1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Five

by Julie Kenner

  (paranormal romance)

  BOUND TO SEDUCTION

  SLAVE TO PASSION

  POSSESSED BY DESIRE

  Against All Odds Series

  (romantic suspense)

  WAIT FOR ME

  HOLD ON TO ME

  MELT FOR ME

  Aegis Series

  (romantic suspense)

  FIRST EXPOSURE

  SINFUL SURRENDER

  EXTREME MEASURES

  LETHAL CONSEQUENCES

  FATAL PURSUIT

  Deadly Secrets Series (starting July 2016)

  (Romantic Suspense)

  REPRESSED

  Stolen Series

  (romantic suspense)

  STOLEN FURY

  STOLEN HEAT

  STOLEN SEDUCTION

  STOLEN CHANCES

  Anthologies

  BODYGUARDS IN BED

  DARK NIGHTS DANGEROUS MEN

  WICKED FIRSTS

  SINFUL SECONDS

  ALL HE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS

  Twisted

  Eternal Guardians, Book 7

  By Elisabeth Naughton

  Now Available!

  Click here to purchase.

  NICK – Leader of the half-breeds and the last true hero. He’s spent his life fighting a dark pull toward the gods. A pull he now knows is linked to his father Krónos and the Titan’s plan to escape from the Underworld.

  But Nick’s hidden powers are coveted by more than just his father. Imprisoned by Hades, Nick battles every form of torture imaginable as the sadistic god schemes to break him. Only one thing is keeping him sane. One woman who gives him the strength to fight the relentless darkness. She has a dangerous plan of her own, though, and as Nick’s powers grow stronger, even she might not be enough to alter his destiny.

  As the fate of the world hangs in the balance, Nick’s allegiances are tested. And no one knows whether he will choose to fight for good or succumb to the sinister lure of evil. Not even him.

  * * * *

  The guards swung the steel door open and pushed Nick into his cell. No windows, no light. A torch on the wall illuminated the damp space made up of nothing but rock walls and the pile of blankets where he slept in the corner.

  They maneuvered him around until he was standing in the center of the room, facing the door. One guard uncuffed his wrists, and for a moment, Nick thought of taking them down. But voices were already resonating through the corridor, growing stronger, coming closer. And one stood out, causing his stomach to tighten and arousal to rush through his body, bringing every other thought to a halt.

  The click of heels sounded as the guards hooked chains to D-bolts in the ceiling, then reached for his arms. As they attached the first chain to his left wrist, stretching his limb up and away from his body, he winced, the injury in his shoulder sending a sharp shot of pain across his muscles. They grasped his other arm and locked him to the chain, then closed the metal cuffs around his ankles, kicked his legs shoulder-width apart, and chained those to hooks in the floor as well.

  Cynna appeared in the doorway to the room.

  The pain dissipated as Nick focused on her. She was wearing the same revealing outfit she’d had on when she’d watched his fight in the training ring, and it distracted him from what was going on around him. Excited him. Sent a wicked thrill through the dark part of what was left of his soul.

  “Mistress,” the injured guard said, standing straight. “The prisoner is ready.”

  Cynna’s gaze flicked over Nick, over his bare torso and the small white towel covering his awakening erection, then up to his face to hover on the scar on his left cheek. Without sparing a look toward the guards, she said, “Leave us.”

  Her voice was like sandpaper and velvet, a voice made for sin, just like her body. In her hands she held a jar.

  Two females—no, nymphs—rushed into the room as soon as the guards left. One was blonde, the other with short dark hair. They were both petite, both submissive with their eyes cast downward, and both were wearing flimsy pale pink dresses made from thin fabric that barely hid their bodies from view. They were also wearing metal collars. Collars he’d seen on other submissives in the tunnels. Collars that marked them as sex slaves.

  Nick’s stomach tightened. His gaze skipped past the females, toward the steel door, which was now closed, and through the small window to see who was watching.

  Darkness reflected in the glass. But that didn’t mean they were alone. Zagreus was always somewhere watching Nick’s torture. Feeding off it. Waiting for him to break.

  Turning to the dark-haired nymph on her right, Cynna handed the female the jar and said, “Use this. But do not touch him anywhere save where he bleeds.”

  The nymph nodded and approached, her cheeks a deep cherry red, her breaths shallow. She unscrewed the lid and set it on the rocks at her feet, then gathered a scoop of whatever was in the jar and lowered to her knees in front of him.

  Nick sucked in a breath. She was inches away, his groin hidden only by the small towel. Her fingers grazed the wound on his thigh, a tickling sensation that made his muscles tense, but the healing balm was cool where it coated the gash. He relaxed as she rubbed the balm into the wound, feeling the jagged skin already knitting back together, feeling his body healing faster than it would on its own, feeling a heat he didn’t expect warming his skin.

  “Enough,” Cynna said. “Now the other one.”

