He was the strongest, the deadliest of his kind, and that knowledge did nothing to dampen my appreciation of his masculine beauty.

A Wicked Trilogy #3.5
Release - August 14, 2018
Genre - Fantasy Romance
Single POV - Brighton
Heat Level - 2.5 / a couple of scenes (one of which didn't involve actual sex)
Format/Source - Kindle purchase
Page Count - 192
Publisher - Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

Irritated that he understood why I needed to do what I had to, but was trying to stop me, I threw up my hands. "You can't stop me."

He arched a brow at that as he sat back. "I can stop you."

Caring and sharing time was so over. "You know what? I don't even get why you care. We barely know each other. You're the Prince, and I'm just... I'm just me. I'm a —" I almost blurted out ghost, but stopped myself.

"You're what?" Curiosity crept into his features.

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. I appreciate your concern. I do. It's unexpected, but I appreciate it. It's not going to change —"

"You're what?" he repeated.

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head in frustration.

What were you about to say?" he persisted.

"I'm just a ghost," I blurted out, surprised that I allowed the words to take flight, because once spoken, you couldn't take it back. "That's who I was before the attack and..."

He was watching me intently. "And you're not a ghost anymore?"

"I don't know what I am anymore," I admitted, blinking back the stupid burn of tears again. "And I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I don't even like you."

"You don't even know me."

Standalone - Against All Odds #1
Release - June 11, 2020
Genre - Contemporary Romance / enemies-to-lovers
Dual POV - 1st person
Heat Level - THERE WAS NO SEX!
Format/Source - Kindle purchase
Length - 276 pages
Publisher - Indie

Joy: Are we allowed to see other people?

Lang: Yes, but not to date-text other people. We are texting—steadily.

Joy: I’ve never gone steady via text. This is… I mean, we just met, and how do I know we are the right fit?

Lang: Well, you can always wait for something better. Maybe it is right around the corner. Just know, if the occasion arises … I’ll make sure it fits.

Joy: No dirty texts. I’m watching you.

Lang: You walked right into it, Baby.

Joy: Ugh… Maybe we are not right for each other. But what if I spend my whole life waiting?

Lang: I hope you don’t change your mind. We could be great together. I could promise that no one will text you the way I do.

Joy: Fine. I’d rather give this a shot than live the rest of my life textless.

Lang: I like you, Joy. You are refreshing.

Joy: It’s a gift—and I like you too.

Lang: How was your week?

Joy: It was long. There’s a lot of stuff going on in my mind, and when that happens, I spend a long time working.

Lang: What do you like to do when you aren’t busy?

Joy: Hmm, let see. I like to read. Sometimes, I read a classic book in several different languages—that takes me about a year. It’s interesting to see how some translations are almost perfect, while others are not as close to the original version.

Joy: How about you? What do you like to do on your free days?

Lang: Wow, I got myself a smart texter. Maybe we’ll be in a relationship where we can talk a very dirty version of Jane Austen’s classics.

Joy: :wink: :flustered face:

Joy: Don’t ignore my question, what do you do with your free time?

Lang: I’m always busy. Like you, sometimes I get engrossed with work, and I spend hours if not days testing, changing… I have a confession. I’m a workaholic. But that’s enough about work. Where are you?

Joy: I’m at the Botanical Garden.

Lang: Which one?

Joy: Downtown. It was between that or the zoo. What about you?

Lang: I’m at Garden of the Gods. Just finished climbing.

Joy: I never thought about going there to climb. We usually hike there and then go to Manitou Springs shopping. I should tell my brother. He’s the only one who would go with me.

Lang: What are your favorite things?

Joy: Precipitation. I know it’s so random, but I love to watch the rain and the snow fall. The scent of flowers. Except the Titan Flower.

Lang: Which one is that?

Joy: It’s the one that smells like a rotting corpse. My parents took us to see one in bloom. They only last about 24 hours open. 48, if you are lucky.

Lang: Why would you want to see and smell a flower that reeks and doesn’t last for too long?

Joy: It’s an experience. I guess that’s another one of my favorite things: to experience the world. What about you?

Lang: Favorite things … figuring out how things work. I used to take apart electronics to see what each component looked like and what it did. Then, I’d put it back together. Sometimes, I would combine appliances. My father didn’t love it.

Joy: You recreated Frankenstein’s monster out of kitchen appliances?

Lang: It was entertaining, but never worked out.

