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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.sirenpub.com
Copyright ©2007 by Amanda Hilton
First published in 2007, 2007
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EROTIC ROMANCE
SEX RATING: SCORCHING
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SIREN SEX RATING
SENSUAL: Sensual romance with love scenes comparative to most romance novels published today
STEAMY: Heavy sexual tension; graphic details; may contain coarse language
SIZZLING: Erotic, graphic sex; explicit sexual language; may offend delicate readers
SCORCHING: Erotica; contains many sexual encounters; may contain unconventional sex; will offend delicate readers
SEXTREME: Excessiveness; many instances of unconventional sex; may be hardcore
The Renegades 1
She is destined to overthrow the Sorcery Circle, but first, she must train to develop her latent sorcery power. He is sent to assassinate her, but it is his destiny to become her lover, sorcery master, and savior.
Vision of Light
Only one man can save her—the Dark Lord of Death.
Aislan Temple has been sold by her father into marriage to an evil man she despises. Her rescuer arrives in the form of an assassin who beheads her husband and takes her captive.
Only one woman can redeem him—the Witch of Damnation.
Lucien Demarcus, an assassin faithfully serving the Crown and the Sorcery Circle, and Aislan, the wife of the traitor he was sent to kill, bond through dreams they have of each other. Unable to take Aislan's life, Lucien defies his king to protect the woman he believes is a pawn in a political power struggle.
The Renegades
However, Aislan is not as helpless as she appears. She is a Predator who absorbs any sorcery power used against her. Aislan is destined to end the reign of the Sorcery Circle, and only one man can stop her—the man who loves her and has sacrificed all for her.
Sensuality Rating: Scorching
Genre: Fantasy
VISION OF LIGHT
The Renegades 1
Amanda Hilton
EROTIC ROMANCE
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
ABOUT THIS E-BOOK: Your purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.
VISION OF LIGHT
Copyright © 2007 by Amanda Hilton
ISBN-10: 1-933563-01-X
First Electronic Publication: February 2007
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2007 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
VISION OF LIGHT
The Renegades 1
AMANDA HILTON
Copyright © 2007
Prologue
The Vision
"Come with me.” The woman with long, flaxen hair floated close.
Lucien Demarcus touched the hilt of his sword. After all the years she had haunted him from afar, the Witch of Damnation approached him for the first time.
"Come with me,” she said again. “'Tis your destiny."
Even though he could not distinguish the features of her face, he clearly saw the globes of her voluptuous breasts beneath her corset. Under the diaphanous skirt, he saw the outline of her naked crotch, and his cock reared to life.
She came closer, within reach. Her fingers brushed along his jaw and lingered against his mouth. The icy fingers startled him, as his skin burned against her cold touch. She embraced him, her breasts pressing against his chest, setting his whole body ablaze. Confounded by her icy caress and his raw response to the creature he thought he despised, he pushed her away, but she clung tightly and laughed.
"You cannot resist me.” She pushed away, barely touching his chest, yet her force sent him sprawling as if he weighed no more than a feather. The Witch jumped atop him.
"Your soul is mine. You belong to me!” Laughing, she lifted her skirt, revealing her clean-shaven pussy as she gyrated on his erection. He watched the glistening folds of the pink flesh, and she laughed again.
"Yes, my body is yours. I'll do anything you wish. We will explore the darkness together, you and I,” she promised.
The darkness of his soul roared to life.
Grabbing her, he threw her onto her back and pinned her to the ground. He roughly brushed aside the long strands of pale gold hair enshrouding her face, but her features remained out of focus even though she lay in his arms. Lucien gave up, going for her skirt instead, pushing the floating material aside. Full of rage, torn between hate and lust, he intended to fuck her to Hell and back and exorcise this apparition forever. She pressed his fingers into her pussy, the inside as hot as a furnace. Ripping at his braes, she grabbed his distended cock.
"Fuck me now!” she commanded as she spread her legs. He wanted to pull away but instead sunk deep into her. Her tight, hot pussy squeezed and wrung the life energy from him. He shook from the force of her will. They writhed against each other, their bodies breaking contact only for each thrust.
The ground opened beneath them.
The Witch of Damnation had finally succeeded in dragging him into Hell. Pulling away, Lucien fought her indomitable strength, trying in vain to break her hold, but her arms clung tightly like tentacles.
They fell and kept falling. Her hair floated and wrapped around him, trapping him within silken strands that clung to him as, together, they plummeted into the dark void. After years of fighting her in his nightmares, Lucien finally felt resigned to his fate.
The Witch's long hair parted, and where her face should have been, he saw nothing. It echoed the same emptiness of the abyss waiting for him below.
Lucien Demarcus was the Dark Lord of Death. There would be no redemption for him.