  The dark-haired nymph pushed to her feet, still didn’t look Nick in the eye, and moved around behind him. Again he felt her fingers gliding over his skin, and he tensed, then the balm slathered the wound in his shoulder, slowly warming his skin, repairing the damage and relaxing him from the outside in.

  Cynna’s deep brown eyes remained blank as she watched the nymph work. No emotion crossed her face. No pleasure or excitement over what was to come, as Zagreus always showed. Nothing but emptiness. An emptiness Nick had gotten used to seeing on her flawless face.

  Only…that wasn’t true. When he’d been in the ring earlier, when he’d dropped his weapon in defiance of Zagreus’s desire to make him fight, he’d seen something in her eyes then. Something that had looked a lot like panic.

  “That’s enough,” Cynna said.

  The nymph’s fingers lifted from Nick’s skin, and she stepped back. Moving around him, she knelt to pick up the lid, recapped the jar, then sank back against the far wall near the other nymph.

  Cynna moved forward, her eyes never wavering from Nick’s, and the scent of jasmine hit him as it always did when she drew close, filling his senses, messing with his mind. She was tall for a female, at least five ten, and in those ridiculously high-heeled boots, only a few inches shorter than him. Today her blonde hair was swept over one shoulder, a blue streak near her temple contrasting sharply with her caramel skin. Her face was heavily made up, her eyes rimmed in thick black, making her look every bit the dominatrix. And though he knew he should be anxious over whatever she and Zagreus had cooked up for him next, he wasn’t. Because there was something about her that interested him. Perplexed him. Made him want to know more.

  He’d never admit it, but the mystery of who she was and how she’d come to be here had saved him. Saved him from going mad or giving in to all that dark energy Zagreus was waiting to claim.

  “You just…won’t…break.”

  Her words were a whisper, a frustration, a surprise. She never spoke to him. Though he’d spent more time with her than anyone else in this hellhole, she never addressed him directly. She gave the commands to her grunts, and they did her dirty work. She never even got near him.

  Something about today was different, though. A tiny voice in the back of his head screamed what was about to happen in this cell was on a whole different level from what he’d been through before.

  She stepped close, so close he could feel her heat but not close enough to touch, then moved to her right, slowly making her way around him. His stomach tightened, and that blistering arousal came rushing back.

/>   “This isn’t a game.” Her warm breath fanned his nape, sending a shiver across his bare skin. And in his wounds, where the nymph had spread the balm, heat gathered and grew, radiating outward, heading for his belly. “You cannot beat Zagreus. No one wins against the Prince of Darkness.”

  Nick’s arms flexed, and the chains rattled above his head. He didn’t want to beat the fucker, he only wanted to destroy him. Not just for what he’d put Nick through during the last few months, but for what he put everyone in this wretched place through—Cynna, his gut told him, included.

  “I can’t stop what he has planned for you.” She circled around and stopped directly in front of him again. “Give in, and you save yourself the torment. Give in, and this ends now.”

  “Give in,” Nick repeated, staring into her dark eyes. But unlike before, they weren’t empty. They weren’t dead. There was something there. Something that looked a lot like…desperation.

  Was she warning him of something horrendous to come? Why would she do that? She was Zagreus’s puppet. Or was she simply afraid of what would happen if he didn’t break?

  “You want me to give in?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Only stared at him.

  “The way you gave in?”

  The desperation in her eyes faded and was replaced with that lifeless, vacant look, the one he’d seen so many times when she’d ordered Zagreus’s satyrs to torture him. Without a word, she stepped back, but she didn’t break eye contact.

  “You were warned,” she said in a low voice. “Females?”

  Naughty Little Gift

  Temptation Court, Book 1

  By Angel Payne

  Author Acknowledgments

  A few thank-yous!

  To Thomas…for the best adventure ever: our awesome life. I love you.

  VERY SPECIAL THANKS TO…

  Goddesses Liz Berry and MJ Rose, for this incredible opportunity.

  It means the world!

  Shayla Black: for believing since before the beginning.

  Your friendship and support have been boundless and beautiful, and I am grateful.

  Victoria: For being there, always, with the special treasure of your friendship.

  The journey is so much sweeter, happier, and joyous with you, my beautiful friend!

  Melisande: For going “above and beyond” to make this one shine.

  I cannot form words to tell you how much your guidance, expertise, and cheerleading

  have meant on this one.

  Susan: My sweet, beautiful sister in more than just blood—but in heart.

  Thank you for all the wonderful love, support, and kayak trips!

  Here’s to more dolphins…

  Gratitude beyond compare…

  for each and every blogger, reviewer, reader, and supporter

  who has taken the time to support, believe, and love Arcadia and the Cimarrons.

  Without you, Temptation Court would not have been born! Thank you!

