Naughty Flings: Twelve Naughty Little Romps

by Alexa Silver

  “Only myself and the Protectress.” She got to her feet. “Now, you must go. Prepare yourself to be presented to him.”

  Jordan sat where she was for a moment—her mind reeling, her guilt at what she had done escalating—so distracted with her thoughts she did not realize the Great Oracle was standing while she sat.

  “Would you greet your Life-Mate dressed in your everyday robe, Daughter?”

  Looking up, stunned that she dared to stay seated when the Great Oracle stood over her, Jordan jumped to her feet, apologizing.

  The Great Oracle held up her hand, silencing her. “Go, child. Go and embrace your destiny.”

  Curtseying deeply, Jordan backed away from the Source of All Authority among the Daughters of the Multitude. It was bad manners—and unlawful—to turn one’s back upon the Great Oracle. When she reached the door, she curtseyed again and reached behind her to fumble for the door latch. She opened it and backed through, closed it with a mere whisper of sound then stood there trembling.

  “Make haste, Jordan!”

  Jordan spun around for the Protectress’ voice was harsh and demanding. She bowed and scurried away, feeling like a scalded cat.

  Picking up speed as she ran from the Temple to the dormitories, she barely glanced at the other Daughters—dressed in their precious ceremonial robes—walking quickly toward the Ritual Chamber. She blotted out their excited voices as they speculated on whom the Gravelord would choose as his Life-Mate.

  What would he be like? she wondered as she rushed into her chamber, yanking her serviceable robe over her head then sputtering as she realized she had not untied the cincture. The robe caught under her breasts and she hissed with frustration. Pulling the robe down again until she could untie the corded belt, myriad thoughts of the warrior ran through her mind.

  Was he Lupine or Hell-Hound or Panthera? That he would be tall and strong was a given. Reapers had the strength of twenty men and the longevity to match. They were nearly invincible fighters, skilled, deadly and—she gasped as she remembered—some had the ability to fly!

  “To fly!” she whispered as she tossed aside her robe and jerked open the armoire door. “And change into the clan animal of their tribe!”

  Would he be wolf or hound or cat? she wondered as she plucked the dark green ceremonial robe from its hanger. Would his eyes be amber or green or—in the case of the rare black tiger variety—blue? Would he have black hair or brown? Would he be handsome like Senti or—

  She gasped and felt the blood drain from her head. Her mouth went dry but her palms became slick with sweat as the true impact of what she had done in the stonemason’s hut reared up before her.

  “Oh, Sweet Merciful Alluvia,” she whispered as she clutched the green gown to her breast. “What have I done?”

  Lost your virginity, a small voice reminded her. Given it to a man other than your chosen Life-Mate.

  Moaning, she sank to the floor with the robe still pressed tightly to her.

  Ruined, that voice chided. You are ruined and he will not have you now. He will denounce you to those assembled and you will never know a hearth and home of your own.

  “What have I done?” she asked again.

  For a long moment she hunkered there—shaking and groaning—until she heard the klaxon sound again. All would be assembled by now. They were awaiting her.

  Never had she been a coward and she would not be one now, she thought. She took a deep breath and pushed to her feet. She swallowed the fear lodged in her throat and donned the robe. Her fingers fumbled with the copper braided cincture that marked her as a Daughter Vistine—the highest ranking among the Daughters who did not hold office within the Multitude.

  Heart pounding, she went into the bathing chamber, bathed the essence of Senti from her body, washed her feet then slipped them into her copper-colored sandals. With one final deep breath, she walked to the door to meet her destiny.

  *****

  Rhyman was growing more nervous by the moment. His woman had yet to appear. He was seated among the Assemblage of Authority on the dais in a place of honor to the left of the Great Oracle. On the other side of him was the High Priestess. The Custodian of Laws and the Great Lady sat at opposite ends of the dais. At the foot of the seven steps, stood the Protectress. In front of him were the Daughters and the trainees seated on gilded chairs. He could see each of them clearly but they could not see him for the dais was in darkness. He was told it would stay that way until he made his choice of Life-Mate.

