Fallen Ashes: Fated & Forbidden

by T. F. Walsh

  But regardless that Fallen and him spent the last few days as though the world would go on, tonight was the Blood Moon. A time when Fallen and he would discover if they really had a lifetime in front of them or just a few more hours. For that reason, they hadn’t told a soul about the Creators’ threat. No use letting anyone else panic when deep in his heart he prayed to the Creators to have mercy and keep everyone in Tapestry and Earth alive.

  Fallen’s giggle broke through his thoughts. Saber followed the circular path of the maze that tightened inward. Finally, he burst through an exit in the shrub wall and entered a miniature garden in the middle of the labyrinth. A rainbow of flowers coated the walls, and in the center stood a gazebo made of tree branches, laden with emerald green leaves. Vines twisted around the pavilion, plump with purple grapes. His interest lowered to the vixen inside, lounging on a wrought iron bench with curved armrests. Her cleavage heaved in her corset, leaving him breathless.

  Despite his blood diving south, his mind was revolving with other thoughts. “I still can’t believe I had dazmeu ashes in me this whole time.”

  Fallen studied him. “The Creators clearly knew what you were, which was why they had given us both dragon marks.”

  Saber glanced at the black tattoo on his inner wrist. “You know what I still don’t get. If Noah or the Creators hadn’t bound us, why were we linked?”

  Fallen smiled. “It was our dragons, calling to each other. My guess is we connected to ensure we didn’t leave each other’s side. Or at least that’s what Balc said. Anyway, enough of that. Focus on the here and now.”

  She winked as her hand glided to her ankle and inched back up, lifting the skirt up to mid-thigh, revealing her bare feet. “I may or may not be wearing anything under this gown.”

  He closed the distance between them in two seconds, eager to unleash his growing hardness on the girl who stared at him as if he were ice cream sundae.

  “Not sure that’s appropriate behavior for a princess.” Already, Fallen had convinced the queen to allow draes to leave the kingdom. They could come and go as they pleased, but they did have to log their departure and arrival dates with the council as this was never before allowed. It was progress.

  Fallen arched an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you what’s not appropriate… me wearing this ridiculous gown when my leather pants are made for hunting and joining your military training.”

  Laughter erupted from deep inside his chest, the sound loud and sharp and free. “It makes the queen happy if you dressed like the other ladies, at least for today.” He knelt in front of Fallen, parting her thighs and scooting closer. “Plus, a skirt has some benefits.”

  His hand traced the length of her inner thigh where fire burned. The moment his fingers touched the apex between her legs, she gasped. Her head rolled back, and she mewled, as he opened her delicious folds where silkiness greeted him. He unbuttoned his pants.

  Taking her hand, he helped Fallen to her feet. He sat on the bench instead, drawing her closer. She straddled him, a mountain of golden fabric between them. Her wet entrance teased his tip. Before he could react, she pushed herself all the way down. He moaned so loud he was certain the entire realm heard.

  She slowed her movement. “I want to keep fucking you all day and night until the Blood Moon passes. All that matters is you and me being together.” She bounced on his cock, squeezing him with each thrust. Her cries quickened.

  He tugged on her strapless bustier, and her breasts popped out, bouncing up and down, their rosy tips erect. All his. Now and for eternity. In this lifetime and the next.

  Fallen moaned and held onto his shoulders, riding him fast, and he embraced the intense happiness surging through him. He never wanted the feeling to end because with Fallen by his side, he was ready to face the Blood Moon.

  “Babe, no matter what happens tonight, we’ll be together.”

  Her eyes widened with the sort of excitement she carried whenever he entered a room. “Damn, I love you.”

  Discover More…

  Discover the fate of all beings after the Blood Moon in the conclusion to the Fated & Forbidden series, BLOOD MOON by Kallysten.

  Meet a new Fated & Forbidden couple in Lone Wolf by K. de Long. Keep reading for an excerpt or visit http://fatedandforbidden.pnrseries.com

  Each book in the Fated and Forbidden collection stands alone.

  Also keep reading to discover more stories from T.F. Walsh in the Wulfkin Legacy series.

  About Lone Wolf by K. de Long

  The Blood Moon's coming, along with the deadline for Dante to find his fated mate. But he has no intention of going along with the creator Allendra's plan to pair him off. And he knows he's not the only one to object.

  He'll need help, and power. Ria Warren's got the power... if she can pull her head out of a bottle long enough to lend it to him. Ria's largely untrained, her powers of divination overwhelming her ability to cope. No one will miss her, when he takes her hostage.

  The road hunting Allendra is long, and he's gonna drag Ria along kicking and screaming. If only he could make himself stop wishing she'd scream for him a different way instead.

  Excerpt of Lone Wolf

  Prologue

  What would you do if you found out your life had a ticking time bomb on it? And the only way to diffuse the thing was to accept someone else's plan for your future, let them find you a mate like a brood sow? If some strange woman told you you'd become human, lose the thrill of the prowl, lose the only powers that had ever protected you from the witch hunts if you refused to obey her command.

  Would you kill? Would you die spitting blood in the bitch's face? Would you go along with it quietly, and pretend that situation could breed honest affection, rather than familiar contempt?