Chapter 1
The Witch of Damnation
North Sharland Kingdom, Templeton Forest
Lucien Demarcus perched high on a tree limb and waited for Hayton Temple's hunting party heading in his direction.
The morning fog had lifted, and the sun shone in the now cloudless sky. The bright morning belied the stormy weather that poured in torrents the past fortnight, finally ending last night. Traces of the storm remained in the broken tree branches scattered about the swollen, flooded ground.
&
nbsp; The forest slowly returned to life, but death still lurked ahead.
This would be Lucien's final mission. After today, the Dark Lord of Death would be free to live as a normal human being. Immediately, he forced himself to stop the direction of his thoughts. Lucien would not allow either dreams or self-recriminations to distract him today. Detaching himself from emotion, he turned his attention on the task ahead. From his vantage point, he checked the positioning of his men. Thirteen of them had spread out, some hiding in the trees while others crouching low on the ground behind boulders and bushes.
Finally, Lord Temple's hunting party appeared. Lucien reached for his hood, wedged in the belt at his waist. Pulling the hood over his head, he secured it around his neck. Lucien was a highly visible presence at the king's court, immersed in its politics. His role in the Royal Security Council required anonymity in order to keep espionage activities uncompromised. Straightening, Lucien raised his hand to signal his men. He watched as two of the men—sorcerers—shape-shifted into sturdy bucks. The bucks bounded towards the unsuspecting hunters.
Lord Temple's dogs went wild, and shouts went up as they took off after the unexpected prey. Several people from Lord Temple's group cracked crops across their mounts’ rumps and gleefully took after the hunting dogs. Meanwhile, Lucien made his way down the tree. Leaping from the lowest branch, a good ten feet from the ground, he landed softly on his feet. Height and distance were no obstacles for him. He ran straight towards Temple.
As if sensing danger, one man from the hunting party grabbed Temple's reins. As Lucien and his men appeared, the figure pulled Temple's steed in the opposite direction. Lucien deliberately stood and watched as the person—a sorcerer, he sensed—tried to lead his lord to safety. Lucien's adrenaline pumped in anticipation of the chase. Earlier, he had sent one of his men under the guise of a traveling merchant into Templeton Castle to confirm the details of the hunting expedition. Apparently, the reconnaissance had failed to detect the presence of this sorcerer accompanying the hunt, not that it mattered now. Lucien took off on foot after the fleeing riders.
As a Swift, Lucien could run faster than the galloping horses. However, his stamina would not last forever. As he ran, he untied the long sword fastened to his back. He vaulted, using the sword in its scabbard to launch from the ground. As he leapt past the riders, he kicked Temple hard on the shoulder.
Hayton Temple went flying off his horse as Lucien landed effortlessly on both feet. As he walked towards Temple, sprawled in a heap on the ground, he spared a glance at Temple's companion. He saw the face of a beautiful, young woman half hidden behind the hood of her cloak. Though he had never seen her before, he knew her to be Hayton Temple's wife, Lady Aislan.
Lord Temple scrambled to his feet quickly. A seasoned warrior in his late fifties, built as solid as an oak tree, the enraged Temple glared at his hooded opponent.
"How dare you!” Temple shouted, his face livid with rage. “Do you know who I am?"
Lucien remained silent. He did not want to engage in conversation because it personalized what he had to do.
"'Tis my forest!” Temple unsheathed his sword. “You dare attack me on my own land? ‘Twill be nowhere to hide after this, you rogue!"
Despite his silence, Lucien did not intend to allow the man to die without knowing the reason. He pulled a square, gold-embossed envelope from his pocket, and with a flick of his wrist, sent it flying. It wedged precisely in the crevice between Temple's chain mail and the neckline of his tunic. Temple gave a start at the force and precise landing of such a lightweight missive before he gingerly took the envelope off his shirtfront. Lucien watched the dawning comprehension on the older man's face once he recognized the embossment. Extracting the content, Temple stared at the royal seal on the parchment decreeing his execution.
Lucien unsheathed his sword.
Temple glanced at his wife who seemed too dumbfounded by the turn of events to have the good sense to escape. Appearing unfazed, Temple spat on the envelope, crushing it in a meaty fist before throwing it on the ground.
"Caliburne bastard!” Temple sneered in reference to the king who had signed his death order. “He thinks a minion like you could kill me?"
Without warning, Temple lunged, his movement surprisingly agile for such a massive man. Lucien easily deflected the fierce impact of Temple's blade with his own sword. As an accomplished fighter, Temple could take on a lesser sorcerer, but Lucien knew even Temple was no match for him. Because Lucien never toyed with his victims, he settled the matter quickly and beat Temple's blade aside. Fire sparked with the impact, and Temple's sword flew from his hand. Taking aim for his heart, Lucien easily pierced Temple's chain mail from front to back. He had forged his own power into the weapon, and Temple's simple chain mail melted beneath it.
