Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  Aldo stopped and stared at her, the surprise and dismay clear on his face.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” he said, denial writ large on his face.

  “Well, it works like that now,” she said hoarsely.

  They glared at each other until eventually the count looked away. “I will make your excuses at the Wilmot's tonight,” he said eventually. “And whatever else involves dancing. The little Season is almost over in any case.”

  Isobel sat down, tired. There was silence for a long minute. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, but it was difficult to maintain her composure knowing the events in the library were probably public knowledge.

  What did their host think? Had Southmont realized he'd been in the library at the same time?

  “This is for you,” Aldo said, taking an envelope from his breast pocket and sliding it toward her. “It's a letter. From Clarence's ward, Amelia. There is another for Matteo from his cousin Martin.”

  Heartened, Isobel took the envelope and pressed it to her breast.

  It was a timely reminder of why she was doing this. Matteo was as innocent as those children. In the little time she'd had with him, he had demonstrated nothing but a conscientious regard for her and other people.

  He was everything Aldo was not. If she had to suffer a few scandalized whispers to preserve that, it did not signify.

  “Thank you,” she replied quietly before going to wake her husband for lunch.

  A few days later, Isobel was working in the conservatory. She was tending to the seedlings that had managed to sprout in their little pots as well as checking her store of powders and chemicals she'd acquired from local London apothecaries.

  She checked the same drawer repeatedly, as if the contents would suddenly reappear out of thin air. But she couldn't magically regenerate the dried leola root she used in her morning infusion to prevent pregnancy. The cutting she had planted had failed to sprout, and discreet inquiries to the local apothecary confirmed that the root wasn't commonly used here in London.

  The apothecary sent her a substitute, one he assured her would work the same way. She had little choice but to believe him.

  “Cara, are you in here?”

  With a guilty start, Isobel turned to face Matteo. He'd been out riding with Nino and Ottavio that morning. The older servant trailed him inside, looking closely at the rows and rows of pots covering the nearby tables while Ottavio loitered near the door.

  She was relieved to see Matteo up and active. These days he slept long into the morning. He only roused when she woke him, coaxing him out of bed with effort. Once he was up he seemed fine, but there had been a few mornings when she'd doubted he would wake at all. It frightened her, and she worried that the curse was working itself deeper into him.

  “Did you enjoy your ride?” she asked, picking up a seedling pot as Matteo reached her.

  “Yes. Did you enjoy your flowers?” he asked quietly.

  Puzzled, she looked up. “What flowers?”

  “The ones in the foyer. Gideon sent them. He's back in town...and he's sending flowers to my wife.”

  Too late, Isobel noticed the extra vibration in Matteo's deceptively soft voice. She put down the pot on her worktable.

  “Is he? I hadn't seen them,” she said lightly.

  “Have you seen him?” he asked, leaning on the nearest table.

  She laughed. “No, of course not. A young blood of the ton is out at races and boxing matches. He doesn't bother paying calls—even to his relations. He sends flowers instead, a simple courtesy.”

  By the end of her speech, she was struggling to keep her tone even.

  Matteo’s cold fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, his fingers drifting into the hair at the base of her skull. “And you would never lie to me, would you, Isabella?”

  “No,” she whispered, her throat tight.

  His expression softened incrementally. “I know that,” he said, his intense gaze taking in every inch of her face before he kissed her.

  The coolness of his lips was startling in the warmth of the conservatory. She shivered despite the sudden rush of heat that coursed through her body. When his mouth moved down to her neck he began to undo the ties in the front of her bodice. He pulled her closer, yanking the front of her dress down so hard a seam popped.

  Startled, she opened her eyes briefly, peeking over his shoulder.

  “My lord, wait,” she said urgently, trying to hold the top of her gown up.

  Matteo hadn't waited to dismiss the guards.

  But he wasn’t listening to her. He moved down her body to kneel in front her, pushing her skirts out of his way as he went. Trying to hold up her bodice with one hand, she urged him away with the other. But he took hold of her wrist in an iron grip before backing her against the glass wall of the conservatory.

  She gasped as the bare skin of her back made contact with the cold slick wall, and Matteo responding in kind, growling as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, exposing her to his mouth—–and the eyes of the men.

  Blood pumping loudly in her ears, she looked up to see Nino making a rapid exit, but Ottavio was standing there…watching from behind the hydrangea bushes.

  Matteo’s bulk concealed her most intimate place, but the servant could likely see her bare legs and what skin was exposed by the torn bodice.

  “Matteo!” she cried, but he paid her no attention.

  He was too intent on his task. His tongue and fingers were exploring her intimate flesh, opening and softening her for his inevitable claiming.

  Frantically she waved at Ottavio, trying to signal him to go away. If Matteo came to his senses long enough to look behind him, he would lose control.

  But the asinine servant wouldn’t move. His avaricious stare was taking in everything, then one hand thrust into his trousers to rub himself through his clothing.

