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Also Available
Touched By The Magic
by
Maxine Mansfield
Book One of The Academy Series
New to The Academy of Magical Arts, Briarlarn Tumbleweed wants to learn the art of a True Healer, but her nerves get the best of her when she’s paired in the sexually dynamic healing class with Uthiel Stoutheart, Paladin of the Realm. Between burning off his eyebrows and overturning a candle on certain exposed male parts, she isn't making a very good impression. But how can she focus when Uthiel is strong, brave, and touches Briar in a way that leaves her weak in the knees, quivering with pleasure, and begging for more?
Falling in love with the accident-prone but talented Briar was not what Uthiel had planned, but life with the sexy healer is adventurous, hilarious, mind-blowingly stimulating, and clearly his destiny. His soul awakens while taking her to new heights of ecstasy, yet he can't allow his own pleasure. There’s no getting around it—he must leave The Academy and pursue his quest to right the wrongs done to his people if he can ever hope to find happiness with Briar.
But is their love strong enough to mend the magic so desperately needed to preserve their world, and that touches both their souls with a searing heat?
Also Available
Tempted By The Storm
by
Maxine Mansfield
Book Two of The Academy Series
Larksong Hammerstrike has always been just the younger sister of Princess Aryanna. Never quite as pretty or as smart, always lacking, a mere empath whose power gets her into trouble more often than not. But at Carnalval, the festival of all things sexual, she unleashes her sensual side for a night in the arms of a masked stranger. When morning dawns, Lark can't resist a peek beneath the mask of her lover and is once again crushed by fate. The man of her lusty adventure is none other than the future Lord of the High Elves and destined to marry her sister.
As heir to the kingdom of Landis and current instructor of wizardry at the Academy of Magical Arts, Sarco Sunwalker is honor bound to rise above the temptation of the beautiful empathic student who invades his mind, body, and soul. But when sparks fly, lightning strikes, and thunder rolls, Sarco finds himself more than tempted by the storm of Lark's passion and vows to find a solution that will prevent a war between races, fulfill an infamous quest, and win Lark's hand.
Also Available
Taken By The Passion
by
Maxine Mansfield
Book Three of The Academy Series
Lizbeth wasn't given a choice whom to marry. She'd been betrothed to the, stubborn, arrogant, egotistical, Adan Hammerstrike, barbarian prince, heir to the throne of Alaria, and...and...murderer, since the day she'd been born. But, did that mean she wasn't entitled to follow her own dreams? Especially if those dreams could keep those she cared for safe? And so what if Adan had grown from the troll of a little boy he'd been into a ridiculously handsome, sexy man. Her heart could resist him, couldn't it?
The last thing on Albrath, Adan ever wanted was to be saddled for all of eternity to the screeching, boring, lackluster, Lizbeth Soulenticer. Though her beauty's beyond compare, there are only so many turns of the hourglass in a night to enjoy it. The rest of the unbearable time, he'll be forced to contend with her silly, hero worship, and her stupid pet choices. But, Adan is a man bound by duty and honor, and he will do what he must, even though he longs for a mate who will challenge him in bed and out. Not that he'll give her his heart, mind you, at least not until they both find themselves Taken by the Passion.
Turn the page to read an excerpt.
Chapter One
Lizbeth glanced at the gorgeous barbarian standing nonchalantly with his well-defined arms folded across the expanse of his wide, bare chest, and cringed. Who would have guessed such a cold-blooded, vicious murderer could end up with the face and body of a god? Yet, somehow, he had. She balled her hands into fists, clinging desperately to the one emotion she’d fostered concerning this man for as long as she could remember…anger.
One of the barbarian’s friends laughed at something he said and, with the shake of his head, a lock of hair the color of summer wheat dislodged from behind his perfectly rounded ear, and fell across his forehead. Lizbeth had the strangest urge to tuck it securely back in place. Her fingers tingled with the desire to go to him, reach up, and do just that. It wasn’t fair.
