Sunday, October 20, 2024
👻🎃Sunday's Steampunk Spinner🎃👻: The Prince's Poisoned Vow by Hailey Turner
Summary:
Infernal War Saga #1
Every country is built on revolution.
THE WARDEN. Soren is a nameless, stateless man, tasked with keeping watch over Maricol’s borders. He isn’t meant for politics, only dealing with the dead. His past was buried in the poison fields, but after a fateful encounter with a prince, Soren comes to realize he can’t keep what magic burns inside him hidden forever.
THE PRINCE. Vanya Sa’Liandel was the spare who survived the Houses’ murderous games to become the Imperial crown prince of Solaria. He has a duty to his country, but he’ll owe his life to the wardens. Payment of any kind is costly, especially when he’s at risk of losing his heart to the man who saved his life.
THE COG. Caris Dhemlan hears the siren song of clarion crystals better than anyone in Ashion. That skill for inventing has enriched her bloodline, but it’s who she can become that will ultimately entangle her with the Clockwork Brigade.
THE PRINCESS. Eimarille Rourke should have been raised to be queen of one country; instead, she is prisoner of another. Guided by a star god, Eimarille bides her time in a gilded cage, spinning a political web to gain a throne and start a war the world isn’t ready for.
From the author who brought you the Soulbound series comes a queer steampunk-inspired epic fantasy.
Inferno
916 A.O.P.
One
BLAINE
Lord Blaine Westergard was ten years old when he carried the living heart of Ashion out of its capital city.
He didn’t know it at the time, because the less people knew of such things, the better.
Warning sirens rang through Amari’s air, the capital city awake when it should be sleeping, but it was difficult to sleep when smoke choked the streets. The sound of a scuffle past the pile of refuse Blaine knelt behind grew louder, and he chanced a look over the rancid mess that provided little in the way of cover.
The two men grappling with each other in the alleyway blocked the only way out, their movements quick and brutal. What light reached them from the gas lamps on the street was barely enough for Blaine to see his father’s face. Mal Westergard, Duke of Westergard and captain of the Royal Guard, wasn’t in uniform, while the other man was, and Blaine was too young to understand what betrayal meant.
Something skidded over the ground and came to a stop near Blaine. His father’s pistol, with its brass gears painted military black, was within reach. He snatched it up with one hand, the pistol almost heavier than the infant he carried close to his chest.
As the son of a duke whose duty was defined by service, Blaine had been around weapons all his life. He knew how to chamber a bullet into the barrel of a pistol or load a rifle, listening as the gears clicked and locked into place for firing. He knew how to aim at a practice target or an animal while on the hunt and pull the trigger.
He did not learn how to kill a man until that night.
Blaine laid the swaddled infant on the dirty ground behind a broken crate, tucked safely out of sight, before facing where his father fought one of his own men in a losing battle. Blaine breathed in like his mother had taught him, gaze steady even as his heart beat wildly against his ribs, waiting to take the shot.
The soldier knocked his father against the alley wall, the glint of light on sharp metal all the prompting Blaine needed to pull the trigger with a hard press of his finger. He wasn’t braced correctly, and the recoil almost toppled him over. Regaining his balance, Blaine stared wide-eyed at the body sprawled at his father’s feet.
“Blaine,” his father said hoarsely, limping toward him.
“Father,” Blaine replied, his hands shaking, voice cracking with shock.
Mal gently pried the pistol from his hands, and Blaine screwed up his face, trying not to cry. Then his father pulled him into a tight hug, one big hand smoothing over the back of Blaine’s head. “Hush, now. You’re all right.”
His father hugged him for a second longer before gently pushing him away. As much as he wanted the comfort, Blaine knew they still weren’t safe. They hadn’t been safe since fleeing the palace, a place he wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t stowed away in his father’s motor carriage when Mal had been summoned by the queen’s steward.
And if he hadn’t done that, he would surely be dead.
“Where is she?” Mal asked.
Blaine sniffed hard before retrieving the baby, picking her up off the ground. She hadn’t cried when the pistol went off, the drop of sleeping draught administered by the star priest enough to keep her under before they’d been put into a motor carriage. His father had abandoned the vehicle by Hollows Bridge on the western side of the Serpentine River, the singular waterway that cut the capital in two. Blaine wondered if maybe they should’ve stayed in the vehicle after all.
