witch trial craze and many people were beginning to finally emerge from the fever of accusations. There is a fascinating book, authored by a German Jesuit named Friedrich Spee, titled Cautio Criminalis (Precautions for Prosecutors). It was published anonymously in April 1631 and did much to argue against the use of torture, the inescapable methods of conviction and the extreme practices of execution. In the introduction, Marcus Hellyer—the translator of the book—gives a great background of the author and the mindset of the times. He explains that though this book may have not been a catalyst of change regarding the attitude of the prosecutions, it certain was a valuable resource for the cause. Spee’s arguments, presented in question and answer format, are derived from his personal experiences as a priest, who counseled many of the people convicted as witches and sentenced to such gruesome deaths. A highly recommended read if you’re interested in learning the inner workings of the witch trials.

  Vollstadt and Kostbar are both fictional towns created for my setting. Having lived in Germany for three-and-a-half years, I was fortunate enough to learn some of their fabulous culture and history. However, one book did wonders to help me fill in the blanks regarding everyday living of that time period. Our Daily Bread: German Village Life, 1500-1850 by Teva J. Scheer.

  Thank you for taking the time to read Midnight Hunt—Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles. I hope you enjoyed the story and you’re looking forward to Book 4—Midnight Eclipse! If you did like the book, reviews are always appreciated at Amazon, GoodReads, Barnes & Noble, iTunes or your favorite book review website. I invite you to visit my home on the web at www.ArialBurnz.com to join my VIP Book Club. You’ll not only receive updates on my latest tales and appearances, but you’ll have access to exclusive contests, additional historical information, maps and character profiles, free short stories and content never included in these books.

  I do love to hear from my readers, so be sure to leave a comment on my blog.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Arial Burnz has been an avid reader of both paranormal and fantasy fiction for over thirty years. With bedtime stories filled with vampires, unicorns, hobbits, dragons and elves, she had no choice but to craft her own tales, penning to life the many magical creatures roaming her mind and dreams. And with a romantic husband who’s taught her the meaning of true love, she’s helpless to weave romance into her tales. Arial lives in Southern California, with her husband DeWayne (a.k.a. her romance novel hero)—who is coincidentally a descendant of Clan MacDougal.

  Join her VIP Club and get exclusive deals on signed paperbacks, FREE short stories and exclusive members-only content by visiting her website at www.ArialBurnz.com.

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  Highland Shifters

  Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

  Highland Shifters: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set © September 2014

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. 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 permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language, which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

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  Cover Art by Willsin Rowe

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