Falke’s counterpart and their younger brother, Reid, was Commander of the Outlands. Reid spent his days away from the palace, watching over the northern borders. Reid had a twin brother, Jarek, whom they hadn’t heard from in some time. Jarek was off gallivanting around the galaxies. The twins were the only princes with the same mother.
On the floor lounged Quinn, the youngest and sleekest of the princes. His smaller stature had come in handy on many occasions. As boys, they’d fit him into tight spaces, making him the lookout or spy, depending on what mischief they were about.
“At least let us convene the old houses and vote!” Falke continued in his forbidding tone, breaking into Kirill’s contemplation. Kirill took a deep breath. He couldn’t blame Falke for his anger. The Commander had seen many battles with the Draig warriors and thus had seen the most Var deaths.
“And you, Quinn?” Kirill asked.
“I see the merit of both war and peace,” Quinn answered in his quiet voice.
“Some ambassador you are,” Reid laughed, throwing the cushion from behind his back to where Quinn lay on the floor. Quinn grinned and tucked the cushion behind his head to replace his folded arms.
Falke directed a frown to Kirill at the banter, his eyes begging for order. “I’ll send more guards to the Outlands. We should make sure the borders are well guarded. If there is to be a battle, let it be away from our city.”
Reid nodded. His smile faded slightly from his tanned features. “That would be wise. There has been no trouble in the shadowed marshes, not since father tried to kidnap Prince Yusef’s bride.”
At the mention to King Attor, the princes grew silent. Their father had harbored no love for the Draig and each knew he’d been the main cause of war in the past. Solemn eyes turned to the fire, as each prince remembered watching their father’s body burn at the burial rite.
Attor had not been a loving man, but he was still their father. They were royalty and royalty had no time for love or weaknesses. As the late king was fond of saying, Kingdoms are only as strong as their rulers. The Draig are weak and so the Var Empire will rise.
“Have you contacted Jarek and told him?” Kirill asked Reid.
“No, but I have sent messages through secure lines. It’s hard to tell where he has gone off to. Last I heard he was on Tragon, but that was about six months ago.” Reid shrugged. Then, to break the somber mood, he teased, “So brother, when you’re crowned king, will you be keeping the lovely women in the harem for yourself?”
Kirill frowned, rolling his eyes. “Father collected women as Falke here collects weaponry. I have no idea what to do with them all. I have no wish for a lifemate, let alone several half-mates.”
All princes nodded in firm agreement. None of them looked to commit themselves to a woman—ever. Why bond to one when you could have many?
“According to law, they are your responsibility,” Quinn said softly, chuckling.
Kirill shot him a defiant glare and growled. Quinn laughed harder, unconcerned. Sighing, Kirill gave up his feigned anger, lounged back in his chair, and threw a leg over the side. “I tried to give them freedom, but half of them didn’t want to leave the palace. The other half has nowhere to go. And the crazy one, Taura, wanted me to bind her to father’s corpse so that she may burn with him.”
“It’s the Roane way,” Falke said, in defense of his birth mother. The other princes just laughed. Taura was partly the reason Falke was so serious. Whereas all the others had the blood of Var and human in them, Falke was half Roane. The Roane were a naturally bold, hard people with strict discipline and rigid ideals. Taura had passed those traits to her son. As children, when the boys were playing and getting into mischief, Falke had been training to be a warrior.
“Ah, I suppose I’ll have to at least meet with them all. How many could there be? Fifty?” Kirill asked.
“A hundred and sixty three, brother, by my last count,” Quinn laughed. “Give or take a few dozen.”
“It almost makes you respect our father, doesn’t it?” Reid stood from his chair and stretched, prompting the others to do the same.
“The late king always had respect. It was the other emotions he had little use for,” Kirill answered. With a thoughtful look upon his face, he strode from the old council hall, leaving his brothers to watch after him in wonder.
To find out more about Michelle’s books visit www.MichellePillow.com
Read all the Dragon Lords and Var books? Yay, you, keep going!