“Hold her close for me. We’re almost there,” Mal said.
“Where are we going?” Blaine asked for what felt like the dozenth time that night.
His father didn’t answer, merely steered him around the man Blaine had killed, his footsteps uneven. Warm fingers touched Blaine’s jaw, keeping his face averted, and he tried not to think about what he left behind in that alleyway.
They weren’t the only ones on the cobblestone street when they emerged, curiosity and fear driving people out of their beds. Despite the gunshot, they weren’t looked at askance, because a limping man dressed in neat, dark clothing with two children in tow was less interesting than the ugly shine of fire that glowed against the sky.
Two turns later found them hurrying along the Western Promenade that followed the length of the Serpentine River. The crowd of people in their nightclothes was growing along the riverside, every face turned east and the horror unfolding there.
A deadly, bright orange glow haloed the night sky above where Amari’s civic and royal centers were located. Windblown smoke made Blaine’s eyes water, stinging his nose. When he glanced in the direction it came from, he saw several small, two-person ornithopters skimming low over burning buildings. The aeronauts aimed hoses attached to water tanks at the fire below in a desperate attempt to contain it.
The fire crews must have been called up, but Blaine hadn’t seen any of their larger trucks with the water tanks pass them by. The only thing out in force, it seemed, were the peacekeepers who had followed them from the palace.
“This way!” a voice cried out.
His father’s hand tightened on Blaine’s thin shoulder, urging him on. “Hurry, Blaine.”
He didn’t know why the peacekeepers were after them when his father outranked them all as captain of the Royal Guard, a position that reported to the queen herself. The Westergard bloodline might not be royalty, but they were nobility and had dedicated generations to the preservation of the throne. It had been their singular duty ever since the civil war that had split Ashion in two, and an armistice kept the border in place.
Blaine was too numb to realize that fleeing through the dark like criminals while the city burned was how his bloodline kept their oath.
Pistols going off set the small crowd of observers shrieking and running away in a panic. Someone screamed in pain, and Blaine looked back, seeing the peacekeepers a block behind them and gaining through the panicking crowd.
“Don’t look back,” his father said, steering him around a corner with a steady hand.
The building that loomed before them was a grand thing at six stories tall, with a curved metal roof and a multitude of arched windows lining its walls. Situated alongside the waterfront, the airship hangar was one of a select group allowed within the city’s borders.
Blaine knew where all the hangars designated for private and diplomatic use were in Amari, having been fascinated with airships since he was a small child after being gifted a windup toy of one by the queen herself. His governess used to take him on motor carriage rides to each location when he was younger, imparting history lessons with every trip. Which was how Blaine knew this hangar belonged to the E’ridian embassy and that the people inside had no obligation to allow them entry.
“Open up!” his father cried, pounding his fist against the smaller side door.
Blaine huddled close, staring back the way they’d come, knowing it wouldn’t take but seconds more for the peacekeepers to arrive. Then the click of a lock being undone reached his ears, and the door opened.
Blaine let out a soft gasp when he saw the pistol held level with his father’s face. The E’ridian’s dark eyes never looked away. “Who calls?”
“I’m here by order of the North Star,” Mal said, one hand gripping Blaine’s shoulder tightly. “Please, there isn’t much time.”
“We were told to expect only you.”
“I couldn’t leave my son behind.”
The pistol tilted up, and the safety was clicked back on. The E’ridian gestured for them to enter the hangar. The steel-lined brass door was yanked shut behind them and locked with a heavy dead bolt.
Footsteps pounded past the hangar’s entrance moments later, muffled shouts reaching his ears. Blaine didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he had to draw in air, lest he choke. He stared at the E’ridian who had saved them, the man dressed in the flight leathers and fur-lined jacket of a people who preferred the sky to the land, poisoned or otherwise, that everyone else walked on.
Dark eyes flicked from one to the other before coming to rest on the baby Blaine carried. “This way.”