Lucien pulled his sword free as Temple fell dead.
As though broken from a spell, the woman finally screamed. Lucien shifted his attention to her. Leaping off her horse, she fell to her knees next to her husband's body.
"Hayton,” she whispered as her gaze ranged from his open-eyed stare to his bloody chest, her face white with terror.
Lucien hesitated. If Temple's companion had been a male, Lucien would have killed him, as decreed. He had never killed a woman before. His directive, however, had been unequivocal. The woman was also targeted for assassination.
Lucien's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. He studied her pale face: almond-shaped, dark blue eyes a unique color of indigo, slender tilt of her nose, sharp rising cheekbones, and a curved rosebud mouth on her heart-shaped face. Very young and stunningly beautiful, she embodied everything that represented delicate, feminine helplessness.
Springing to her feet, Lady Aislan backed away. When he took a step towards her, she turned and ran. He watched but did not give chase. It would take only a moment to catch her. He weighed the sword in his hand.
Lucien hesitated at having to end her life. In the past several months, he had tracked Temple's activities in East Sharland. He could justify killing Hayton Temple, but to kill an innocent woman, the hapless wife of a traitor, was a different matter. Lucien's instinct told him she possessed sorcery power but not for combat. However, it was not his place to question the king's mandate. Pushing aside his pity for the helpless woman, he went after her.
She ran faster, and in her awkward haste along the marshy ground, she slipped. Again, Lucien hesitated. As she fell, her hood slid askew, and he caught a glimpse of pale gold hair. He froze momentarily, and then sprang after her in earnest chase. Within seconds, he reached her side, seeing the terror on her face as he stood over her. She shrank away as he roughly pushed back her hood. Her flaxen hair was swept back in a single braid, but loose strands framed her lovely face. The thin silver filigree she wore across her forehead bore tiny gems denoting the married status of a wealthy, noble lady.
Lifting the long braid off her back, he stared at the white gold of her hair before reaching for the front of her cloak. She screamed as he yanked open the material, revealing a hunting outfit underneath. Belted at her tiny waist, her long-sleeved, dark-blue tunic draped over large breasts. The supple leather braes hugged her long, slender legs, giving her the freedom to ride astride rather than sidesaddle. He had never seen a woman in braes before, but obviously, she was no typical woman.
A fierce, primal urge sprang from within that made him want to pounce on her like an angry, depraved beast with its elusive prey finally caught in its claws.
With her face and hair exposed, Lucien knew the Witch of Damnation when he saw her.
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Aislan Temple stared at the menacing, hooded figure standing over her, his bloody sword barely an arm's length from her head. The silvery blade sparkled under the morning sun. He stood poised and ready to strike. Sensing the vibration of rage in the air, she cringed, her entire body shaking in terror.
The man stood motionless, dressed in black from the top of his hood to the toes of his boots. His hood had
large openings for his eyes and wide slits for his nose and mouth. He wore chain mail under his tunic, the links glimmering with a strange light. An imposing figure standing well over six feet, he was powerfully built from the width of his shoulders down to his lean waist and long legs. An air of immense strength emanated from him. She realized it would take him little to no effort to kill her. Wanting to weep, Aislan somehow managed to control herself. She waited, but he did not make a move to strike a deathblow. When she could stand the tension no longer, Aislan scooted away from him on her backside and rose to her feet.
When he did not move, she continued to back away. She felt the urge to run even though she knew the futility of doing so. This man, clearly a powerful sorcerer, who could outrun galloping horses on foot, who had killed the mighty Lord Temple with a few strokes of his sword, could cut her down just as effortlessly.
"You killed him,” she whispered, surprised she found the nerve to speak. Hysteria rose within her, making her reckless and defiant. “You killed him in cold blood."
He did not answer.
"If you intend to kill me, then strike fast. Were I a man, I would kill you!” she continued heedlessly.
The hooded man laughed, a cold, heartless sound.
"Were you a man, you would be dead.” His voice emerged deep and dark from beneath the hood, sending a shiver of fear down her spine.
To her disbelief and rising hope, he sheathed his sword and fastened the scabbard to the left side of his belt, immediately below the foot-long dagger hanging there. Aislan's heart skipped a beat when she saw the inscription along the scabbard holding the dagger. She had seen those patterns before.
"Come.” He waved curtly in the direction of the horses and Lord Temple's body behind him.
Aislan would not move. “What—what do you want with me?"
He did not answer immediately, and then said simply, “I have not decided."
"Please, you must let me go!"
Vision of Light [The Renegades 1] Page 1
