The silver eyes flared as a wicked smile suddenly curved his lips.
“Yes, my goddess,” he murmured, his head lowering to her exposed throat.
For all her words of bravery, Abby couldn’t deny she expected at least some pain.
You didn’t need to be a doctor to realize that shoving a pair of fangs through the skin was bound to cause a bit of discomfort.
Still, she didn’t allow herself to flinch as she felt his tongue tenderly stroke over the pulse at the base of her neck. Dante would halt the moment he sensed her tension.
“My love,” he whispered.
And then he bit.
Abby’s eyes widened in amazement. It hadn’t hurt. There was no more than a slide of cool pressure and then a jolt of pleasure so intense she jerked against Dante.
“Holy freaking cow,” she breathed as the heat flared through her body to pool in a blaze of desire in the pit of her stomach.
Her fingers clutched at his back, drawing blood as she arched her hips upward in a silent plea for relief.
His hands tangled in her hair as he continued to drink of her blood, and with one smooth movement, he had plunged deep within her. Abby gasped, the sensations so intense she feared she might black out.
Nothing should surely feel so good?
And be legal.
Trembling, Abby opened herself to his masterful strokes. She groaned with each thrust, her hips lifting to meet him with wild abandon.
The building pressure was delicious. Astonishing. And if she didn’t come soon, she feared she might actually explode.
“Dante . . . please.”
His soft chuckle brushed her neck, but seeming to understand her desperation, his pace quickened until she was arching beneath him and with a faint scream found her release.
Panting in exhaustion, Abby slowly opened her eyes to discover Dante regarding his arm. Slowly she turned her head, watching as the familiar crimson tattooing began to wind its way along his forearm.
A smug smile touched his lips as he turned back to regard her with a glittering gaze.
“I knew I would make you mine,” he murmured in arrogant tones.
Framing his face, she allowed her thumbs to run over the curve of his fangs.
“Dante, I’ve been yours from the moment I walked into this mansion and found a wicked pirate waiting for me.”
“My lover . . . for all eternity.”
“And goddess.” She pulled his head down for a lingering kiss. “Don’t forget goddess.”
He laughed as his hands began to busily stir her body back to passionate life.
“How could I possibly forget?”
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Alexandra Ivy’s
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
coming soon from Zebra’s Books!
Chapter 1
The auction house on the outskirts of Chicago didn’t look like a cesspit.
Behind the iron fences, the elegant brick structure sprawled over the landscape with a visible arrogance. The rooms were large with vaulted ceilings that boasted beautiful murals and elegant chandeliers. And on the advice of a professional, they had been decorated with thick ivory carpets, glossy dark paneling, and hand-carved furniture.
The overall atmosphere was the sort of quiet hush that only money could buy. Lots and lots of money.
It was the sort of swanky place that should be peddling rare paintings, priceless jewels, and museum artifacts.
Instead, it was no more than a flesh market. A sewer where demons were sold like so much meat.
There was nothing pleasant about the slave trade. Not even when the trade involved demons rather than humans. It was a sordid business that attracted every decadent, demented slimeball in the country.
They came for all sorts of pathetic reasons.
Those who bought demons for mercenaries or bodyguards. Those who lusted after the more exotic sex slaves. Those who believed the blood of demons could bring them magic or eternal life.
And those who purchased demons to be released into their private lands and hunted like wild animals.
The bidders were men and women without conscience or morals. Only enough money to sate their twisted pleasures.
And at the top of the dung heap was the owner of the auction house, Evor. He was one of the lesser trolls who made his living upon the misery of others with a smile on his face.
Someday Shay intended to kill Evor.
Unfortunately, it would not be today.
Or rather tonight.
Attired in ridiculous harem pants and a tiny sequined top that revealed far more than it concealed, she paced the cramped cell behind the auction rooms. Her long raven hair had been pulled to a braid that hung nearly to her waist. Better to reveal her slanted golden eyes, the delicate cast to her features, and the bronzed skin that marked her as something other than human.
Less than two months before, she had been a slave to a coven of witches who intended to bring Armageddon to all demons. At the time she had thought anything was preferable to being their toady as she helplessly watched their evil plotting.
Hell, it’s tough to top genocide.
It was only when she had been forced back to the power of Evor that she understood that death was not always the worst fate.
The grave was really nothing compared to what waited for her beyond the door.
Without thought, Shay struck out with her foot, sending the lone table sailing through the air to crash against the iron bars with astonishing force.
From behind her came a heavy sigh that had her spinning to regard the small gargoyle hiding behind a chair in the far corner.
Levet wasn’t much of a gargoyle.
Oh, he possessed the traditional grotesque features. Thick gray skin, reptilian eyes, horns, and cloven hooves. He even possessed a long tail he polished and pampered with great pride. Unfortunately, despite his frightening appearance, he was barely three feet tall, and, worse, as far as he was concerned, he possessed a pair of delicate, gossamer wings that would have been more fitting on a sprite or fairy than a lethal creature of the dark.
As if to add to his humiliation, his powers were unpredictable under the best of circumstances, and his courage more often than not missing in action.