The hangar was half-lit and empty of people on the ground. They were led to the airship anchored to its dry dock by heavy ropes. The airship was on the small side, painted so dark a blue as to be almost black, with no other identifying marks on its hull. Its balloon was proportionate to the airship’s size, the make of the entire thing having all the hallmarks of E’ridian engineers, for they were the most skilled when it came to the mechanics of flying.
The airship was mostly enclosed save for a small section of the deck at the prow, which was open to the elements. A pair of E’ridians stood at the railing, looking down at them. Blaine blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, they’d been joined by a woman whose tanned face and braided black hair were drawn on the pages of scripture.
“You there,” the star god said.
Blaine knew his constellations, and he knew his prayers. He knew the Dusk Star watched over E’ridia the same way the North Star watched over Ashion. Nilsine was the goddess of the wind, carrying her blessing on the breeze to give her children flight. She was at once benevolent and wrathful, both the calm before the storm and the apex of it. She was a star fallen from the sky, but Blaine was too numb to make a wish.
As with all stories of the star gods, hers was an abstract tale Blaine had learned at the star temple during the Fourteen Month calendar’s main holidays, his parents never one to attend the weekly congregations. For a boy of ten, raised in a cosmopolitan city where the Inventor’s Guild held more clout than the Star Order, fun was had in science, not prayer.
Blaine didn’t know it yet, but he’d learn how to pray anew after that night.
Someone tossed a rope ladder over the railing, its knotted ends hitting the floor with a soft thump. The star god descended with sure hands, jumping the last few feet to solid ground.
As she turned to look at them, Blaine noticed her leather trousers were open along both sides at her hips and thighs, closing nearer to her knees. The purposefully parted seams showed off the gold lines and starbursts of the Eagle constellation tattoo on her right thigh, one of six designs found on every Star Order prayer book Blaine had ever opened.
“You’re late,” Nilsine said.
Mal’s voice cracked a little when he spoke, bowing deeply. “The queen is dead, my lady. We were pursued.”
The star god tilted her head, gaze settling on Blaine and the baby that slept in his arms. “Her death changes nothing.”
“It should.”
“Aaralyn told Ophelia what to expect if she raised import taxes on Daijal again and barred their debt slaves from her lands. Your queen sought to cripple that country and ended up crippling her own. You children never learn from your past mistakes.”
“It is the children I think of now.”
“As do I.” The star god stepped toward Blaine, and he felt very much like a beetle about to be crushed under someone’s heel just then. “Give her to me.”
Blaine’s father extended an arm between them, hand clenched into a fist. “This child is the only surviving Rourke. She is my duty.”
“She is your failure, like the rest of her bloodline. Princess Eimarille lives, though not as Rourke for much longer, despite the name she carries. The prince survives but is to be grieved for as dead. No other mortal outside these walls knows about this child, so tell me, how can she be Rourke?”
Blaine’s father bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut, before lowering his arm and stepping aside. As she passed him, the star god touched his shoulder with one gloved hand, the same way star priests did when they gave benedictions in festival crowds.
“Daijal’s Blades were sent to all the cadet bloodlines back a dozen generations. You could not stand against them all, much less the ones who set upon the throne. You weren’t meant to,” she said quietly.
“I could have tried,” Mal said.
“You would have died. You still might.” Nilsine pulled her hand away, light glinting off the mirrored lenses of her goggles as she turned her head from him, gaze alighting on Blaine. “News of the queen’s death will reach every country by way of telegraph wires before morning. The blood kin of Ashion royals no longer live, no matter what the rulers of Daijal or the Twilight Star will claim.”
Nilsine reached for the baby Blaine carried, but he jerked away from her seeking hands.
“Father, this isn’t right,” Blaine said desperately. “We’re Westergards. We’re supposed to protect her.”
Mal went to him, kneeling with a pained grimace, wavering there for a moment. He placed his hands on Blaine’s shoulders and turned him around so they faced each other. “We are Westergards, and this is how we protect her. By letting the star gods guide her travels.”
Nilsine hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, you are Westergards, are you not?”
His father’s shoulders stiffened as he turned his head to stare at her. “My lady?”
“The babe is not Rourke. Her name was never written down in the royal genealogies. Has your son been with you since you fled the palace?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will take him as witness.”