  I'll tell you what I planned to do. I planned to fight. I promised if I ever met whatever unlucky woman the hag had picked out for me, I'd slit her throat. It'd be kinder than sentencing the poor thing to a life with me anyways. My people would suffer for it, but they suffered anyways, as always.

  I'd dreamed of the gathering nonstop since Allendra sent her cursed vision to us. As always, the air in the gathering tasted like panic, and the subtle moral decay needed to treat beings once revered as gods like stupid animals. As always, I did my damndest to avoid the others' faces. To stay out of their tracks.

  Those dreams might or might not be lucid dreams, like her original; I didn't want to know. Meeting the others' eyes might have told me. No. Better to let them play nice, scour the world for that elusive mate. I had a different plan.

  And Sangria Warren was gonna help me do it. She just didn't know it yet.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at the beginning.

  Chapter One, Dmitri “Dante” Rourke

  The sorceress's scent hadn't left Dante's nose since the first night he dreamed of her, when he felt the burning on his palm as her magic marked him. Under other circumstances, it might have been a sensual smell, but now it was tainted by the witch's threats.

  He could hardly bear to think of it without chewing his lip. And the taste of his own blood only set him off further.

  The twisted look on Hart's face said that he knew just how Dante felt.

  “You're not gonna do it, right?” Dante asked, a curl to his lip.

  Hart snorted. “You even have to ask? Of course not.”

  Dante hesitated. He had no doubt that Allendra had some contingencies in place for those beings who wouldn't accept the fate she'd forced on them. Being the ringleader of an uprising could potentially cause future pain. It flew in the face of everything Dante had learned about the necessity of staying invisible, staying out of the major players' sights. And there was no reason to do it for ego alone; Dante had always considered himself a pragmatist, happy to let others bear the brunt of a misstep rather than wed his sense of self to a leadership role.

  But it had been days and no one had so much as approached him with murmurs of rebellion. He had half a mind to hunt the sorce
ress himself.

  But that was only if Hart didn't have that same fire burning in his gut, too.

  Strength in numbers.

  Hart's eyes darkened with rage. “It's not right. We aren't her fucking pawns. You're gonna hunt her with me, right? We may not be able to undo her spell, but at least it'll be the last one she casts. At least our last kill will be one that's worth a damn!”

  It was coming together like Dante had hoped. He and Hart had never been close, in part because their thorny personalities led to every meeting ending up in someone getting hurt. But he'd had the idea that if anyone would stand up to the meddling entity threatening them, it would be Hart. And apparently he'd been right.

  “I'm in,” he said. He didn't care whether Hart thought the idea was his own. The end was more important than the means, in Dante's view. And he'd only survived as long as he had because of his willingness to blend into the background, and his cunning. He'd been born the runt of the litter, the smallest boy in a family with five hulking brawlers, and had had to learn to use his wits.

  “Good,” Hart said. “I wasn't looking forward to doing this on my own.”

  It seemed too good to be true, and Dante was the type to gut the gift horse and look at its innards for the catch. “Why are you doing this?”

  “None of your fucking business.” Hart leaned forward. “Just because we're working together doesn't mean we're friends or anything. I just don't want to see the Blood Moon harm us any more than you do.”

  “Suit yourself,” Dante said. A soft scent came to him over the wind, feminine and just a little sour. There were other notes, too. Magic, old and strong. Of course, that was to be expected. The steak tartar had ensured that Le Pigeon had a rotating clientele of shifters, predators, demons, and feral-natured magical beings. He scanned the sidewalk on the other side of the street for the fragrance's source. If it was one of Allendra's spies...

  “If we're gonna do this, we need information,” Hart said. “I'll make some inquiries.”

  “Me too,” Dante said.

  “You think we've got a chance of peeling off a seer?”

  “Hah, I wish.” Dante snorted. The seers clung to their position of impartiality like a security blanket that could protect them from the world's evils. And last time he met one of their number, it had been in the middle of a fight that nearly got her killed. His name was mud with them. And the covens watched their members tightly anyways. No doubt with the recent developments and Allendra's threats, they'd be keeping their members under lock and key to prevent them from getting themselves killed.

  The smell grew stronger in Dante's nostrils. He could smell sweat more clearly, and even its tangy bite in his nose had something alluringly raw to it. Two women came into view as the waitress seated them, a wrinkle to her nose. The smell was strong enough that even she could smell it, though she seemed to only interpret it as bad.

  One of the women was well-dressed, in a tailored pantsuit. The other was... earthy. Covered in dirt, snarls in her hair, and bags beneath her eyes. But her bone structure was fine, and her eyes were bright with the fire to survive. Dante liked her immediately. Unwashed smell and all. Fuck, maybe her fragrance was a plus. Dante could practically taste her fight in it, as well as the lush curves of her body. There was just something almost... electric... in the air that put him on edge. It would be impossible to focus on his own conversation if he couldn't take a deep breath of air without that unearthly musk in his face.

  The waitress took the two women's order. Neither woman spoke, outside of ordering. They didn't seem to be friends, and Dante certainly couldn't imagine them as friends, either. So what were they doing together?

