The Wicked (A Novella of the Elder Races)

by Thea Harrison

He shook his head and then wished he hadn’t. Carefully he shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Your face is blurry. Everything is blurry.”

  Grace said, “It will probably take a few weeks for your vision to return to normal.”

  He blinked in her direction. “What did you do?”

  “For the first time in my life,” Grace said grimly, “I forced a ghost to do something. And I’m not sorry, either. That chieftain was a snot. Feel free to use the guest room if you need to lie down.” A chair scraped across the floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go wash my hands in Purell for a couple of hours.”

  The sound of her footsteps retreated.

  Holy hell. Did Grace just say what he thought she’d said?

  Carling had been right all along. They had needed the chieftain to use the shrunken head to lift the curse. It had been a totally impossible solution that had, somehow, still happened.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

  He groped behind him. The wall was nearby. He shifted over until he could lean his back against it. Only some time afterward did he realize that he had kept such a clenched hold on Olivia, he had forced her to scoot over with him. He pulled her onto his lap, bowing around her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  After a few minutes, she loosened her hold enough to pull back and study him. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she looked shell-shocked, thrilled and concerned.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to the guest room.”

  He let her pull him to his feet. Taking his hand, she led him down the hallway. Wary of his blurred vision, he walked carefully, reaching out once to touch the hallway wall.

  They walked into a quiet, shadowed bedroom where he eased himself down on a large bed. He stretched out with a sigh. That cutting blast of Power had been just like the first time. His body was still reacting to the adrenaline dump. All of his muscles shook with a fine tremor.

  She stroked his hair. “Sebastian?”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “Just, holy fuck.”

  “That scared me half to death.” Her voice wobbled. “Did it hurt?”

  “It happened too fast to hurt, but I have a headache now.”

  “Let me get you some medicine,” she said. “Then you can rest for as long as you need.”

  “Only if you lie down with me,” he told her.

  “Of course.” She walked away, and a few moments later she returned with a glass of water and aspirin. He gulped both of them down, groped to put the empty glass on the nightstand and then stretched out again while she pulled off his shoes, then lay beside him.

  He pulled her into his arms. Holding her felt incredible. Her body’s soft, warm weight was the essential something that he had needed for a long time, and in a few short weeks she had become his bedrock.

  He pressed his lips against her forehead and murmured, “We both got a little beat up recently, didn’t we?”

  A snort escaped her. “A little. But it’s all over now, thank God. Just rest.”

  And so he did, turning his face into her hair and eventually drifting into a light doze. When he stirred, his headache had eased and the bedroom had grown darker.

  He tensed and gripped her shoulder. “Tell me the bedroom really is darker.”

  Olivia sat up. She said in a strong voice, “Yes, it really is darker. It’s evening now. Here, let me get the light.”

  He put his hands at her waist, bracing her as she leaned over him to click on the bedside light. Brightness flooded the bedroom, and he squinted as he looked around.

  His vision had still not cleared completely, but it wasn’t as blurry as it had been earlier. He let his gaze linger over the details in the stylish room before he turned his face up to look at Olivia, who remained draped over him.

  Her gorgeous face broke into a smile as she searched his gaze.

  “It’s gone,” she told him. “All of that black is really, really gone. Your eyes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He cupped the back of her head, pulled her down to him and kissed her.

  He knew, realistically, that it would take just as long to get used to the absence of the emotional weight from that curse as it would to physically recover, and he looked forward to every delicious minute of it.

  She whispered against his lips, “Tell me that again when I know you’ve fully recovered your eyesight in a couple of weeks.”

  “I don’t need to wait any longer,” he said. “I can see quite clearly right now.”

  He could, too.

  They had a wealth of time in front of them, and their future had never seemed brighter or more full of promise than it did in that moment.

  He rolled her onto her back and lost himself in kissing her. The way she molded her body to align against him, the way her soft mouth felt against his, her lips, her lips were so goddamned unique.

  “You know you’re mine, don’t you?” he muttered. “You have to be. You just have to be.”

  “Of course I’m yours,” she whispered. She cupped his face in both hands. “Just as you are mine. I may not be Wyr, Sebastian. But you are still my mate.”

  That was it. That was what he needed to hear from her. She was so wise. Her spirit would always pull at him. He swallowed hard as moisture flooded his eyes.

  He pulled at her clothes, working to get her undressed, and she helped him. Then she turned her attention to his, and soon they lay together, skin to skin. Soon after that he eased inside of her, and together they shared the most necessary, most moving of all rhythms.

  He cupped her breast, molding it gently as he rocked his hips against the sweet curve of her pelvis. Watching her open, tender expression as she peaked in climax was the highest privilege he had ever been granted. He lost all sense of control, all sense of a separate self, as he spilled his own climax into her welcoming body.

  Yes, he took her. But he gave himself to her as well. He gave her everything he had.

  And now it was time that he and Olivia started having that talk.

  About the Author

  Thea Harrison resides in Colorado. She wrote her first book, a romance, when she was nineteen and had sixteen romances published under the name Amanda Carpenter.