The hands on his shoulders tightened to the point of pain, but Blaine bit back a whimper that tried to escape. He stared wide-eyed at the star god, not realizing what she meant until his father smoothed back his hair and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead with trembling lips.
“Guard her well, Blaine,” Mal said in a ragged voice. He pulled the signet ring from his right index finger, tucking it into Blaine’s front pocket for safekeeping. Blaine opened his mouth to protest, because his father never removed that ring, but Mal shook his head. “It would’ve been yours when you came of age.”
Blaine blinked wetly, trying to steady his breathing. “Father.”
Mal smiled, a cracked, ragged thing that didn’t comfort Blaine at all. Then he stood and gently pushed Blaine toward the star god, who smiled in a way that made him flinch. He tightened his arms around the baby he carried, but this time, when Nilsine reached for the infant, he let the star god have her.
“Come, child. We must go,” Nilsine said.
Blaine was ushered to the rope ladder, and the E’ridian standing beside it held it steady as he reached for the first rung. He climbed up slowly, losing his footing every now and then as he tried not to look down. One of the E’ridians on the deck extended a hand toward him when he was almost at the railing.
“It’s all right,” the woman said in the trade tongue that crossed all six countries of Maricol.
Blaine was hauled on board with a firm grip, going to his knees on the decking. He was urged to his feet and tucked out of the way against the railing. He peered over the edge, watching as the star god deftly climbed the rope ladder while carrying the baby.
“The peacekeepers will double back and attempt to breach the hangar once they see us launch. They’ve been demanding entry everywhere since the fire started. I will open the roof and stay behind to ensure your escape,” the E’ridian on the ground said.
“Your sacrifice will be written in the stars,” Nilsine replied before swinging herself over the railing.
Blaine stared at where his father stood on the ground, looking back with as much love as grief on his face. “Father?”
“Remember this night, my son. Remember it for those of us who are gone,” Mal called out.
What happened next would come to Blaine in flashes when he was older: the sound of clockwork mechanisms grinding together as the roof cranked open; the rumble of the airship’s engine as it prepared for flight; the shouts from peacekeepers looking for a way in and finding it with the help of a magician’s clarion crystal–tipped wand.
The way Blaine’s father looked when he died beneath a hail of bullets as the airship cut loose its anchor and rose into the smoky night sky.
Blaine didn’t realize he was screaming until a hand clamped over his mouth and drew him back from the railing. Bullets peppered the air around them, pinging off the thin metal plating that shielded the belly of the airship’s balloon. He was dragged through a narrow doorway into the flight deck as they cleared the hangar for the sky.
“Hush,” Nilsine said as she knelt before him. She cradled the baby in one arm and raised her other hand to his eye level. Starfire shimmered at her fingertips, drawn from the aether, the same shade as the Eagle constellation tattoo branded into her skin. “This is your road now.”
Everything went soft and hazy, his vision going dark at the edges. A calm swept through him, foreign and cold, tucking the panic away. The wind howled outside the flight deck door while the creeping cold of altitude bit past his thin clothing.
When Nilsine removed her hand, Blaine kept the star god’s secret of a surviving bloodline behind closed white teeth.
Hailey Turner is big city girl who spoils her cats rotten and has a demanding day job that she loves, but not as much as she loves writing. She’s been writing since she was a young child and enjoys reading almost as much as creating a new story. Hailey loves stories with lots of action, gritty relationships, and an eventual HEA that satisfies the heart.
EMAIL: haileyturnerwriter@gmail.com
The Prince's Poisoned Vow #1
Series
Saturday, October 19, 2024
👻🎃Saturday's Series Spotlight🎃👻: D'Vaire by Jessamyn Kingley Part 8
Summary:
Greyson Variusdraconis is a newly shifted dragon searching for purpose. Growing up in the Consilium Veneficus, his tutors taught him not to trust Fate. Raised by his elder brother who serves their king directly, Greyson still lives under his sibling’s roof. King Varius recently signed a treaty, so Greyson’s job is guarding wizards. Greyson finds it boring, and he worries his brother will never accept his desire to avoid a political arranged marriage.
As a child, Morgen Bassett struggled to find his footing. Two centuries later, the wizard works in a tiny library, lacks family, and has a rented room barely large enough for its furniture. Although Morgen’s early education included mentions of matebonds, the split between the Council of Sorcery and Shifters and the Consilium changed everything. With no promise of his other half or anything else, Morgen is doing little more than surviving.