A Dragon Lords Story
Frost Maiden (Space Lords) by Michelle M. Pillow
Bestselling Futuristic Romance Series
Empath and space pirate, Evan Cormier is obsessed with decoding an ominous premonition about his future. When a fellow crewman angered a spirit, the vengeful Zhang An took her wrath out on everyone in the vicinity. Evan just happened to be one of them. He’s now facing a future in which he’ll be forever alone.
Lady Josselyn of the House of Craven has been betrayed. With her home world on a Florencian moon under attack and her family dead, she finds herself at the mercy of the one who deceived them. There is only one thing left to do—die with honor. But before she can join her family in the afterlife, she must first avenge all that she held dear. Falling in love with a pirate was never in the plan. Evan and his thieving crewmates might have delayed her fate, but they can’t stop destiny.
Frost Maiden Excerpt
Craven Estates, Earth Settlement, Florencia’s Fifth Moon
“Lift her,” the General ordered, his shiny boots walking away from her, taking her reflection with it.
Two men hauled her to her feet, holding her up by her arms. Josselyn suppressed a cry as they jerked her dislocated shoulder. She couldn’t see their faces, didn’t need to. Her body hurt so badly she couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from anymore.
The one who’d betrayed them stood before her. General Jack Stephans. He’d deceived her family and the fifth moon settlement. He’d traded them in for money and power. Josselyn lifted her gaze briefly to the hard depths of the steel green eyes before her. She wanted to kick, to give one last good blow, to go down fighting, but she couldn’t raise her limbs.
“Poor little Josselyn, so heartbreaking,” the General grabbed her chin and swiped beneath her eye. He looked young, was in fact very young for his position, only a few years older than her six and twenty. And yet they all knew so much more of fighting than anyone their age should, than anyone ever should.
“We gave you a home,” she whispered. “How could you do this? How could you join them?”
“You gave me a place in your stables,” he spat, his grip tightening on her chin, bruisingly so. “Not a place at your table. Not a place by your side. Not equal. They gave me a rank, a title. They give me respect. They give me a place in this world.”
“Jack,” she said, her voice softening for the orphan boy they’d found over twenty years ago. If she begged him, maybe fate could be turned around; maybe this day could be erased. Fate had spit them out in a whirlwind of chance and deceit. Maybe all that had happened wasn’t his fault. Maybe it wasn’t hers. None of it mattered. None of it changed the fact that he had taken everything she held dear, everyone, and now he was robbing her of her family home. Her tone hardened and she closed her eyes. “General.”
“Look at me, Josselyn,” he said. His tone caught even as his grip on her face tightened until his fingers pressed the inside of her cheeks against her teeth. “You’re so cold. Even now, your face is composed. Is one, lonely tear all the passion you can muster?”
“I am Lady Josselyn of the House of Craven.” Her eyes opened slowly, focusing on the shiny white of his uniform. It gleamed with the orange glow coming from the fireplace. The material looked odd in the drabber earth tones many on the fifth moon wore. Theirs was a world based on Medieval Earth. Each moon in the Florencian system was different, each settlement patterned off a singular time in the human past, times that history had almost forgotten. But the principals
of the ancestors who’d established the colonies no longer applied. Times were different now. What had started as preservation of history had turned into reality, into laws and a way of life they all believed in as generation after generation was raised into the worlds of the Florencian moons.
The General shook her by the face until finally she forced her eyes to meet his. He looked angry, hurt, wildly hopeful. “I can save you. I can say you had nothing to do with the treachery of your family. No one wants to kill a woman of noble blood. The line of Craven doesn’t have to die. I will take your name; the name denied me by your father.”
Was he serious? She knew he’d asked her father for her hand in marriage. In fact, she’d dismissed the proposal with the full knowledge he only asked because he wanted power. Did he think she could love him now? Want him? Take him into her bed?
He must have read the answer on her face because his own expression hardened. She knew Jack. He wouldn’t ask again.