Lang: And I wasn’t going for Frankenstein. More like a waffle-blender machine, or a toaster-mixer gadget. I built my first computer at thirteen.

Joy: Most children would be proud of joyriding at that age—after borrowing their parent’s car without permission. Apparently, you weren’t most children.

Lang: That’s what my father used to say. It drove him insane. That doesn’t mean I didn’t steal his bike, or his car, or the boat. We were a lot younger than thirteen. I hung out with my brother—a lot. He followed the school of Evel Knievel.

There’s no denying destiny . . .

For too long, Benjamin Reese has masked his deadly skills and temper with loyalty and humor. A vampire-demon hybrid, he fiercely protects his family, guards his brothers, and destroys the enemy without mercy. But when he discovers one fragile, beautiful blonde—a woman once mated to a Kurjan, no less—every primal instinct he has buried for centuries roars to life. With the mating mark she roused on his hand entwining their fates, no one will prevent him from keeping her safe and making her his, forever . . .

Or desire . . .

Karma wishes she could remember her last name. Or if she even had one. All she has in this confusing new world is a desperate duty to save the innocent. That means destroying the dark, dangerous, and desirable Benjamin Reese and everything he loves—an impossible task even before his touch arouses a passionate hunger she can’t afford. She’s certain a deadly enemy watches her every move, but it’s not until Benny kisses her that she tastes true danger…

My Note(s)

The smell of the earth, deep and true, centered her as she traversed the hastily created tunnel. It probably said something about Karma that she preferred darkness, muddy walls, and being underground to any other circumstance. Battery-operated lanterns had been dropped haphazardly along the trail, their artificial light dancing across the packed dirt walls, highlighting minerals she couldn’t name as she descended quickly, the swish of her skirt the only sound she made.

She bent her head, trying to stay in the moment and not panic at the job to come. One she was no more prepared for than she had been for mating a Kurjan general nearly two centuries ago. Or was it closer to three?

Taking a deep breath, she turned the corner and faced the cell. The cell that had been dug just the day before, in case it might be needed.

It was.

She swallowed.

The male was sprawled across the ground, so large he could probably spread his arms and reach the cement blocks on one side and the steel bars on the other. If he’d been conscious. Bruises mottled his face and neck, while a wound bled freely beneath his jaw. Blood ran past his ear to pool on the dirt beneath him.

She couldn’t breathe.

It really was him. Despite the bruises, blood, and dirt covering his face, she recognized him from more than three years ago. He’d tried to pull her into a helicopter with him after he’d attacked the Kurjan stronghold where she lived. He was bad, he was the enemy, and yet…he’d saved several kidnapped human females from the Kurjans. The Kurjans were an immortal species more powerful than any other. It had been a miracle that the male before her had succeeded in taking those gifted human females away from the Kurjan nation. He’d almost taken her at the same time, but she’d fought him.

Had he thought he was saving her? Had he hurt those human females? Were they now in worse danger than they’d faced when captives of the Kurjan nation?

She waited patiently, as she’d been taught. The guard would get to her when he had time. The medical supplies in her pack became heavy, so she set them down, stepping closer to the bars to study the male.

Benjamin Horatio Lawrence Reese. He was a vampire-demon hybrid, large even for his kind. At about six-foot-seven, or maybe eight, he was as tall as many Kurjans. The wideness of his torso tapered down at his waist, matched by the length of his legs. His boots had to be a size eighteen, and his hands were big enough to cause colossal damage. Oh, she’d been hit before, but one punch from him and she’d be dead.

He could never learn how much she already knew about him. How she’d been preparing for this day for three years—since he’d tried to take her from another Kurjan holding. Her home. With the Kurjans, since she’d mated one centuries ago and thus had become immortal, even though she’d started out as a human female.

A see-through figure hovered behind the male.

Karma sighed. “Loti? I thought you’d moved on.” She’d helped the Kurjan spirit accept his fate after he’d been killed in a training accident, or so she had thought.

The kid, his hair black yet see through, rolled his eyes like any teenager. “I’m going now. Just wanted to say goodbye.” Then he stiffened. “The guards are coming. Good luck.” He wisped out of sight, and hopefully out of this world to the next one.

The air changed, and Karma stiffened as the guard made his way down the tunnel, his white hair glowing as he came closer. He was a Cyst: one of the elite soldiers and spiritual leaders of the Kurjan nation. A single line of white hair bisected his pale scalp, leading down to a long braid. His eyes were a deep purple tinged with red, and he spared her not a glance as he unlocked the cell and then stepped back.