On an otherwise normal trip to the supermarket, Greyson and Morgen meet, and neither man is prepared for the force of their connection. Not long after the sparks fly between them, Greyson accepts a mission to infiltrate the Draconis High Court of D’Vaire. The pair will have to find a way to stay together. Should they be successful in gaining entry, they’ll also need to learn how to unearth all the D’Vaire secrets. However, Greyson and Morgen will soon find that nothing about their lives is what it seems.
Summary:
Watchman Hunter Stone understands little about his gargoyle heritage. Before his death, Hunter’s father was their leader, but the gargoyles renounced him. The gargoyles’ current location is a mystery to Hunter and his twin, Talon. Although he longs to be reunited with his people, Hunter lives among humans. With his brother’s help, Hunter is raising his sons and growing the business he and Talon built.
Except for a brief and painful period as a teenager, Jordan Hawthorne has always lived in the human world. Jordan is half jaguar, but he is indifferent to Council of Sorcery and Shifters and the Fate-chosen ruler of his people. Recovering from his tumultuous past, Jordan’s focus is on working hard to keep a roof over his head and caring for his beloved brother.
A chance meeting brings Hunter and Jordan together, and the two shifters learn what it means to be mates. Swept easily into love, they must blend their families and decide if staying near humans is a realistic option for their future. In the end, Jordan and Hunter must put their faith in Fate and hope she will not lead them astray.
Summary:
Preston Hawthorneonca-Stone is a warrior. In a fit of rage, his father changed Preston’s life on a horrible day in 1994. Now a brain injury survivor, Preston lives with his brother and their growing family. A recent addition to the Council of Sorcery and Shifters, Preston has landed his dream job of working with animals.
Resurrected in 1995, Ridgely Walsh is dedicated to his job and the tightknit group of friends he considers family. With his penchant for honesty, Ridgely is the level-headed and sometimes hard-assed member of their little group. Ridgely doesn’t play foolish games, and he accepts people at face value.
Although Ridgely yearns for a mate, nothing prepares him for the moment he meets Preston. The beautiful jaguar-human hybrid with the big brown eyes halts Ridgely in his tracks. Ridgely rapidly discovers his true purpose is to be a good partner to his other half. Preston is equally taken with Ridgely but fears how the fallen knight will handle his imperfections. Together, they must navigate the path Fate chose for them and discover what it means to love unconditionally.
Ripped apart by life, Lich Reaper Grymington Daray is drowning in sorrow. Each day, he strives to find the people responsible for killing his best friend, and he wishes his own existence had more meaning. The last thing on Grymington’s mind is finding the other half of his soul. While a loving family surrounds him, the coldness growing in his heart keeps him separated from joy.
Decades ago, Devlin Nero ran away from the world. Being a rock star was everything Devlin wanted, but it turned into a nightmare. Now, the enchanter-human hybrid is living alone and surrounded by nothing but fading memories. Desperate for happiness, Devlin makes his way to the Council of Sorcery and Shifters and winds up at a sanctuary designed for freaks like him.
On a fateful day, Grymington and Devlin discover they are mates. Sparks fly, and the two men venture forth to honor Fate’s choice for them. However, Grymington is too lost and much too fearful to allow Devlin near his tattered soul. Devlin wants love, but the Lich Reaper may not be able to offer it. If their confusing relationship isn’t enough, they have pasts to reconcile, and the future will not wait. It will be up to Grymington and Devlin to discover if they have a matebond worth saving.
Deceiving D'Vaire #30
When Morgen lifted to his toes and tilted his chin up for a kiss, Greyson’s mouth landed on the wizard’s, and he tugged him into his arms for a hug. Everything in Greyson settled for a minute, then his worry over the conversation they needed to have filled his senses again.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Was there traffic?” Morgen asked, stepping away from Greyson and leading him to his room.
“No, my brother wanted to talk to me.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I hope so,” Greyson said. “Sit on the bed with me.”
Once Morgen was settled on the bed next to Greyson, he gently pushed some of his bangs out of the wizard’s unique eyes. There was concern in them, and Greyson wanted to alleviate it, so he got straight to the point.