It was little wonder he had been voted out of the Gargoyle Guild and forced to fend for himself. They claimed he was an embarrassment to the entire community, and not one had stepped forward when he had been captured and made a slave by Evor.
Shay had taken the pathetic creature under her protection the moment she had been forced back to the auction house. Not only because she possessed a regrettable tendency to leap to the defense of anyone weaker than herself, but also because she knew that it aggravated Evor to have his favorite whipping boy taken away.
The troll might hold the curse that bound her, but if he pressed her far enough, she would be willing to kill him, even if it meant an end to her own life.
“Cherie, did the table do something I did not see or were you just attempting to teach it a lesson?” Levet demanded, his voice low and laced with a lilting French accent.
Not at all the sort of thing to improve his status among the gargoyles.
Shay smiled wryly. “I was imagining it was Evor.”
“Strange, they do not greatly resemble each other.”
“I have a good imagination.”
“Ah.” He gave a ridiculous wiggle of his thick brow. “In that case, I do not suppose you are imagining I’m Brad Pitt?”
Shay smiled. “I’m good, but not that good, gargoyle.”
“A pity.”
Her brief amusement faded. “No, the pity is that it was a table and not Evor smashed to pieces.”
“A delightful notion, but a mere dream.” The gray eyes slowly narrowed. “Unless you intend to be stupid?”
Shay deliberately widened her eyes. “Who, me?”
“Mon dieu,” the demon growled. “You intend to fight him.”
“I can’t fight him. Not as long as I remain held by the curse.”
“As if that has ever halted you.” Levet tossed aside the pillow to reveal his tail furiously twitching about his hooves. A sure sign of distress. “You can’t kill him, but that never keeps you from trying to kick his fat troll ass.”
“It passes the time.”
“And leaves you screaming in agony for hours.” He abruptly shuddered. “Cherie, I can’t bear seeing you like that. Not again. It’s insane to battle against fate.”
Shay grimaced. As part of the curse, she was punished for any attempt to harm her master. The searing pain that gripped her body could leave her gasping on the ground or even passed out for hours. Lately, however, the punishment had become so brutal she feared that each time she pressed her luck might be the last.
She gave a tug on her braid. A gesture that revealed the frustration that smoldered just below the surface.
“You think I should just give in? Accept defeat?”
“What choice do you have? What choice do any of us have? Not all the fighting in the world can change the fact we belong . . .” Levet rubbed one of his stunted horns. “How do you say . . . lock, stock and jug—”
“Barrel.”
“Ah, yes, barrel to Evor. And that he can do whatever he wants with us.”
Shay gritted her teeth as she turned to glare at the iron bars that held her captive. “Shit. I hate this. I hate Evor. I hate this cell. I hate those pathetic demons up there waiting to bid on me. I almost wish I had let those witches bring an end to all of us.”
“You will get no arguments from me, my sweet Shay,” Levet agreed with a sigh.
Shay closed her eyes. Dammit. She hadn’t meant the words. She was tired and frustrated, but she was no coward. Just the fact that she had survived the past century proved that.
“No,” she muttered. “No.”
Levet gave a flap of his wings. “And why not? We are trapped here like rats in a maze until we can be sold to the highest bidder. What could be worse?”
Shay smiled without humor. “Allowing fate to win.”
“What?”
“So far fate or destiny or fortune or whatever the hell you want to call it has done nothing but crap on us,” Shay growled. “I’m not going to just give in and allow it to thumb its nose at me as I slink into my grave. One of these days I’m going to have an opportunity to spit fate in its face. That’s what keeps me fighting.”
There was a long silence before the gargoyle moved to stand near enough that he could rub his head on her leg. It was an unconscious gesture. A quest for reassurance that he would rather die than admit.
“I am uncertain I have ever heard such an inelegant speech, but I believe you. If anyone can get away from Evor, it’s you.”
Absently Shay shifted the horn poking into her thigh. “I’ll come back for you, Levet, that much I promise.”
“Well, well, isn’t this touching?” Abruptly appearing before the iron bars of the cell, Evor smiled to reveal his pointed teeth. “Beauty and the Beast.”
With a smooth motion, Shay pressed Levet behind her and turned to regard her captor.
A sneer touched her face as the troll stepped into the cell and locked the door behind him. Evor easily passed for human. An incredibly ugly human.
He was a short, pudgy man with a round, squishy face and heavy jowls. His hair was little more than tufts of stray strands that he carefully combed over his head. And his small black eyes had a tendency to flash red when he was annoyed.
The eyes he hid behind black-framed glasses.
The thickly fleshed body he hid behind an obscenely expensive tailored suit.
Only the teeth marked him for the troll he was.
That and his utter lack of morals.
“Screw you, Evor,” Shay muttered.
The nasty smile widened. “You wish.”
Shay narrowed her gaze. The troll had been trying to get into her bed since gaining control of her curse. The only thing that had halted him from forcing her was knowing she was quite willing to kill the both of them to prevent such a horror.