  She couldn't shout at him to leave. If she did, it would sign the fool’s death warrant. Lips clamped firmly shut, she tried to shift her skirts out of Matteo’s grip enough to throw them over him. She was only partially successful, but it had to be enough. Her focus and strength were waning as her soft wet channel was alternately filled by his fingers and tongue in a rhythmic, coordinated invasion. Working in a second finger into her sheath, he grazed the pearl of her sex with his teeth before biting down gently.

  Isobel was no match for the sensual onslaught. Her bodice fell forward as she put one hand on Matteo’s head and clutched at the glass behind her for support. Her nipples peaked in contact with the air, but she couldn't cover herself. A sharp pulsing pleasure robbed her of strength. Nearly falling forward only deepened Matteo’s penetration as he consumed her with abandon.

  Throughout the encounter, she could feel Ottavio’s eyes on her. She tried not to look directly at him, but when the orgasm crashed through her, her eyes flew open. Her gaze locked with his as the spasms racked her body, an involuntary cry escaping her lips.

  Her vision blurred as she slumped against the wall. The sight of her—breasts exposed, skin damp and hot from climax—proved too much for the lustful servant. He tore open his breeches, exposing his large engorged member and pumping it hard. Repelled, Isobel squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingers into her demon husband's back.

  Matteo took it as a signal to move. His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her up until she was suspended in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

  It was as if she weighed nothing. Overwhelmed by the power the smooth controlled motion betrayed, she held what little breath she had left for an endless moment before he plunged inside her.

  She moaned loudly, throwing her head back. Her body was no longer under her control. She moved up and down helplessly as it willed, an eager recipient for every thrust, bite, and hot sucking kiss.

  It was the same as the incident in the library. She was simply carried along, her pleasure the demon's only goal. Like a true incubus, all it wanted was her surrender.

  So she gave it to
him.

  His hands were busy, one roughly moving up over her breasts and down her waist. Meanwhile, the fingers of the one supporting her stroked the smooth skin of her bottom until one worked into the forbidden little nether hole, making her scream aloud at the unexpected invasion.

  She clutched hard at Matteo's hair as a dark wave of pleasure rose and crashed over her, but his tempo didn't waver. He continued to piston in and out, her spasming channel gripping him tightly as he rocked her against the cold glass.

  Her scream of completion was still ringing in her ears when Matteo turned his head enough to take one of her hands into his mouth. He nipped at her fingers before he began to suck them. His tongue caressed each in turn before drawing on them hard, sending a streak of fire straight into her sex. Trembling violently, Isobel pulled her hand away and tugged his head down to her neck.

  He obliged her by sucking and biting at the tender skin there, the pain mingling with pleasure to create an alien state of euphoria that was probably another climax, a long slow burning that took as much as it gave. This one stole her vision, as if she'd been staring at the sun too long.

  Lost in abandon, her head lolled weakly until it came to rest on Matteo’s shoulder. Barely able to see, she glanced past him, too weak to react when she saw Ottavio. She had forgotten about him. He was still there…looking spent.

  Isabel shut her eyes tightly, burying her face in the crease of Matteo’s neck. Distantly, she heard him shout. His cock jerked inside her and his seed coated her womb in hot bursts.

  Time was unimportant in the dark. She felt movement, warm skin against hers, things hard and soft—but the ability to distinguish between them was gone. Everything—every object, every texture—blended into the next.

  She didn’t open her eyes for a long time. When she did, she was cradled in Matteo’s lap, his concerned brown eyes looking down at her in surprise. Listless, she reached up to touch his cheek, dropping it when the now warm bristled surface proved too much for her hypersensitive skin.

  Turning her head, she looked at the empty room around them. They were alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Matteo’s memories of what happened in the conservatory were confused, to say the least.

  Isobel had been surprised that he recalled anything at all. His memory of their wedding night was clear enough, but she attributed that to his being normal at the start. However, he hadn’t mentioned what had happened in the library at the Southmont’s ball at all.

  But now he remembered his anger and jealousy over Gideon's flowers, how they had overwhelmed him until they were catalyzed into lust. The rest was in bits and pieces…which was more than enough.

  He was racked by guilt. He kept apologizing and casting her tormented glances whenever they happened to be alone together. It was decidedly inconvenient, considering all she wanted was to forget the incident.

  Isobel didn’t blame herself for succumbing to his demands. What she didn’t want to think about was how much she enjoyed it. Not that her body let her forget. She would be working in the library when a snippet of memory would intrude into her thoughts, overwhelming her with heat and sending a pulse of forbidden pleasure through her. The unexpected arousal was uncomfortable and embarrassing.

  She could barely look Niko in the eye and avoided Ottavio at all costs. Luckily, he spent most of his time with Matteo, who at this moment was mostly avoiding her too.

  The thought of making an excuse to dismiss the younger servant crossed her mind more than once. However, there was nothing she could think of that was sufficient grounds for dismissal, yet benign enough to avoid sending Matteo into another fit.

  Torn, she decided the only thing she could do was keep her silence.