“I’m being sent on assignment in a few weeks. King Varius and my brother are going to help me get into the sanctuary at D’Vaire. We need to figure out how to recruit dragons. Either we discover D’Vaire is not what it seems, or I study the Council to find the weak points so we can advertise that the Council is inferior to the Consilium. They want me to stay until I gain everyone’s trust, so they expect I’ll be gone for many months or longer.”
Morgen’s gaze hit his lap, and he exhaled heavily. Instead of putting his hand into Greyson’s as he usually did, Morgen clasped them together and put them between his legs.
“You’re leaving?”
“In a couple of weeks, yes,” Greyson said. “It has me thinking about us. We don’t know everything about each other after a week, but we’re both determined to learn more. We’re united in following what our souls and Fate are telling us. I’d hoped someday to ask you to move to Court Varius. Today at lunch, I was looking around online and found that there’s a library within biking distance from my brother’s house. I thought it could possibly be a good place for you to work if you wanted.”
“I biked to work prior to finding this room.”
The words were soft, and Morgen still wouldn’t look at him.
“Come to D’Vaire with me. We could work on our relationship while I handle my assignment. We’ll potentially be there for a long time. I bet we’ll be ready to seal our bond before we learn the things King Varius wants to know. When we return to Court Varius, we could be bonded mates. My brother wouldn’t be able to say shite about political marriages or anything else. We’d be together, and he’d have to accept it.”
Morgen’s head lifted, and he stared at Greyson for several seconds, then he bit his bottom lip. “You want me to go with you?”
“Didn’t I just ask you to? Of course I do. Think about it. Our only job would be research. That’s something we both love, and we’d be together the whole time. We’d get to learn everything about each other, and these feelings we’re building would grow.”
“How could I go?”
“We’ll figure it out. I promise. There’s no question that I’ll leave here without you. I can’t say no to my king, but I think I can be pretty convincing. You do seem to like me.”
With a small smile, Morgen reached over and slipped his hand into Greyson’s. “There’s nothing keeping me bound to my job or this room. I don’t like the idea of springing us on your brother when we get back, though.”
“We’ll tell him before we make the trip home. No worries. We’ll figure out the best way to tackle the entire situation as a team. What do you say? Do you want to handle this secret mission with me?”
“As long as you promise I get to take a trip to the Spectra Library.”
“I’m not leaving the Council without seeing it either,” Greyson assured him. “What do you say we get some takeaway and start our research?”
“A kiss could sway me.”
Greyson grinned. His fingers danced over Morgen’s jaw, his lovely lips, then Greyson settled his mouth on the wizard’s. Morgen touched his tongue to Greyson’s, and all thoughts of subterfuge, D’Vaire, and giant libraries flowed out of his brain.
Gargoyle Birthright #31
“Tell me about your day, babe,” Jordan said.
“Work was good. This is better.”
“My steak is fantastic. How’s yours?” Jordan asked.
“Delicious.”
“Thanks for bringing me here. You know I’m not fancy, and I love being at the house with everyone, but it’s nice to have some us time too.”
“I agree. I like our us time. If I’d thought more about matebonds prior to meeting you, I still couldn’t have imagined being like this after a few months of knowing you. Our lives are complicated, but we’re making it work. I guess this Fate deal is pretty special. Humans have traditions too, and since that’s half your genetic makeup, I never lose sight of honoring both sides of you.”
Since he’d gobbled his steak and potatoes, Jordan set his fork down. “What do you mean?”
Hunter set his napkin on the table and stood. After shoving a hand in his pocket, he yanked something out and, to Jordan’s horror and surprise, kneeled next to the hybrid’s chair. There were faint murmurs from other patrons, but he didn’t give a shit about strangers.
“Jordan Hawthorne, I love you. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?” Hunter asked, flipping open a box. It held a matte silver band with six stones that were glittering in the light from the chandeliers.
“Are those diamonds?” Jordan blurted.
“Of course they are. Would you mind answering the question?”
“Are you kidding? Of course I’ll fucking marry you.”