She took a deep breath and entered, wincing as the coppery smell of blood assaulted her nostrils. Then she dropped to her knees and reached inside the pack for the materials that would clot the bleeding wound. The hybrid must’ve been badly injured in the skirmish if he was still bleeding.

A ghost popped up in the other cell, and she ignored him. He was wavering in and out of her sight and would soon cross over; there wasn’t time to help him.

The second she touched Benjamin’s head, his eyes opened.

He was fully alert in a second, his deep eyes a strange metallic color. “Karma,” he murmured.

She drew back. He remembered her name? Nobody remembered her name.

“Do you need blood?” she whispered, leaning closer, even as the guard locked the cell door and disappeared down the hallway, leaving her alone with the enemy. Right now she was useless to the Kurjans, so if the prisoner killed her, they’d find a plan B.

“No.” Benjamin sat up, looked around, and put his back to the cement brick wall. His impressive body seemed to take up all the space in the cell.

She shook her head, her lips trembling. “You must be badly injured, or you would not have been captured. You need blood.” It would hurt if he bit her, and he’d have to be quick to avoid touching her skin for long.

“I let them take me. I’ve been searching for you for three years.”

God. The Kurjans had been correct. He really had been looking for her. He’d been caught twice and both times had asked about her, so it wasn’t like he was keeping it a secret. “The baby? Rose?” Karma held her breath. When Benjamin’s people had attacked the Kurjan holding, she’d gone with her instincts and forced him to take a toddler who had been kidnapped by the Kurjans—and she’d paid for that decision. “Is Rose well?”

Benjamin nodded. “Rose is fine. She’s at Realm Headquarters with a nice family.”

Relief and fear made an odd combination in Karma’s body. “Realm Headquarters?” The Realm was the enemy of the Kurjans. Its people were evil, or so she’d been taught. She’d always wondered, because lies were everywhere. She held out bandages and antibiotics, although the wound beneath his jaw was already closing as he sent healing cells where they were necessary. “I don’t need those,” he murmured, studying her with an intensity that shot tremors through her abdomen.

“I don’t understand why you would come looking for me,” she said, sitting back and keeping her knees covered with her dress. The Kurjan leaders had noted that this male kept showing up in different attacks, and he took ridiculous risks for a soldier with his experience. They’d been sure he was coming, based their plan on that knowledge, but she hadn’t believed it. Why would this male put himself in danger for her? “You let them take you hostage?”

“Yes.” Benjamin’s voice was low and rough, hinting at demon ancestry.

She rested her hands on the thin material over her knees. “I don’t understand.”

A bone snapped loudly into place somewhere in his body, but he didn’t even flinch. “Let’s start here. I’m Benny Reese.” He held out a hand the size of a frying pan, as if they were meeting at a village game instead of in a cell.

She hesitated and then slid her palm against his. “Karma.”

His hold and shake were gentle, and he released her before the mating allergy could hurt either of them. She’d been mated centuries ago to a Kurjan, and no other male could touch her for long without both of them developing terrible rashes.

“What’s your last name?” he asked. Another bone popped into place.

She jerked at the sound. “I do not have a last name.”

“Oh.” He looked beyond her at the steel bars securing the cell. “I was out for a while. Where are we?”

“In a temporary holding area where you will be kept until you are transported to a more secure location.” She coughed. “For questioning.”

His smile nearly knocked her over. Even the slight tipping of his lips turned his rugged face from dangerously hard to nearly boyish with charm. Amusement glimmered in his eyes for a moment. “Darlin’, I’ve been tortured before. You don’t need to trouble yourself about that.”

She had bigger things to worry about than the life of this massive hybrid. She allowed herself one moment to stare into his unusual eyes. Oh, many immortals had metallic-silver eyes, gold eyes, even copper or purple. But his were a combination of all argent colors, mingling into a hard-edged glint, even with the humor lurking there. In another time, she might’ve thought him beautiful. She’d learned long ago that beauty could mask the darkest of evils.

Vampires were bad, demons were bad, and this male was a hybrid of both. When he decided to kill her—and he would at some point—she wouldn’t stand much chance of surviving. Yet she still couldn’t comprehend why he’d come for her. “Why are you here?”