  Avoiding the issue had at least one important benefit. By throwing herself into her research, she made real progress in formulating a ritual to purge the curse.

  In the end, Isobel had decided to combine aspects of several spells and rituals found in the books. There wasn’t actually much of a choice. No one account matched exactly what she had seen or was living with. Which was why the possibility she might be dealing with two distinct realities occurred to her.

  The books included a number of references to possession. While each was different, they all shared some similarities. The subject rarely remembered what they did when under the influence and often their bodies would either be very cold or very hot.

  Their actions varied widely, but as far as she could tell once that action had been carried out—be it murder, theft, or sex—then the cursed person would recover themselves…for a time.

  Eventually, the cursed would degenerate in some way and usually grow weak or mad. Then they would die, if they hadn’t been killed already. The process could take months or even years.

  Some of the stories attributed the possession to a specific spirit or demon, giving it a name. She didn’t disagree with the practice. What she’d experienced made her believe there was an intelligence behind what was happening. She had seen it herself, felt it watching her. But it wasn’t a real demon.

  After reading everything on hand, she knew that if it was a genuine demon, the death and destruction it caused would have been far greater. But there was no better name for what she had seen, so a demon it remained in her mind...or rather two demons.

  Her belief that Matteo had been cursed intentionally was now cemented as a certainty. Something truly terrible had been called and then cast inside him.

  Flashes of that night at Sir Clarence's estate skittered through her mind. The demon hadn't been able to kill her so it had been prepared to hurt her in any way it could. However, she now believed that demon was gone, burned up in the black shadow in that god-forsaken cottage. Her actions had probably destroyed it.

  It had been sheer blind luck. But in her ignorance she'd left Matteo open and exposed. The damage to his aura had been severe and without its protection, something else had found him an easy host. This other entity had different needs and desires, but it had the potential for equal destruction. Or it might if its attention finally moved away from her.

  Incubus.

  The name echoed in her mind. She'd used it before, but now really believed that was what she was dealing with. Even if it had been accidental, she had been the one to let it in. Its singular focus on her may have had a lot to do with that.

  And if the accounts she'd been studying were accurate, the fact that Matteo was starting to remember what he did when under the demon’s control wasn’t a hopeful sign as she’d initially thought.

  It was a warning that she was running out of time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Late that afternoon, Isobel finally went back into the conservatory. She had given Nino instructions to care for the plants for the last few days because she hadn’t been able to face going back inside. Every time she had tried it felt as if she was about to burst into flames of embarrassment. He had followed her instructions without question, but his carefully controlled expression spoke volumes.

  However, it was past time she got a hold of herself. She needed to check on the plants and other stores, to see if all of the ingredients the ritual required were at hand. In reality, she knew getting the recipe right was the least of her concerns. The real work of the ritual rested almost entirely on her shoulders. But the mixture of herbs was one aspect she could control now, so that’s what she was going to do.

  Isobel spent at least an hour on her inventory. To her relief, she appeared to have most of the basic ingredients she needed. The one issue was the last component, yarrow, for purification. But the seeds she'd acquired from the apothecary had sprouted, so she busied herself with transferring the small seedlings to bigger pots.

  Footsteps signaled the approach of her husband. She looked up eagerly, despite her trepidation over having yet another uncomfortable conversation about how sorry he was.

  Except it wasn’t him. It was Ottavio, and he was closing the doors leading back into the house.


  Perfect. This was just what she needed. But perhaps something was wrong.

  “Is everything all right?” she called out in her heavily accented Italian. “Does his lordship need me?”

  Ottavio waited until he was just a few feet away then shook his head. “It sleeps,” he said, his voice coarse unlike the other Italians she was surrounded with.

  Chagrined, she didn't look up at him directly until he came to stand next to her. Glancing up at his face, she stilled. The way he was smiling at her was far too familiar.

  The presentiment of danger struck her a second too late. He grabbed her by the arms, making her drop the clay pot she was holding. Dragging her to him effortlessly, his mouth came down on hers before she could move.

  Isobel twisted her head violently away.

  “What are you doing? Stop!” she yelled, trying to push him away.

  But he was too strong. He was one of the largest men she'd ever seen, taller and broader than Matteo and at least sixteen stone. His bulk blocked out sight of the door, enveloping her like a blanket of sweaty flesh. Disgusted, she struggled, throwing all of her weight to the side in an effort to break his hold.

  “Be quiet,” he hissed before wrapping an arm around her waist. The other began to tug at her bodice. None of her efforts to get loose made the slightest difference. He bent to whisper in her ear. “I know you want me. I saw it in your eyes when the beast was fucking you. You wanted me to watch. Don't worry, I can satisfy you much better than him. You deserve a real man...”

  He pressed her against his body, grinding his pelvis into her. He was already hard, his body heat smothering her.

  Isobel gulped air, her heart pounding violently. “No! I don't want this, and I didn't want you to watch,” Isobel cried. “If I had said anything Matteo would have killed you. And he's not a beast! It's not his fault. Now let go of me!”