Jordan laughed as Hunter scooped him right off his chair and crushed him against his broad chest. The humans might not have been prepared to watch two gay guys get engaged, but they got an eyeful as Hunter kissed him. There was polite applause from the surrounding diners, but Jordan ignored it and concentrated on the gargoyle holding him close.
“Will you put the ring on?” Hunter asked.
After squeezing Hunter, Jordan sat and wiggled his fingers. “Go ahead, babe.”
Carefully, Hunter tugged the ring from the box and slid it onto Jordan’s hand. “There are six diamonds. One for you, me, Talon, Preston, Colby, and Crispin.”
“You think of everything. Thank you, it’s perfect.”
When Hunter returned to his chair, he smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“By the way, I love you too. But don’t force me to do some big, grand fancy wedding. I just want you and our family.”
“I thought we’d have a simple ceremony followed by dinner with our family, then we bite each other.”
“And I’ll finally satisfy your curiosity and have my wicked way with you in bed.”
“Just how soon do you think we can arrange this?”
“You’re the one with the plan. Get it going, Hunter.”
“I don’t want to wait. The sooner the better. Do you have any problems with that?”
“No,” Jordan said, reaching out and smiling as Hunter took his hand. “I love that idea.”
“I waited my whole life for you, Jordan. I’m so glad we found each other.”
“Me too. I don’t want to imagine my life without you.”
“What do you say we order dessert and get home to our family?”
“As long as I don’t have to eat another frozen gummy worm, I’m cool with that idea.”
Beauty and Valor #32
“That’s okay,” Ridgely said. “We’ll work around your schedule. There are seven days in a week. We’ll work our dates into the nights you’re free.”
“Yeah.”
The lack of enthusiasm in Preston’s voice had a chill running through Ridgely. Although they hadn’t known each other long, they talked frequently, and the man enchanted Ridgely. Until that moment, Ridgely had believed they were on the same page, but perhaps he’d misjudged the situation. It was difficult to discuss it without being able to see the emotions cross Preston’s face, and Ridgely wished he were with him. However, there was no way Ridgely could wait until their date the following night to get the answers he needed.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Ridgely prompted and internally winced at the sharpness in his voice.
“I have challenges.”
“I know,” Ridgely responded softly. “That’s not a problem for me.”
“Okay. I didn’t want to bombard you with them at the start though.”
“Don’t worry so much. Talk to me.”
“I tire easily sometimes, and I also have insomnia. I’m concerned that if I’m out most nights, I’ll get exhausted because I still have work and do my therapies. I don’t want my schedule to overwhelm me, and it makes me sad because I want to be with you. Maybe I should wait to do the school stuff.”
“Absolutely not, Dimples. There’s no reason we can’t approach things casually. If we hung out and relaxed instead of dressing up for fancy restaurants, would that make things easier for you? Because honestly, that sounds like more fun anyway.”
“Maybe you could come to my house and have dinner with my family.”
“And meet some cuddly kittens?”
“Yes. You could watch a movie with me in my room or take a nap with me if you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to wear your clothes.”
Ridgely’s laughter was full-throated. “I’m going to need you to repeat that when I can see your face.”
“I’m probably blushing, but I’ve already spent plenty of time wondering what you look like naked.”
“I’ve used my imagination a lot lately too. Invite me to your house for dinner.”
“Tomorrow, instead of you picking a restaurant?”
“All I need is an address.”
Snagging a pen from his desk drawer, Ridgely jotted down the information he needed, then promised to call Preston later. After hanging up, nervousness crept in. Although Ridgely loved the idea of a more relaxed avenue to get to know Preston better, meeting a couple of Council leaders was intimidating.
“Okay, so I was curious before, but now I’m dying to meet Preston,” Warner said.
Ridgely nearly jumped at the sound of Warner’s voice. So swept up in talking to Preston, Ridgely had forgotten he wasn’t alone, which was nuts since he’d shared an office with Warner for nearly two decades.
“What?”
“Your voice and body language completely changed when you spoke with your mate. I’ve never seen that side of you. You were practically gushing.”
“Clearly, I was not, but I won’t pretend I don’t like him either.”
“I feel so good about this now. I was nervous you’d over-analyze every aspect of your relationship and drive your man crazy.”