  She took a break from writing to collect a couple of graduate degrees and a grown child. Her graduate degrees are in Philanthropic Studies and Library Information Science, but her first love has always been writing fiction. She’s back, writing paranormal romance and urban fantasy. You can check out her website at: www.theaharrison.com, and also follow her on Twitter @TheaHarrison and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/TheaHarrison.

  Look for these titles by Thea Harrison

  Now Available:

  Novellas of the Elder Races

  True Colors

  Natural Evil

  Devil’s Gate

  Hunter’s Season

  The Wicked

  Duty. Devotion. Desire. When fate brings two isolated people together, love is in the cards.

  Hunter’s Season

  © 2012 Thea Harrison

  A Novella of the Elder Races

  As a palace guard and assassin for the Dark Fae, Xanthe always wore a mask, hiding her emotions to do her duty. But when her identity is compromised, she trades undercover work for guarding Queen Niniane—a position that often brings her in contact with Chancellor Aubrey Riordan.

  Aubrey’s trust is shattered. A year ago his wife tried to assassinate their new queen in his name, a betrayal of everything he believes in. And now an attack on his life is proof the dark conspiracy is not yet over. Although injured and weak, Aubrey can’t help but be drawn to this shy assassin and loyal protector. Xanthe is everything Naida wasn’t, and the passion she stirs in him is something he thought had long passed him by.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Hunter’s Season:

  The moment Xanthe appeared in the doorway, Tiago turned his head and so did Riordan. She dropp
ed her gaze. “My lords.”

  “There you are,” said Tiago. “You must have gotten my message just after dawn.” He put a booted foot on one chair and pushed it outward in her direction. “Sit and eat. Niniane will join us shortly.”

  Disconcerted, she lowered her head. “Thank you, my l—sir. That’s very good of you, but I couldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, you Fae and your social rules,” said Tiago. He sounded exasperated. “Get over yourself, soldier. Plant your ass down here and eat some breakfast. That’s an order.”

  Startled, her head came up. Before she could help herself, she looked at Riordan.

  He smiled at her, his expression warm, and gestured to the chair Tiago had pushed out from the table. “You heard your employer,” said the Chancellor. “Sit and help yourself to some food.”

  She couldn’t help but stare. He looked different somehow than he had before she had left, less bitter in repose. Perhaps time was healing the wound that his wife had dealt him.

  She took a deep breath and walked over to sit gingerly. She kept her gaze on her task as she did as she was ordered and helped herself to some of the breakfast on the table. There were boiled eggs, honey and berry pastries, fresh fruit and grilled venison. The bread and cheese she had eaten earlier seemed to have vanished completely, and her stomach rumbled. She tightened the muscles in her abdomen, hoping nobody had noticed.

  She started to eat, and the two men resumed talking as if she wasn’t there.

  “You should have mentioned something about the lawsuit sooner,” Tiago said.

  After a slight hesitation, Riordan said, “I disagree. It’s my issue to resolve. At any rate, nothing will happen in a hurry. The suit will likely drag on for years.”

  Everything in Xanthe went quiet. Riordan was involved in some kind of legal dispute? It was news to her, so it must have happened while she had been away. Unwilling to show any reaction to what was obviously none of her business, she had to make a conscious decision to keep eating as she listened.

  “There’s no merit in the accusations,” said Tiago. “You had no knowledge of what Naida was doing, and you weren’t involved.”

  Riordan said cynically, “It doesn’t matter whether or not we know that the case has any merit. The pursuant always has plenty of time to present their case and whatever they claim as true findings. That’s simply how the Dark Fae justice system works. What you and Niniane achieved when you tried and executed the conspirators involved in the coup that killed her family was highly unusual, and that was because it involved the Queen herself, imprisonment of powerful nobility and high treason.”

  “Naida’s family is claiming you were treasonous,” Tiago said.

  “Not quite treason, in the legal sense,” said Riordan. “Niniane had not yet been crowned. The best they can hope for is a charge of conspiracy. Since I was so much older than Naida and she was so young when we married, and all of Naida’s crimes were supposedly on my behalf, they’re claiming that I exerted ‘undue influence’ over her. Anyway, as you know only the government can instigate criminal cases. Since this is a personal suit and not an affair of the crown, the only thing they can hope to gain is monetary compensation.”

  “So they’re being greedy,” said Tiago after a moment.

  “Yes,” said Riordan flatly. “And to be brutally fair, they’re also angry and they’ve suffered a loss, not only in terms of family but also their reputation.”

  “Well, the person they should be angry with is dead, and there isn’t any evidence you had anything to do with it. I had you investigated myself.”

  “Of course you did,” said Riordan. “I would have had me investigated as well.”

  Xanthe swallowed carefully, the food threatening to lodge in her throat. As she hadn’t been involved in any investigating, that was more news to her. But as she considered it, she couldn’t say she was surprised.