Prince Adan Zeth Conner Hammerstrike wasn’t supposed to be devastatingly handsome or brilliantly witty or muscled beyond belief from head to toe like the barbarian warrior he was. He was still supposed to be the horrid troll of a boy he’d been when last she had the misfortune to be in his presence.
At least one thing about the man remained consistent. If the tilt of his chin and the arrogant smirk on his face were any indications, he still possessed the same annoying, egotistical, pompous-ass attitude he’d always had.
Lizbeth sighed. Perhaps his body had changed for the better, but the important details remained the same. He was still the crown prince of Alaria and the man destined to be the next king of the Barbarians, and she was as she’d always been, nothing more than property.
Turning from him and the sounds of celebration, she walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his family’s castle and glanced out and upward at the night sky. The three moons of Albrath, each in a different phase, shone down, illuminating the icy-cold, barren landscape and high mountains of the far northern kingdom of Alaria. So this was home?
Tears threatened, and Lizbeth scrunched her eyes tight to prevent their escape. She would not cry today of all days. It was a promise she’d made. Her entire life had been in preparation for this day, and she had willingly done what duty dictated. Now, all she wanted was to get through the rest of this evening, say goodnight, gather her valise, and be on her way.
A single tear escaped past her defenses, and Lizbeth quickly swiped it away before anyone had a chance to notice. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. As of twelve turns of the hourglass ago, she was twenty-one and a woman fully grown. And not just any woman, either. As of two turns ago of that same hourglass, she was the signed, sealed, and delivered wife of Prince Adan Hammerstrike. On parchment anyway. And that was more than she’d ever wanted from the man.
Happily-ever-afters with someone you loved and who loved you back were fairytales for children, not the reality of a royal’s life on Albrath.
Lady Lizbeth Claire Soulenticer, now Princess Lizbeth Hammerstrike, future queen of the Barbarians certainly didn’t believe in anything as silly as fairytales. She never had.
****
Oh, God Draka, she wasn’t crying was she? After being raised with four sisters, let alone his queen of a mother, he couldn’t abide another moment of female drama. Adan sighed as he watched the slip of a girl wipe what looked suspiciously like a tear from her cheek. He shook his head and wondered, for not the first time this day, what he’d ever done to be saddled with such a wife. One who didn’t have the capacity to be anything but what she’d always been—a whining, sniveling, pain in his arse, unwanted responsibility.
Not that he wouldn’t still do her the honor of bedding her for, after all, it was his duty. And even if she wasn’t the type of woman he would have chosen for a wife, had he been given the opportunity to choose, she wasn’t horrid to look upon. As a matter of fact, she was stunning.
Hair the color of liquid toffee, rich and thick, hung well past her waist. Strands of copper with gold highlights danced in the glow of a hundred candles scattered throughout the room. Adan’s fingers itched to gauge its weight. His chest ached to have it brush across his ribs and come to rest upon his shoulders as she gracefully rode him long into the coming night.
Skin the shade of warm cream, and lips, full and pouty with just a tint of peach, cause
d a stirring beneath his ceremonial kilt. The promise of breasts full and heavy below her lacey, white gown teased at his senses while her hips, just the right size to grasp with both hands, tormented his mind.
Surprisingly enough, however, it was her ears that totally enthralled him. They always had. All afternoon his tongue had been tempted to flick out and finally taste the crisp little points of her ears. Who would have thought dainty, pointed, half-wood-elf ears could be so damn sexy? Perhaps he wasn’t quite as immune to his pretty little wife’s charms as he thought.
Adan chuckled to himself. He didn’t have to be immune. All he need do was crook a finger and beckon, and she would immediately come running to his side. It was her nature and in her training. All she’d ever known in life, from the moment she’d been born, was whatever Prince Adan wanted would one day be her duty to give. Every lesson she’d taken, every book she’d read, every single thing she ate, learned, and probably even dreamed of, had been for one purpose—to become the wife of and to please Prince Adan Hammerstrike.