“Glad to hear it because, clearly, your opinion of the situation is what matters most,” Ridgely deadpanned.
“Seriously, I must meet this beautiful dimpled man.”
“Find some patience, Warner. Or better yet, find your other half.”
“I wish,” Warner replied, and Ridgely did too.
Ridgely wanted everyone to have Fate pair them with someone as wonderful as Preston was turning out to be. And the fact that Preston was pursuing a dream pleased Ridgely. It wasn’t enough for Preston to have only pieces of what he wanted; Ridgely intended to ensure that his mate had everything.
Lich Reaper's Lament #33
“You still play and sing?” Grymington asked.
“Every day. Music is me, and I love composing words, writing melodies, and crafting beautiful songs. But trust me…I don’t deserve to be standing on a stage to cheers while I belt out a tune. My decision to leave my career wasn’t fair, and I hurt people, including someone I loved. It ruined everything she worked for, and I still lack the courage to do anything about it. That’s probably not the best thing to tell the person you’re hoping to build a matebond with, but I’ve learned the value of honesty, and I won’t lie to you about the kind of person I was or am.”
“I wasn’t resurrected yet in 1998 when you left, but I’m going to download your music after I get home.”
“You’ll have to let me know what you think.”
“I will. I guess you don’t miss it,” Grymington said. His dog ventured over to lie across his sneakered feet.
“Who wouldn’t miss having fans? I enjoyed that part, but I’m good without having any of the rest of it in my life.”
“If you’re not a rock star, what are you going to do now that you don’t have to hide?” Grymington asked.
Devlin shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I haven’t been a D’Vaire that long, and now I have a matebond to focus on. I’m in no rush to decide anything. Taking things a day at a time is far less intimidating than trying to structure my entire life.”
“I do that too,” Grymington confided softly. “It is definitely easier if I focus on a single day at a time.”
“I hope it’s one of many things we find we have in common.”
They fell silent again, and Devlin studied the sexy man sitting several feet away. There was something about Grymington’s pert nose and his perfect heart-shaped mouth that brought out a visceral reaction from Devlin. Cute men had always been his downfall, and Grymington had no match. The desire to taste Grymington was so intense, Devlin went with instinct, though he acknowledged he was probably being led by his dick.
“I’d love to kiss you,” Devlin murmured.
Grymington’s pale citrine-colored gaze widened for a second, then a rush of euphoria rushed through Devlin as the reaper scooted closer to him.
“I haven’t been kissed before,” Grymington offered apologetically.
The grin Devlin gave him was wolfish. “I know.”
Because he had to touch those messy curls, Devlin lifted a hand and tangled his fingers in the soft blond twists. Grymington titled his head so their eyes met fully, and Devlin swore the faint smell of lilies bewitched him.
Since he was worried that the spell could break at any moment, Devlin leaned forward and pressed his lips to Grymington’s. The reaper lacked experience, but Grymington had initiative. Grymington’s mouth parted, and Devlin wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the invitation. Their tongues touched, and Devlin nearly moaned.
His scent was elusive, but Grymington’s taste was intoxicating. The way Grymington copied each thing Devlin did was a lovely reminder of his innocence. It brought out a tender side of Devlin he hadn’t known existed as he carefully explored Grymington. Devlin rested his free hand on Grymington’s waist and stifled the urge to crush the reaper in his arms.
Ever so gently, Devlin coaxed Grymington into tipping his head slightly, and it took their kiss to an entirely new level. With nothing but the simplest of touches, Devlin grew hard, yet he was in no rush to devour Grymington. It would be an insult not to savor him, and Devlin refused to squander such an opportunity.
Instead, Devlin used his many years of practice to please Grymington. Devlin teased, tormented, and nibbled Grymington’s lips. When he finally lifted his head, Devlin was outrageously pleased by the desire swimming in Grymington’s gaze.
“You’re a beautiful kisser, Grym,” Devlin murmured.
“Thank you, so are you,” Grymington replied. “I’d like to kiss you again.”
Since only a fool would tell Grymington no, Devlin smiled at him and dove in for another taste.
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Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly adds new tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.
Deceiving D'Vaire #30
Gargoyle Birthright #31
Beauty and Valor #32
Lich Reaper's Lament #33
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