“For you. To rescue you because I couldn’t last time.” He stretched out his arms and healed a broken finger in his left hand.

His words didn’t make any sense. “Why?” Surely his ego wasn’t such that he’d risked his life just because she’d rejected his help last time. She wasn’t worth that.

He sighed. “I’d hoped to ease you into the truth, but here it is.” He held up his right hand, showing a demon marking with a jagged R in the center. The R was a crest representing his surname: Reese. Demons mated with a branding and a bite—the marking was transferred from the demon to the mate during sex.

Her mouth dropped open, and she hurried to shut it. “You’re mated?” Why did that thought nauseate her? How odd.

“No. The brand appeared when I touched you three years ago.” His chin lowered, and he studied her, towering over her even as he sat. “When you shoved me away and refused to get into that helicopter with me.” He didn’t sound happy.

She snorted and then quickly recovered. “Impossible. I’m already mated.” Well, she had been mated a couple of centuries ago, although her Kurjan mate had died shortly thereafter. Sometimes she forgot what he had looked like, and that was fine with her. “Your brand must have appeared for someone else.”

“No.” Benjamin looked down at the dark marking. “The mark hasn’t faded a bit, and it’s pulsing like a live wire now that you’re near.”

Oh, Lord. Her research on Benjamin suggested he might be insane. Dangerous and unstable? There was no way she could succeed in this mission. “Benjamin—”

“Benny. Might as well get cozy with me now.” His smile held charm and determination that warmed her in an unexpected way.

For the second time in her life, she let her instincts take over. “Just leave. Take an opening and find freedom,” she whispered tersely, her stomach cramping. “Forget about me.”

“Not a chance.” His gaze ran over her face like a physical touch.

Movement sounded down the tunnel, and she stiffened.

Benjamin tensed and set his jaw. “Get ready, darlin’. We’re about to escape this place.”

Five years ago
Mount Oblak Castle, Russia

If the overgrown vampire didn’t stop staring at her face, even his wicked talent with his sword wouldn’t keep his head upon his shoulders.

The thought made Myst, an immortal known as the Coveted One, grin as she curled up in the windowsill of her cell. Leaning against the reinforced bars, she watched the two vampire armies battle below as she might a rumble from the back of bleachers.

The poor warlord with his broad shoulders and jet black hair was about to join a legion of other males whose last sight on earth was her smiling face—

She frowned when he ducked and ran through his enemy. He was a big male, at least six and a half feet tall, but he was surprisingly fast. Tilting her head, she studied him. He was good. She knew fighting and liked his style. Dirty. He’d cut with his sword then strike out with his fist, or duck a parry then throw an elbow. It amused her to watch, but what she wouldn’t give to be down there fighting. In the middle. Against both sides. Against him.

She fought dirtier.

His gaze continued to stray to her, and once he’d even killed while his eyes were still on her. She’d blown him a kiss, sincerely, choosing to see it as a tribute.

He found time to glance back even as he thundered orders and gave commands to the army of vampires around him, showing brilliance in strategy. She examined it all as though watching Decisive Battles on A&E and grudgingly noted the effectiveness of his army’s acid grenades and guns.

The creatures of the Lore scorned human weapons like these. The only ones such weapons could kill were humans, which was beyond non-sporting. Yet that was the thing about bullets—aside from ruining perfectly good couture, they hurt and could immobilize an immortal for precious seconds. Long enough for a dirty fighter to take your head. Done enough times, they could help take an “untakable” castle like Ivo the Cruel’s.

Myst hardly cared that Ivo, her jailer and tormentor, was about to have his ass handed to him by this warlord with his forbidden modern weapons. Her situation would not change, for these rebels, turned humans known as the Forbearers, were still vampires. A blood foe is a blood foe is a blood foe….

An explosion rocked the castle, and sparks and bits of debris wafted down from the roof of Myst’s cell. The low creatures in the dank holds down the corridor howled with impotent fury, increasing in urgency with each successive blast, until it was … over. Silence. An aftershock here and there, a muted whimper…

The defense of this castle was no more, its inhabitants having disappeared—by tracing, as the Lore called teleporting—leaving no more than an airy draft and the burned records of their Horde.

She could hear the rebels searching the bowels of this place but could’ve told them they wouldn’t find any of their enemies. The denizens here had not been a fight-to-the-death sort, more of a he who fights and runs away, lives to run away another day type.