“I’ll walk through the fires of hell before I let you touch me.”
Fury rippled over the pudgy features before the oily smile returned. “Someday, my beauty, you’ll be happy to be spread beneath me. We all have our breaking point. Eventually you’ll reach yours.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
His tongue flicked out in an obscene motion. “So proud. So powerful. I shall enjoy pouring my seed into you. But not yet. There is still money to be made from you. And money always comes first.” Lifting his hand, he revealed the heavy iron shackles that he had hidden behind his body. “Will you put these on or do I need to call for the boys?”
Shay crossed her arms over her chest. She might only be half Shalott, but she possessed all the strength and agility of her ancestors. They were not the favorite assassins of the demon world without cause.
“After all these years, you still think those goons can hurt me?”
“Oh, I have no intention of having them hurt you. I should hate to have you damaged before the bidding.” Very deliberately his gaze shifted to where Levet was cowering behind her legs. “I merely wish them to encourage your good behavior.”
The gargoyle gave a low moan. “Shay?”
Shit.
She battled back the instinctive urge to punch the pointed teeth down his throat. It would only put her on the ground in agony. Worse, it would leave Levet at the mercy of the hulking mountain trolls Evor used as protection.
They would take great delight in torturing the poor gargoyle.
As far as she knew, their only pleasure was giving pain to others.
Freaking trolls.
“Fine.” She held out her arms with a furious scowl.
“A wise choice.” Keeping a wary eye on her, Evor pressed the shackles over her wrists and locked them shut. “I knew you would understand the situation once it was properly explained.”
Shay hissed as the iron bit into her skin. She could feel her power draining and her flesh chaffing beneath the metal. It was her one certain Achille’s heel.
“All I understand is that someday I’m going to kill you.”
He gave a jerk on the chain that draped between the shackles. “Behave yourself, bitch, or your little friend pays the consequences. Got it?”
Shay battled back the sickness that clutched at her stomach.
Once again she was going to be placed on the stage and sold off to the highest bidder. She would be utterly at the mercy of some stranger who could do whatever he pleased with her.
And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.
“Yeah, I got it. Let’s just get this over with.”
Evor opened his mouth to make a smart-ass comment only to snap the fish lips shut when he caught sight of her expression. She was close enough to the edge that he was wary of pushing her over.
Which only proved that he wasn’t quite as stupid as he looked.
In silence they left the cell and climbed the narrow stairs to the back of the stage. Evor paused only long enough to lock her shackles to a pole anchored in the floor before moving toward the closed curtains and slipping through them to face the crowd.
Alone in the darkness, Shay sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the rumblings of the crowd just beyond the curtain.
Even without being able to see the potential bidders, she could feel the presence of the gathering demons and humans. She could smell the stench of their sweat. Feel the smoldering impatience. Taste the depraved lust in the air.
She abruptly frowned. There was something else. Something that was subtly laced through it all.
A sense of decaying evil that sent a chill of horror over her skin.
It was vague. As if the being was not truly in the room in full form. More like a looming, intangible presence. An echo of foulness that made her stomach clench in fear.
Swallow
ing back her instinctive scream, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. In the distance she heard Evor loudly clear his throat to command attention.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, demons and fairies, dead and undead, it is time for our main attraction. Our pièce de résistance. An item so rare, so extraordinary that only those who possess a golden token may remain,” he dramatically announced. “The rest may retire to our reception rooms where you will be offered your choice of refreshment.”
Despite the lingering certainty that she had just been brushed by some malignant gaze, Shay managed a disgusted grimace. Evor was always a pompous blowhard. Tonight, however, he put even the cheesiest ringmaster to shame.
“Gather close, my friends,” Evor commanded as the dregs of bidders were forced to leave the room. To be granted a golden ticket, a person or demon had to carry at least $50,000 in cash on them. The slave trade rarely accepted checks or credit cards. Go figure. “You will not wish to miss your first glimpse of my precious treasure. Do not fear, I have ensured that she is properly chained. She will offer no danger. No danger beyond her perilous charm. She will not rip your heart from your chest, but I do not promise she will not steal it with her beauty.”
“Shut your mouth and open the curtain,” a voice growled.
“You are impatient?” Evor demanded, his tone edged with anger. He didn’t like his well-practiced act interrupted.
“I don’t have all night. Get on with it.”
“Ah, a premature . . . bidder. A pity. Let us hope for your sake that it is not an affliction that taints your performance in other areas,” Evor sneered, pausing to allow the roar of coarse laughter to fade. “Now where was I? Oh yes. My prize. My most beloved slave. Demons and ghouls, allow me to introduce you to Lady Shay—the last Shalott to walk our world.”
With a dramatic motion, the curtain disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Shay exposed to the nearly two dozen men and demons.
Deliberately she lowered her gaze as she heard the gasps echo through the room. It was humiliating enough to smell their rabid hunger. She didn’t need to see it written on their faces.
“Is this a trick?” a dark voice demanded in disbelief. Hardly surprising. As far as Shay knew, she truly was the last Shalott remaining in the world.
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