“I suppose not,” he said, almost sad. “Even if you agreed, I could never trust you not to take a blade to my back. Not after today.” He sighed heavily. “Not after this.”
“Ago,” she whispered, even her voice beginning to fail in its strength, “pugna quod int-”
“Quiet your tongue! This house is mine. Mine.” He let go of her chin and her head drooped. “And you can die knowing that I have taken more than what you all refused to give me in life.”
“A place at our table,” Josselyn said, her tone softer still, the will to live leaving her. Her heart called out to her ancestors, to her dead family, begging them to come and get her.
“My table,” he answered, stepping away. The General lifted a gun, pointing it at her head. She heard the telltale click of metal on metal. The weapon was not one found on the fifth moon. They fought with swords and axes, like the old medieval ways. Though technology was available, not using it was a point of honor. He must have brought the weapon from another moon. Perhaps the Victorians? The Elizabethans? It appeared to be too old to be from much later in time.
“Do it, Jack.” She didn’t look at him as she waited for the final discharge of the gun, the loud bang before the end. When it didn’t come, she repeated, the words a mere mouthing of her lips, “Do it.”
“Speed you to a quick end, Josselyn Craven,” Jack whispered. “You all brought this on yourselves.”
To find out more about Michelle’s books visit www.MichellePillow.com
Love Potions (Warlocks MacGregor) by Michelle M. Pillow
Contemporary Paranormal Magickal Scottish Warlocks
A little magickal mischief never hurt anyone…
Erik MacGregor, from a clan of ancient Scottish warlocks, isn’t looking for love. After centuries, it’s not even a consideration…until he moves in next door to Lydia Barratt. It’s clear that the shy beauty wants nothing to do with him, but he’s drawn to her nonetheless and determined to win her over.
Lydia Barratt just wants to be left alone to grow flowers and make lotions in her old Victorian house. The last thing she needs is a demanding Scottish man meddling in her private life. Just because he’s gorgeous and totally rocks a kilt doesn’t mean she’s going to fall for his seductive manner.
But Erik won’t give up and just as Lydia let’s her guard down, his sister decides to get involved. Her little love potion prank goes terribly wrong, making Lydia the target of his sudden embarrassingly obsessive behavior. They’ll have to find a way to pull Erik out of the spell fast when it becomes clear that Lydia has more than a lovesick warlock to worry about. Evil lurks within the shadows and it plans to use Lydia, alive or dead, to take out Erik and his clan for good.
Love Potions Excerpt
“Ly-di-ah! I sit beneath your window, laaaass, singing ’cause I loooove your a—”
“For the love of St. Francis of Assisi, someone call a vet. There is an injured animal screaming in pain outside,” Charlotte interrupted the flow of music in ill-humor.
Lydia lifted her forehead from the kitchen table. Her windows and doors were all locked, and yet Erik’s endlessly verbose singing penetrated the barrier of glass and wood with ease.
Charlotte held her head and blinked heavily. Her red-rimmed eyes were filled with the all too poignant look of a hangover. She took a seat at the table and laid her head down. Her moan sounded something like, “I’m never moving again.”
“You need fluids,” Lydia prescribed, getting up to pour unsweetened herbal tea from the pitcher in the fridge. She’d mixed it especially for her friend. It was Gramma Annabelle’s hangover recipe of willow bark, peppermint, carrot, and ginger. The old lady always had a fresh supply of it in the house while she was alive. Apparently, being a natural witch also meant in partaking in natural liquors. Annabelle had kept a steady supply of moonshine stashed in the basement. If the concert didn’t stop soon she might try to find an old bottle.
“Ly-di-ah!”
“Omigod. Kill me,” Charlotte moaned. “No. Kill him. Then kill me.”
“Ly-di-ah!”
Erik had been singing for over an hour. At first, he’d tried to come inside. She’d not invited him and the barrier spell sent him sprawling back into the yard. He didn’t seem to mind as he found a seat on some landscaping timbers and began his serenade. The last time she’d asked him to be quiet, he’d gotten louder and overly enthusiastic. In fact, she’d been too scared to pull back the curtains for a clearer look, but she was pretty sure he’d been dancing on her lawn, shaking his kilt.