Shortly after, she heard heavy boots on the stone floor of the dungeon and knew it was the warlord. He crossed directly to her cell and stood before it.

From her perch, curled in the window, she examined the vampire up close. He had thick, straight black hair that hung over his face in uneven sections, no doubt from where he’d sheared it off with his blade months ago, and never thought to cut it since. Some hanks were kept from his field of vision with those small ravel plaits like the berserkers used to wear. He had scars on his hands, and his big body was powerful and cut with muscle. She wanted to purr—because apparently central casting had just sent down the consummate virile warlord.

“Come down from there and show yourself.” Deep voice. Russian accent, moneyed, aristocratic.

“Or what? You’ll lock me away in a dungeon?”

“I might free you.”

She was at the bars before he’d had time to lower his gaze from the window. Had his squared jaw slackened just the smallest bit? She listened for a quickening of his heart, but found none because there was no heartbeat whatsoever. So the vampire was single? His eyes were clear of the red haze that marked bloodlust, which meant he had never drunk a being to death. But then a Forbearer eschewed taking living blood through the flesh altogether.

When he saw her face up close, the key wasn’t immediately in the lock as it usually would have been, but his lips parted, exposing his fangs for her to see. Of course his would be sexy—not too prominent or even much longer than a human’s canines.

When she saw the short splendid scar that passed down both of his lips, lightning struck just outside, but he didn’t flinch at the bolt or even glance up—he was too busy staring back at her.

Scars, any external evidence of pain, attracted Myst. Pain forged strength. Strength begat electricity. This one could give it to her.

It was possible he was even missing an eye under a thick hank of hair.

She stifled a throaty growl as her hand shot out to brush his hair back. But he was quick, catching her wrist. She curled one finger in a beckoning gesture, and after a moment he released her, allowing her to reach forward. She brushed his hair back, revealing a hard-planed, masculine face covered with grit and ash from the battle.

He was still in possession of both of his eyes and they were intense. Gun-metal gray.

When her hand dropped, his brows drew together, perhaps at her blatant interest, or perhaps at her fingers already stroking the bars in invitation as she stared at his mouth. She was surprised by how carnal she found it, especially since the vampire could use it to hurt her.

The smooth gold chain that she’d worn at her waist for millennia now felt heavy on her.

“What are you?” he asked in his pleasingly low voice. She realized then that his accent wasn’t Russian, but from that of neighboring Eesti. The general was Estonian, which made him a kind of Nordic Russian, though she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate that description.

She frowned at his question and pulled back her hair to show him her pointed ear. “Nothing?” She parted her lips and tapped her tongue against her smaller dormant fangs. No recognition.

Apparently, the rumors were true. Here was a leader in this army, a general most likely, and he hadn’t a clue that she was his mortal enemy. He would think she was fey or a nymph. She’d prefer fey because she’d cringe to be confused with one of those little hookers—

She shook her head. As long as he didn’t know she was Valkyrie it worked for her.

Killing the unwitting Forbearers would be easy for her and her sisters. Too easy. Like being your own secret Santa.

Myst had just confirmed rumors in the Lore that whispered of asses and elbows and this Horde’s inability to differentiate between the two.

“What are you?” Nikolai Wroth demanded again, surprised his voice was steady.

When he’d seen her in the light, he’d felt like exhaling a stunned breath—if his kind respired—for she was strikingly lovely, with a beauty only hinted at from the distance of the battlefield. He’d been attracted to that face to his reckless peril.

Though she had expected him to recognize her kind, all he could determine was that she wasn’t human and that he hadn’t a clue what she might be. Her ears said fey but she also had the smallest fangs.

“Free me,” the creature said. Flawless skin, coral pink lips, flame red hair. The eyes that flickered over him appraisingly were an impossible green.

The way she held the bars was suggestive—everything about her was … suggestive.

“Swear fealty to my king, and I will free you.”

“I can’t do that, but you’ve no right to keep me here.”

His brother Murdoch passed by then, raised his eyebrows at Nikolai’s discovery, and muttered in Estonian, “Sweet Christ.” Then he walked on. Why was Nikolai unable to do the same?

“What’s your name?” He wasn’t used to his questions going unanswered.

Another stroke of the bars. “What do you want it to be?”

He scowled. “Are you a vampire?”

“Not the last time I checked.” Her voice was sensual. He couldn’t place her accent, but it was drawling, honeyed.

“Are you innocent of malice against us?”