For a fleeting moment, Adan wondered if she’d ever had more than a handful of thoughts in her pretty little head she could rightfully call her own. Thoughts that didn’t revolve directly around him. Probably not. How boring.
Glancing about the room at his friends, Adan blew out a breath. To his right stood Uthiel Dragonheart, human paladin, protector of dragons, master of Castle Kuropkat, and husband to the beautiful Briar, an amazing elf-human healer. Not a happier man in all of Albrath could be found.
That is unless you took into account the equally jovial Sarco Sunwalker, across the way to Adan’s left. Sarco, heir to the Lordship of the Elves, wizard instructor at the Academy of Magical Arts, and husband to Adan’s youngest sister, Lark.
Both were strong-minded men with wives who complemented and challenged them. Opinionated, smart, sometimes sassy, never boring, always in the thick of things, passionate wives.
And what kind of wife did Adan now have? He glanced toward Lizbeth, and the touch of sadness that flickered in her soft hazel eyes made him almost feel guilty about what he had planned. After all, it wasn’t her fault if she was ordinary, predictable, and boring. She was what she was, and nothing more or less than a product of her upbringing.
Like it or not, enjoyable or not, it was still his duty to consummate this travesty of a marriage before he took his leave of her. And leave her was exactly what he planned to do.
When the sun rose in the morning, he would bid farewell to his uninteresting little responsibility. His parents could contend with her. Allowing him the freedom to return to the Academy with his comrades and continue his carefree life, unfettered by the likes of an unwanted wife, at least until such a time duty forced his return.
No doubt she would cry and beg him to stay, but in the end, it would do her no good. His mind was made up.
With a gesture and bow goodnight to his friends and family, Adan headed toward his bride.
****
Down a long corridor, they walked in silence. Up a staircase, past two hallways, one to the right then another to the left, through a drafty archway, and across the width of an expansive open-ended room until they stopped before a door.
Lizbeth could smell a hint of wood smoke, alder she guessed, as Adan turned and cupped her chin in his big, barbarian hand. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself from trembling.
“Don’t worry your little head about my pleasure or anything else this night. I’m sure you’re quite eager to use some of those techniques you’ve been studying over the past few years to please me, but for this evening, allow me to simply do what needs to be done quickly and efficiently. My pleasure will come in good time, Lizard.”
If his smile hadn’t been so genuine and if Lizbeth hadn’t been certain the only thing between the big buffoon’s ears was more of the same hot air he’d been spouting all evening, she would have smacked the condescending look right off his face. Don’t worry about his pleasure? Eager to use techniques to please him? And…and…Lizard? Who did he think he was?
Instead, she smiled at him innocently. “Lizard, seriously, Adan? Do I really remind you of a reptile? And your pleasure? You mistake my distress, my lord. I’m simply not accustomed to the extreme cold here in your kingdom. Hmm, I hadn’t given your pleasure a single thought. Was I supposed to?”
Adan’s look of genuine concern was almost laughable. “I was under the impression husbands were supposed to come up with pet names for their wives. It’s a rule, I think. I like Lizard. I mean, you don’t look like one or anything, it’s just…cute.”
His eyes gleamed as he graced her with a smile she knew was meant to rattle her resolve and bring the fair maiden in her to her knees. “You have been adequately deflowered and schooled in all the arts of seduction, haven’t you? You’ve taken the sex practices and theory classes all young people are required to take? I’m quite certain it was in the marriage contract your parents signed. You do understand what I’m talking about and what’s about to happen, don’t you? Please tell me you do, my lady.”
It was all Lizbeth could do to respond with a straight face. “Yes, I’ve been properly deflowered and schooled in all forms of sexual functions. And as far as understanding, I know exactly what I’m about to do.”