“Omigod,” Charlotte muttered, pushing up and angrily going to a window. Then grimacing, she said, “Is he wearing a tux jacket with his kilt?”
“Don’t let him see you,” Lydia cried out in a panic. It was too late. The song began with renewed force.
“He’s…” Charlotte frowned. “I think it’s dancing.”
Since the damage was done, Lydia joined Charlotte at the window. Erik grinned. He lifted his arms to the side and kicked his legs, bouncing around the yard like a kid on too much sugar. “Maybe it’s a traditional Scottish dance?”
Both women tilted their heads in unison as his kilt kicked up to show his perfectly formed ass.
“He’s not wearing…” Charlotte began.
“I know. He doesn’t,” Lydia answered. Damn, the man had a fine body. Too bad Malina’s trick had turned him insane.
To find out more about Michelle’s books visit www.MichellePillow.com
King of Prey by Mandy M. Roth
Paranormal Bird Shifter Romance
In a place where realms combine and portals open passages to the unknown, a prophecy speaks of fertility being restored to King Kabril’s people through the taking of his mate.
The prophecy neglects to mention she lacks something vital to his kind--wings. Kabril, king of the Buteos Regalis, has no interest in taking a human mate. His kind believe humans are dirty, vile creatures who rely on machines to lift them into the air. The last place he wants to go in search of his mate is the realm of Earth, but he's left no choice.
Never did he expect to find love on a planet with one moon, people who lack wings and a stubborn vixen who makes his heart soar. When he does, he fears the truth about who and what he truly is will steal it away. Little does he know his enemies fully intend on doing the taking.
Excerpt from King of Prey
“Can I help you?” The deep, distinctively male, heavily accented voice came from behind her.
Startled, Rayna tossed the dish in the air and narrowly missed dropping it onto the ground. A strong hand gripped her shoulder, and a yelp almost escaped her. Composing herself, Rayna turned and came face-to-face with a tall man with raven hair, a dark goatee and a body deserving of a magazine cover. His silver gaze, while certainly something she’d never seen before, was captivating and put her at ease. “Umm?”
“Umm?” There was no mistaking the mocking tone of his voice. He put a hand in his pocket and glanced at the dish. His nose wrinkled, and for a minute Rayna thought for sure he’d b
e sick. “What, may I ask, is in there?”
“It’s a chicken dish,” she blurted out. She’d never been much with conversation starting. “I brought it to welcome you to the neighborhood. I live just down the road a bit. I’m not the greatest cook in the world but I’m not so bad—”
“Chicken?” He gasped, his eyes widening and the blood draining from his face as he reached for the dish, only to yank his hands away, a look of disgust in his eyes. “You brought us chicken? To eat? A bird? For food? For us? I know certain species of birds eat others here, but where we are from that is simply not done.”
Puzzled, Rayna took a step back and tried to understand what the problem could be. Had she sold her grandmother’s house to a nutjob? What was he babbling about birds eating birds? His accent did make it difficult for her to fully understand him, so there was a chance she’d simply misunderstood. “Are you a vegetarian?”
“A veg-ee-terrian?” he asked, over pronouncing the word.
“Someone who doesn’t eat meat,” she returned, understanding there was a language barrier between them. “Where are you from?”
“Nowhere you have heard of,” he returned, his brows meeting. “You have people who do not eat meat?”
“Yes.”
“Are you one?” he asked.
“No.”
He glanced at the dish in her hands. “And you eat birds?”
She blushed. “I do.”
He cringed.
“Sachin, how much longer must we endure this gods-forsaken realm? And why must we be—”
The silver-eyed man before her seized hold of the dish and stood at attention as if royalty was about to appear. He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering to Rayna for a brief moment. “Kabril, good of you to join us. I was just greeting our neighbor.”
The Dragon's Queen (Dragon Lords) Page 19