She waved a dismissing hand. “Oh, good gods, no! I love, love, love to kill leeches.”

“Then rot in here.” As if she could kill a vampire. She was scarcely over five feet tall and delicately built—aside from her generous breasts showcased in her tight shirt.

Just before he turned, he saw her eyes narrow. “I smell smoke,” she called after him. “Ivo the Cruel burned his records before he fled, didn’t he?”

Nikolai stilled, clenching his fists because he’d have to return.

“He did,” he grated at the cell once more.

“And this new king’s army is full of Forbearers—turned humans? It matters little. I’m sure the king is very knowledgeable about the vampire Horde’s extensive list of enemies within the Lore. He wouldn’t need this castle’s records. In fact, I’m positive that that is not the reason you chose this stronghold over the four others, including the royal seat.”

How did she know their agenda so well?

Nikolai could plan battles and sieges—he’d earned his rank by this victory alone—but he knew nothing of this new world to advance the army. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one.

The blind leading the blind. When they’d found the records reduced to a smoldering heap of ash, that’s what Kristoff had muttered.

“You think to bargain for your freedom? If you do happen to have information, I can get it from you.”

“Torture?” she asked with a laugh. “My first piece of information I’ll divulge to you? I wouldn’t recommend trying to torture me. I dislike it and grow sulky under pincers. It’s a fault.”

The things in the cells, many of which he’d never even heard of, never could have envisioned, howled and grunted at that.

“Now let’s not quarrel, vampire. Free me, and we’ll go to your room and talk.” She offered her fragile-looking hand out to him. A smudge of ash was stark against her alabaster skin.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll call for me. You’ll be lonely in your new quarters and will feel out of sorts. I could let you pet my hair until you fell asleep.”

He drew in closer and lowered his voice to ask in all seriousness, “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“As—a—hatter,” she whispered back conspiratorially.

He felt a hint of sympathy for the creature. “How long have you been in here?”

“For four long … interminable … days.”

He glowered at her.

“Which is why I want you to take me with you. I don’t eat much.”

The dungeon erupted with laughter again.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Certainly not like you, Forbearer.”

“How do you know what I am?”

“I know everything.”

Then, if true, she had a wealth they didn’t.

“Leave her,” Murdoch called at the gateway of the dungeon. His brows were drawn, no doubt puzzled by his brother’s interest. Nikolai had never pursued women. As a human, they’d either come to him or he’d gone without. He’d had no time in wartime. As a vampire he had no such need. Not until he could find his Bride.

He shook his head at the insane, fey creature, then forced himself to walk on, though he thought he heard her whisper, “Call for me, General,” making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He followed his brother to Kristoff’s new antechamber and found their king gazing out into the clear night from a generous window—one that would be shuttered in the few hours till dawn. When Kristoff turned to them, his gaunt face looked weary.

Nikolai suspected it had been difficult for him to kill other natural-born vampires, his own kindred, no matter how crazed they’d become, and no matter that they followed his uncle Demestriu, who’d stolen his crown centuries ago. Nikolai had no such compunctions. He was weary but only from injury and his sword arm being overworked as he hacked through them.

“Were any of the records salvageable?” he asked with little hope. If the vampires of this castle had spent as much energy fighting as burning, they might have kept Oblak. To his disgust, they’d fled. He didn’t understand it. When defending your home, you defend to the death.

He had.

Kristoff answered, “None.”

Without the records, their own ignorance would kill them. Kristoff, the rightful king, had been raised by humans far from Demestriu’s reach. For centuries, he had lived among them, hiding his true nature yet learning little of the Lore. His army consisted of human warriors he’d turned as they died on the battlefield, so they knew nothing. Before Nikolai had seen Kristoff standing over him like an angel of death, offering eternal life for eternal fealty, Nikolai had thought vampires were mere myths.

The rules of this new world were complex and often counterintuitive, and their order knew little more than conjecture and what had been learned by painful trial over centuries. They were trapped in a kind of twilight—not human and yet universally shunned by all the factions of the Lore. Those beings hid in the shadows, fleeing from whatever land Kristoff’s army occupied, working together to always be one step ahead. Nikolai’s human experience said they should have been able to get information by now, but the reality was that this was a different plane altogether. The same effort that went into hiding the Lore from humans for ages went into keeping Kristoff’s soldiers in the dark as well.

“Any sign of Conrad or Sebastian?” Kristoff asked.