  Dante bit his lip, and turned his attention back to Hart. He had more weighty things to think about than the full-lipped woman sitting five feet away. Hart stood. “I'll see about getting us some intel we can work with.”

  Dante nodded, and waited for the man to leave. Several others peeled away from the crowd at the bar to meet up with Hart. Hart had others on the hook, then.

  Dante had no reason to stay, either. He'd likely only get in a fight with one of Hart's buddies if he did. But somehow he couldn't take his eyes off the women at the next table. The feral one had hair that would be burnished auburn if it were clean, almost the same color as the liquid in the rum bottle the waitress was pouring from. “Just leave the bottle,” the disheveled woman said confidently, despite her companion's glower. She poured two glasses, though the one she kept for herself was considerably bigger than the one she offered to the well-dressed woman next to her.

  His gaze trailed down to her neck, and shoulders. As he took in her bony arms and elegantly long fingers, he realized that from the elbow down, her arms and hands were covered in jagged scars. They traced white lines over her tanned skin. There wasn't an inch of skin on this woman that wasn't out of place here, yet she kept an imperious smile on her face, and clothed herself in an air of entitlement.

  The waitress returned with a salad... and three heaping plates. The normal-looking woman accepted the salad, and picked at it daintily. The other didn't trouble herself with manners. She simply started shoveling food in her face as though it might disappear. Her companion's glower said that she hadn't expected that much food. Dante would bet money that the other woman was buying; the wild one didn't look like she had the cash for it. No. The wild one was taking advantage of her companion's generosity, and testing how far it stretched.

  Dante had better things to do than stick around, but the woman's lack of self-consciousness, her rudeness, all of that combined with the scent that was worming itself deeper into Dante's thoughts... it was a potent combination that kept him glued to his seat, watching her.

  The plates pushed to the side, the remainder of their contents dumped into to-go containers at the grimy woman's elbow, she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a deck of cards. Light flashed off the wax coating on the back of the cards, stabbing into Dante's eyes, blinding him just for a moment.

  The woman began shuffling the cards with the ease of long practice, her brows lowered in concentration, and her full lips pursed. She offered them to her companion to cut the deck. And then cards were on the table, and he was straining to hear whether her voice might be as melodious and enticing as the rest of her.

  “Ace of wands and the empress.” She bit her lip. “You're knocked up.”

  The woman coughed, and her eyes widened. “Bullshit. My period's only been missing a week. And work has been stressful—”

  Dante knew it wasn't bullshit. He could smell the woman's hormones on overdrive, even above her companion's fragrance. Her companion shrugged, not bothering to defend her conclusion. She tapped one of the cards, and continued. “If your baby's father was going to step up, there's other cards I'd expect to see. The lovers, the knight of cups, the two of cups and the sun... Instead we have death, and the eight of cups. And five of swords and the moon. He's gonna tell you he'll support you, but don't believe it. He's a lying liar doing what lying liars do.”

  Her companion blanched at the grim certainty in her voice. “Are you sure? Are you usually right?”

  “Believe me, don't believe me, what the fuck do I care? It's just tarot, after all,” the fortune-teller said. “Besides—it's not all bad. Six of wands and six of pentacles. You've got a promotion coming. Are we done?”

  The other woman sank back into her chair, her face contorted by the unhappy thoughts churning within her. “My boss is leaving next week, and they haven't filled her position yet. Still doing interviews. But I have twice the seniority of the next account manager beneath me. So it makes sense...”

  She looked at the bottle of liquor between them, and shoved her half-filled glass away.

  The fortune teller swept it up without so much as asking, and downed the spicy liquid in large, desperate gulps. She heaved a sigh. “It sounds like you've got enough reason to believe me that you'll get a pregnancy test on the way home. Good luck with it. Anytime you need anoth
er reading, I'll happily take you up on the free meal...”

  The woman stormed away without so much as a look back. The waitress glared at the remaining woman, who stuck out like a sore thumb among the bistro's clients. “Can I have a doggy bag for the salad, too?” the fortune-teller called to the waitress, holding up the remaining half-eaten plate.

  The waitress nodded.

  Dante didn't believe in tarot, and it was possible that the woman was simply a skilled grifter, attuned to others and able to read even the faintest signs of their worries in their face. But it seemed too good to be true. If this woman did have a spark of the true sight, and the fates had brought her here, to him, it was a sign that they were smiling on his plan to kill Allendra.

  The fortune-teller scraped the salad into the box, and closed it. She gathered the boxes into her arms, and stood. She made her way toward the exit, only to be brought up short by Dante's arm in her path. “Excuse you?” she asked, and twisted her hips to walk around him.

  He seized her arm. “You look good at that. Read me next.”

  Her skin was soft under his fingers. It rose to goosebumps, as she cocked an eyebrow. Her eyes narrowed. “I don't just read for anyone, you know...”

  “Only people who buy you lunch and booze,” Dante said. It was a small price to pay, if she had anything useful to say. He reached into his wallet for a bill, and offered her the first one his fingertips found. Her eyes widened, and he glanced down at it. Damnit, it was the hundred, not the twenty. Still, if that didn't entice her, nothing would.