  Which he had bloody well already done, he thought. But where the hell was the chit? There was one empty chair among the throng of beautiful women assembled before him. Had she run again? Would he be forced to track her down? If he had to chase her shapely ass across the entirety of the Shadowlands, he would do so. She belonged to him!

  “She will be here, milord,” the Great Oracle said softly.

  He looked at the stately woman and realized she knew he had made his choice. Did she also know what had transpired in the stonemason’s hut?

  “She fears my kind,” he said.

  “I have spoken to her. She understands who was responsible for the deaths of her mother and sister. She will come to you of her own accord. Have no worries that she will not.”

  “Then where is she?” he asked more sharply than he intended. When the old woman turned pale violet eyes, above which a snow-white brow was arched, he begged her pardon for his rudeness.

  “Have forbearance, Reaper,” she told him. “Let the Shadowlord within you temper your impatience.”

  He curled his hands around the arms of his chair and bit his tongue. He was not accustomed to being chided but he kept his counsel, nodding at her warning.

  “Shall I send someone to fetch our missing girl?” the High Priestess inquired.

  “She will be here,” the Great Oracle stated.

  Even as she spoke, Rhyman saw his woman come into the room. Every head turned toward her and he watched her falter but she squared her shoulders, came to her chair and took a seat.

  “Now that we are all assembled,” the Custodian of Laws said. “We may begin. Each Daughter will be presented to Lord Rhyman—”

  “There is no need,” he interrupted. “I have made my choice.”

  A gasp went through the women before him and it was echoed by all but three women there in the room with him.

  His gaze was locked on Jordan. She sat there with her head down, her hands in her lap. Everyone else had their eyes trained on him.

  “Will you name your Chosen, milord?” the High Priestess inquired.

  “Jordan Brell,” he said, yet his lady’s head remained down while all those around her snapped toward her.

  “Jordan Brell, Daughter Vistine,” the Protectress called out. “Come forward.”

  He could tell she was trembling even without looking at her for his Shadowlord senses were being bombarded by her emotions. She was afraid he would shame her before the Assemblage.

  And he knew why. She was about to admit to her fellow Daughters that she was no longer pure, no longer worthy of being his Life-Mate. That was no one’s business save his and hers and he would stop her from making that confession.

  Slowly she got to her feet yet her eyes were cast down, her head bowed. Before she could speak, he waved his hand to silence her. He watched her head come up, saw the shock on her face when she realized she couldn’t speak. She put a hand to her throat—her lips opening and closing—as her eyes widened.

  “Bid her come to me,” he told the High Priestess.

  “Come to your Life-Mate, Daughter,” the High Priestess said.

  Jordan was no longer trembling, she was quaking as she stepped into the aisle. Her hands were clenched tightly together, her steps slow—almost painful to watch—as she came toward the dais. He saw her glance at the Protectress, flinch then lower her head as she reached the first step.

  With the dais in total darkness and the only light within the room coming from candelabra ranged along the
walls, he knew she couldn’t see him even if she should raise her eyes. He had been schooled in what he was supposed to do in regards to the ceremony of Choosing but he disregarded the tradition and got to his feet.

  “Milord!” the High Priestess whispered. “What are you about?”

  “My duty,” he replied and when she would have protested, he heard the Great Oracle silence her.

  He walked to the steps and stood staring down at his woman. He waved his hand again, giving her the ability to speak. Any moment she could lift her head and speak, condemn herself for all times as a fallen woman. It would matter not that the man to whom she had given her greatest gift was the man who had chosen her for his Life-Mate. All would know why she had cast away her virginity. That he could not allow.

  “Look at me, Jordan,” he commanded. He knew she would see him only as a shadow looming over her.

  He felt the wave of sheer terror ripple through her, much as he had felt her intense orgasm an hour before. When she raised her head, he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks and his heart broke. He held out his hand and realized it was shaking.