His smile gentled and became genuine. The sight of it almost made her feel guilty about the course of action she’d long ago decided upon…almost.
Adan opened the door to his room, and Lizbeth gaped and hesitated before stepping across the threshold. The parts of the castle she’d seen thus far had been bad enough with their stark walls of white stone and colorless decor, but this? This chamber was the most horrid of them all.
Her first impression of the room was one of ice. Cold, devoid of emotion or life, frosty, bitter aloneness. Lizbeth shivered and hugged her arms close to her body. From the white fur rugs scattered about the white stone floor to snow-white drapes hanging loosely open above the stark floor-to-ceiling windows, everything was devoid of color. Even the view was one of never-ending bleakness. And it was huge. No, huge wasn’t the word. It was ridiculously huge for a sleeping chamber.
The only furnishings in the entire space consisted of a single, white, wooden chest against one wall and a white four-poster bed. The four posts were each carved in the image of fearsome dragon heads.
Lizbeth shuddered. The thought of dragons had chills racing along her spine. Let alone snow-white dragons with dead eyes and razor-sharp teeth. Words from a childhood poem came suddenly to mind and she shivered. When the sun doth set and dusk draws near, If ye’ve misbehaved, ye have reason to fear. For by darkness of night, wings take flight, And seek out the naughty to devour by next light.
Lizbeth shook her head to dispel the image. Knowing that even if she were standing here naked and freezing, the bed’s coverlet of thick white fur wouldn’t be enough to entice her to climb into that bed. Still, she couldn’t force her gaze from the monstrosity. The thing was so big it took up most of the room. The horrendous sleeping space was situated in the very center and was large enough to accommodate an entire family of barbarians, and then some.
Lizbeth shivered once more. What kind of man could find peace enough to sleep surrounded by such…hopelessness?
There were very few things in the chamber that weren’t white. Yellow flames licked at dark logs while red coals glowed like dragon’s eyes in the fireplace on the far wall. The only other thing of any color was her one sad-looking, brown valise, sitting next to a white door across the room. The lone saving grace to the entire space was the familiar smell of wood smoke. It reminded her of home.
Lizbeth turned to Adan. “Is there somewhere I may change, my lord?”
Adan chuckled. “We’re married, remember, Lizard. Feel free to change right here. I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, why not simply slip off your gown and drop it to the floor. It will expedite things.”
She hated herself for the rush of heat warming her cheeks. “I realize we’re now wed,
but I would prefer a touch of privacy. A bride looks forward to preparing for her wedding night. Surely even a barbarian can understand that?”
He raised an eyebrow but simply pointed to the door her valise set beside. “Suit yourself, and take all the time you need.” He grinned wolfishly. “I’m a patient man, even for a barbarian, and I’ll be right here waiting when you’re ready to come out and play, Lizard.”
Adan loosened the clasp holding his kilt together, and green and blue plaid wool slithered to the floor. For the space of forty-two heartbeats, Lizbeth stood frozen, staring at the glorious nakedness of her husband. Bronzed muscles rippled across his taut belly, while a halo of springy golden curls surrounded a broad, long cock.
The air in the room became agonizingly thin, and pinpricks of color floated before Lizbeth’s eyes. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a naked man, but she’d certainly never seen one as marvelously made as this one.
His already more-than-adequate phallus began expanding until the veins running along its side pulsated. Lizbeth did the only thing she could think to do. She ran to her valise, snatched it up, opened the door, darted inside, and slammed the door closed behind her.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the small changing room, but she knew from her growing sense of claustrophobia it had been a while. God Draka, how she hated confined spaces, and it had already taken more than a few minutes just for her hands to stop shaking enough to manage the closures on her hideous white gown, let alone the ties of her corset or the multiple layers of snow-white petticoats. Manage them, though, she finally did. Then it took almost as long to rifle through her bag and find the garments she was searching for.
Tamed by the Fire Page 27