  The Queen meant the world to the Wyr lord, and he was one of the most dangerous men she had ever met. He would have left no stone unturned in his investigation of Riordan. Even if he had not found any evidence, if he had the slightest suspicion that Riordan might have been involved in something that could potentially harm the Queen, Riordan was a dead man.

  Having just killed a man herself on the Wyr lord’s orders, she should know.

  A perfect firestorm of desire could save their people…or cost them their lives.

  Kindred of the Fallen

  © 2013 Isis Rushdan

  Kindred Chronicles, Book 1

  Serenity’s soul-reading ability lets her easily create custom tattoos. Everything else in her life is a struggle, from trying to make it work with her best friend, Evan, to nightmares and visions that make her question her sanity.

  Then she meets a man who sharpens her craving for something more, but her commitment to Evan means nothing beyond sparks can exist between them.

  Cyrus has been watching Serenity, preparing to claim her as his Blessed mate—the other half of a split soul that, once reunited, is his only chance to break the curse that plagues his people.

  One moment, Serenity is confronted by armed militants firing questions she cannot answer. The next, she is safe in Cyrus’s arms, reveling in his burning kiss…and learning she isn’t even human. She is Kindred, blessed with preternatural powers, cursed to suffer the twin horrors of the blood rage and the dark veil.

  Their union is the greatest hope for redemption in a thousand years, but not all Kindred want to be saved. A dark secret could snuff out their lives before love has a chance to unite them…and redeem the Kindred for all time.

  Warning: Contains a headstrong, soul-reading tattoo artist, a sexy alpha hero who knows how to get what he wants, adrenaline-packed action, and explosive sex that literally shatters bulletproof glass.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Kindred of the Fallen:

  Cyrus caressed Serenity’s cheek, as he groped for the right words to explain what he’d known all his life.

  She pushed his hand from her face. “Kindred?” Her eyes flared. “What are you talking about? How is it possible for us to have the same birthmark?”

  All of his plans, even the way he wanted to explain everything, had disintegrated to ashes. “The bond we share goes beyond the constraints of time, space…the shell of our bodies.”

  He stroked her jaw down to her neck. Lush heat stirred his flesh. “Our souls are one.”

  “Please, say something that makes sense. Those men told me…you aren’t human.”

  “We aren’t human. We’re Kindred.”

  “You’re definitely not like everyone else, but if you expect me to believe that you’re…”

  Her head shook, curly chocolate wisps of hair accentuating the loveliness of her face. He slipped off the band restraining her hair in a ponytail. The wildness of her tresses quickened his pulse. He twined a lock around his finger, petal-soft.

  “That I’m…” Her lips, rose-colored and full, moved but no sound came from her mouth.

  “You and I are kabashem, two halves of one soul.” He lifted her fingers to the mark on his chest. “We’re meant for each other.”

  “What? Soul mates?” she scoffed, skimming the birthmark.

  “Not in the distorted way you think of today. Our affinity is far more complex.” He struggled to clarify. The feel of her fingertips gliding across his chest brought him peace of mind, even though he could practically taste her fear and confusion. They were together. The rest would fall into place. “We’re one soul, split into two different bodies. Our kind—”

  “Our kind?” She pulled away, brushing his hand from her hair, and pressed against the car door. “I asked you to tell me something that made sense.”

  Coldness seeped into his skin down to his blood, penetrating bone. He needed her touch and the warmth of her body.

  He gripped her hands, determined not to let her go. Heat cascaded through his flesh, sparking his arousal. He needed to taste her. To have her open for him so he could bury himself
deep inside.

  Desire whipped at his mind, urging his body to action. He strained to focus on her questions to help her understand.

  “You’ve suffered from violent outbursts or depression since you hit puberty,” he said, not knowing exactly how severe things must have been for her, separated from the collective. “You’ve never been sick and if you’ve had an injury like a broken bone, you healed faster than others, than humans. You feel like you’re waiting for something, and once you find it your life will make sense.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. He could sense her fear draining, but some other emotion was building. Her chest no longer rose and fell. She was holding her breath. She was in shock.

  “Breathe.” He cupped her face. “I know this is sudden and overwhelming, but I’ll help you through it.” He wanted far more than to help her. He wanted to feel her hot body writhing with the need to have his. Above all, he wanted to protect her from every awful thing in the world.

  Serenity clutched the car seat, fingers biting into the buttery leather as Cyrus’s words resonated within. She had experienced episodes of depression for as long as she could remember, but what child who had their parents ripped out of their lives wouldn’t? She must’ve had strep throat or the flu at least once. She combed her memories, but couldn’t recall a single instance when she’d been sick. Yet what he said couldn’t be right.

  “This isn’t possible,” she said. “Energy weapons, instant healing, Kindred aliens—”

  “We’re not human, but we’re not aliens. You and I are halves of the same soul, meant for each other.”

  The idea of predestination or that she had no control over her future didn’t ring true.

  “Are you saying I need you for my life to make sense?” Every instinct screamed for her to slide her hands over his legs, chest—the birthmark—to ignite sparklers of heat in her flesh, but she tightened her fingers into fists instead. “I determine what’s important in my life, and what’s real.”