  “Milord, I must—”

  “You must accept me as your Life-Mate,” he interrupted as he took a step down. “As your protector.” He took another step. “Your Sentinel.”

  Her face was turned up to him and he watched her eyebrows draw together.

  “With all my heart and all my soul and all my being I pledge myself only unto you, milady. What is mine will be yours.”

  He took yet another step but he knew she still could not see his face. He could hear her heart pounding fiercely.

  Another step, his hand still outstretched toward her.

  “You, I have chosen of mine own freewill and without reservation or protest. I will walk the day and sleep the night at your side and at no other’s.”

  One more step that took him into the circle of light cast from the nearest candelabra. He watched her eyes widen. Saw her draw in a deep breath.

  “I pledge myself only unto you for as long as there is life for us both. I will be, forever, your true—Sentinel—in word and deed.”

  He had reached the last step and her eyes were locked on him, her lips parted in shock.

  “We are one flesh, one inseparable entity and until the end of time, once mated, never separated.”

  She shook her head but her gaze never left his. He could feel her confusion, her consternation but beneath that, he felt her heart singing with happiness.

  “You would reject him?” the Protectress hissed.

  “No,” she was quick to tell the warrioress. “Never.”

  “Then give him your hand, Daughter!” the Protectress snapped.

  Jordan lifted her hand and slipped her fingers into his palm.

  “Hello,” he said softly.

  “Hello,” she said and the beatific smile that stretched her sultry lips made his groin tighten.

  “Do you accept her, milord?” the High Priestess inquired by law.

  “With all my heart and all my soul,” he said.

  “And do you accept him, child?” It was the Great Oracle who broke tradition and law to ask.

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “A million times, yes!”

  Epilogue

  It would long be spoken of at Sanctuary of the day the Gravelord arrived. It was in the spring of the year now known as the Year of the Arrival. Many warriors had come since then to claim their Life-Mates but never had a Choosing ever had such tales told of it as did that of Rhyman Cade’s.

  “In the spring a young man’s fancy turns to love,” the Custodian of Laws would forever tell the Daughters under her tutelage. “No greater love is there for a Life-Mate than that of a warrior for his Chosen.”

  “Tell us what happened after the Joining ceremony, Grand Mother!” one of the pupils always asked.

  “He swooped her into his arms and carried her to his runabout,” would be the answer. “Like the warriors of legends, he flew away with her into the sunset.”

  “And they lived happily ever after,” the entire class would repeat in unison.

  “Indeed, they did.”

  About the Author

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Charlee—as she is known to her readers—is the author of over 90 published novels and has recently contracted her 100. She writes primarily dark fantasy romance with her signature Reaper heroes the most popular of her characters. Her WindDemon and WesternWind series have a large following among her readers. For synopses, excerpts and reviews of her work visit her at www.windlegends.org.

  For synopses, excerpts and reviews of her work visit her at www.windlegends.org

  E-mail her at windworldwriter@gmail.com

  Or follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/windlegends

  Or friend her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/charlee.boyettcompo

  Teach Me to Dance

  Francesca Hawley

  Chapter 1

  Lexa knew he watched her. He had done since she’d entered the ballroom scarcely a quarter hour before. She was no diamond, so why did his stare fix upon her, she wondered? Perhaps it was the nature of men when attending a masquerade ball. An attempt to see below the costume to the woman within. Or perhaps not. For whatever reason, his intense examination unsettled her so that she could almost feel his finger stroking the spine between her shoulder blades. Finally, unable to bear the weight of his scrutiny another moment without challenging it, she turned to meet his gaze full on.

  Jet black eyes captured hers and a half smile curved his lips. He was clothed starkly in black and white; elegant yet austere. A black half-mask hid his face, but nothing could hide those feral eyes. He appeared as a hawk among the peacocks. Dangerous.