Nikolai shook his head. He hadn’t seen his brothers since shortly after they’d been turned, but he knew natural born vampires often clashed with turned humans. Though he and Murdoch hadn’t expected to find their brothers here, they had distantly hoped the two might be in the dungeon of the castle they’d strategically needed to take.

“Perhaps the next Horde stronghold.”

Nikolai nodded, though he doubted it. He sensed his brother Bastian was dead and suspected the mind of the youngest, Conrad, was unreachable even if he could be found. The two had not appreciated the eternal life their older brothers had forced on them.

Murdoch examined a gouge in his arm, seeming unconcerned with this blow, but then he generally seemed unconcerned about everything. Though they shared similar looks, he and Nikolai couldn’t be more different in personality. Nikolai believed in Kristoff’s cause, seeing many parallels to his own past, and wanted to continue to fight. Murdoch didn’t particularly care. Nikolai suspected his brother fought only as a favor to him—or because they had nothing else now.

“Nikolai found a being in the dungeon,” Murdoch said. “She seems to have extensive knowledge of the Lore.”

“What kind of being?”

Nikolai answered, “I have no idea. She appears fey, delicate, with sharply pointed ears. But she has these small fangs and her fingernails were more like … claws. She’s not vampire.”

Kristoff frowned at that. “Perhaps she’s born of more than one species?”

“Perhaps.” More speculation. Nikolai was sick of it. He wanted to know the rules of the game so he could dominate it.

“Find out everything you can from her.”

“She won’t talk. I’ve interrogated enough to know she’ll hint but never truly divulge. And she hates vampires.”

Kristoff pinched his forehead. “Then tomorrow night if we haven’t gotten information from the rest of the prisoners, we treat her as the Horde she hates would. Torture her for the information if you can’t get it any other way.”

Nikolai nodded, but the idea sat ill with him. As a human he’d been merciless to his enemies, but he’d never tortured a woman. She wasn’t truly a woman, he reminded himself. She was a female among the Lore, and their army’s survival could depend on the knowledge she held.

Perhaps he’d never tortured a woman because he’d never needed to.

The creature had been right, Nikolai thought as he made his way to his new chambers. He was going to call her up to him.

To do what with her, he didn’t know.

Check out my reviews of the previous books of the series:

Check out my reviews of the previous books of the series:

It was only three weeks, but it's burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul. Forever. And so is she. - Dean

Check out my review of book 1, The Revelation of Light and Dark:


Check out my review of book 2, A Discovery of Secrets and Fate:

Carrick doesn't yell. No, he thunders. "How could you be so fucking stupid as to leave this place alone? I don't know how many times I need to impress upon you the danger you face, but, apparantly, your skull is obviously thicker than concrete because it's not penetrating. You not only put yourself in danger, but you also put the fucking planet in danger, which speaks to your inherent selfishness, which is only outmatched by your stupidity."

"I am not stupid," I yell back, the constant stream of insults too much for me to take.

I note the red in Carrick's pupils and it's not the hazy film I'd seen before, but it turns fiery. To my surprise, Carrick actually shakes me hard enough to rattle my head. Putting his face even closer to mine, he snarls, "You are, without a doubt, the most idiotic person I've ever encountered in my almost five thousands years of living."

Okay, that's overboard. Surely, he's met someone dumber. But I don't get a chance to retort because I'm threatened again.

"I think," he says in a low rumble, far scarier than when he was yelling, "that you might just need to be secured in this condo."

Secured?" I whisper fearfully.

Carrick's eyes glitter with malice, the red still glowing while the irises dull to a muddy brown. "I think I'd like you in chains down in the library."

"You can't do that to me," I sputter in outrage. "I am not yours to command."

For a moment, Carrick doesn't reply — he merely gives a slow shake of his head while looking me dead in the eye. "No... you're something far more infuriating. You want to act like a woman, trying to play the seductress with me, but do you want to know the reason it doesn't work?

A stab of pain lances through my heart because now he's getting personal.

I don't want to know.

Please don't tell me.

"It doesn't work," he says darkly with scorn in his expression, "because you're a fucking child, not a real woman. A spoiled little brat, actually, and I find none of those traits attractive."

Oh, God.

My eyes immediately well with tears, and I hate myself for the weakness. Does he honestly think that? Was that kiss we shared in the gym all in my imagination?

Does he think so little of me?

In my entire life, I have never felt so small.