  She straightened, holding his gaze with her own. She pretended his stare didn’t unnerve her, yet it did. He was too good looking. Too masculine. He leaned up against a pillar at the side of the ballroom, his wide, broad shoulders perfectly straight, as if by his strength alone the room remained standing. His black hair was casually mussed as if he’d just left a woman’s bed. He probably had—rumor would have it so.

  Lexa was no innocent being presented for her first season, but even so her stomach knotted with nerves, shivers dancing over her skin. Desire tightened her nipples and her body throbbed in places it wasn’t supposed to except in response to the man she married.

  “You appear to have an admirer.”

  Lexa smiled at her older brother, James. “Perhaps, Jamie. Or perchance he’s just bored by all these tittering young debutantes. I know their laughter is putting my teeth on edge.”

  “Now be kind, Lexa. You were once as green as they are.”

  “I may have been green, but I wasn’t giddy.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Jamie sighed, adjusting his bishop’s miter for the third time in the last five minutes. “What the devil was I thinking to allow Mama to deck me out in this dreadful thing?”

  “You were nodding instead of listening…again. She knew it and used it to her advantage.”

  “She’s fortunate I love her or I’d send her to the dower house.”

  “As if you could!” Lexa laughed. She nodded her head toward the man across the room. “Can you tell who he is under his mask?”

  “The Duke of Kendrick? Not much of a disguise. It would be hard to mistake him for another." Jamie’s brows crinkled, “I didn’t think he’d be here tonight. Play your cards right and you might become a Duchess,” he nudged her with a wink.

  Lexa frowned. Jamie was enjoying himself far too much. “I’m not in the market for a husband, but even if I were, I wouldn’t marry for a title. You know me better than that.”

  “I do. But surely a brother can tease.”

  “Not about marriage and not after Mama and Father.” Jamie frowned, so Lexa patted him on the arm to lighten his mood. “If teasing is the order of the night, I might suggest you marry the last chit you led in the country dance.”

  “Heavens, no. I may never walk
again the way she repeatedly trod on my toes.”

  “Ah, the trials of a gentleman attempting to find a wife.”

  “Not so loud, the scheming mamas have already targeted me but I want to keep my hunt private,” he lightly covered her mouth and she laughed, shaking his hand away.

  “You can but hope, Jamie.” She shook her head and he sighed.

  “Lady Alexandra Forbes. What a delight to see you again!”

  Lexa turned and offered a wide smile to a former neighbor, Daniel Pentlow who was now Baron Easton. They’d been thick as thieves during their youth, but his father had been a second son who chose to travel to the West Indies to make his fortune. When Daniel left England, Lexa had been inconsolable. How old had they been? Fourteen?

  “Lord Easton. A pleasure to see you after all these years. You’ve changed drastically since I last saw you. You're quite a bit taller than my shoulder now. So when did you return?”

  “Arrived only a week ago,” Daniel smiled. His blue eyes twinkled as he ran a hand though his blond hair. He remembered his manners and bowed with grace, giving her a wink. “Uncle’s death was a shock. I’d never expected to return to England.”

  “The West Indies loss is our gain.”

  “Thank you, my lady. What has happened in your life since I left?”

  He stepped forward to gaze into her eyes and took her hand in his, stroking her fingers. He possessed an intense attractiveness now which had only been hinted at when he was a youth. Daniel’s eyes held the knowledge of a man. A very passionate man. Heavens. This hadn’t been part of the plan for the evening.

  Men generally gave her a wide berth, especially since… She put it from her mind and knew that few men had ever viewed her with hunger as Daniel did now. It excited her, but her excitement had not gone unnoticed. He was on the move. She didn’t know how she knew it because her back was to him, but she was certain he headed in their direction.

  Her shoulders twitched. She stiffened when she felt warmth at her back. Heated breath ruffled the reddish curls which lay upon her shoulder as if he’d bent near her to take in her scent. She shuddered, feeling him so close. It was if they were in tune with one another. Tight and close as harp strings, quivering at the same vibration.