  “The declaration of love marks the transition from chance to destiny,

  and that’s why it is so perilous…”

  --Alain Badiou

  Chapter One

  MISHELLA

  “Dear, sweet Creator. That man’s ass needs its own web page.”

  “Right?”

  “Maybe it already has one. Have we tried looking it up? What would that search string even be?”

  “Cassian Court’s Glorious Glutes?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  I scowl at the exchange between my best friend and my princess of a boss. Debate adding a huff, though that might make them giggle harder. As it is, Vylet lifts her head, lets the wind blow her black waves as if she is shooting a scene for a movie, and slowly bats the thick lashes framing her huge lavender eyes.

  “Is there an issue, Mistress Santelle?”

  Her purposeful drawl on the s’s turns her query into a tease—though before I can properly purse my lips, she is answered by a long, snorting laugh. I add a groan to my own response, stabbed at the sound’s source. Brooke Cimarron, Princess of the Island of Arcadia, might have the loyalty and love of thousands across our land, but her royal in-laws are not in that legion—and outbursts like that are no help to her cause at all.

  The groan might be forgotten but the sigh is not. Even after three months in her employ, my work is still clearly cut out for me. In my princess’s own words, I am to do everything in my power to “whip the royal decorum into shape.” Some days, the task is easy. Some, like today—are entries in the Sweet Creator Help Me journal.

  I have one of those. Literally. Though on the outside, as I observe right now, the book simply says Action Items.

  Despite the lists taunting me from the pages of said journal, there are many more checks in Brooke’s “plus” column than not. Brooke has a good heart, a willing spirit, and a loyalty to Arcadia rivalling that of many native-born to the island. If I can only work out a way to keep Vy from enabling the woman’s snarky American side…

  Not likely anytime soon.

  Most certainly not during this week.

  Cassian Court’s arrival in Arcadia has sealed that certainty solidly enough.

  Cassian Court. Just rolling my mind over the man’s name jolts me with such intense heat, I wonder if the Earth has rolled too quickly on its axis, shifting my chair into the sun instead of beneath the table on the Palais Arcadia lawn. That only forms the start of how he has upended my world in just two days.

  Two. Days.

  Cassian Court.

  I cannot help myself. The syllables are synonymous with so many other expressions. Engineering genius. Corporate wizard. Billionaire icon. Consultant to kings. Yes, that includes the leader of our land, Evrest Cimarron, who has invited his friend for a “modernization think tank” with Arcadia’s leaders. Yanking a kingdom forward by two hundred years in two days is no small feat.

  Two. Days.

  World. Upended.

  Not to mention my thoughts. And my bloodstream. And the very wiring of my nervous system…

  “Mishella?”

  Vylet’s playful prompt is perfectly timed. “Hmm?” I am grateful to leave behind a memory that has been taunting, of the man in his formal wear from the party King Evrest threw for him last night. Out of respect for Arcadian tradition, he wore a doublet-style jacket with his tailored Tom Ford pants, everything flawlessly fitted to his tapered torso and long legs. The black garment had featured one modern touch: a moss green zipper instead of buttons, drawing out the same shade in his eyes. Matching zippers had adorned his hip boots, making him look very much “at home” in the ballroom’s courtly crowd…

  “You truly have no comment?” The edges of Vy’s lips curl up. Little wench. She knows I would sooner watch a storm come in over the sea than have to look at the body part they’ve referred to on Cassian Court’s incredible form.

  Incredible.

  And magnificent.

  And breath-stealing.

  And in just two days, has made me painfully aware of how small my island home truly is. The man and his magnetic pull have actually made me yearn for a land as big as his, though the expanse of America still does not seem big enough for all these new feelings he inspires—sensations that sweep in again, as I gaze upon him training at swords with Jagger Foxx on the palais lawn.

  Dizzy.

  Giddy.

  Hot.

  Needy.

  No.

  I cannot. I will not.

  Instead, I compress my lips harder. Swing another censuring look at my friend. “I was being courteous, in deference to Her Highness.”

  “Oh, here we go again,” Brooke mutters.

  Vylet hides a laugh behind her elegant fingers. “But Mishella wants to practice her protocol, Your Highness.”

  Brooke glowers. “Am I going to kick your ass about this now, too?”

  “Not in that pretty tea frock, missie.”

  “Oh, even in this rag, ho-bag.”

  “Who y
ou calling ho…ho?”

  “Say it twice because I own that, baby.” Brooke swirls then stabs an index finger. “Especially after last night’s marathon under that man of mine.”

  “Ohhh!” Vy roller coasters the syllable with knowing emphasis. “And I thought you were just walking funny from the platform pumps.”

  “See how I did that? Gotta have a cover, girl.”

  They snicker harder than before. I fume deeper than before. Attempt a prim glance down at my lap, but only get two seconds of the reprieve. A fresh punch of testosterone hits the air, swinging all our stares back up.

  By everything that is holy.

  The masculine energy is well supported. Even a hundred feet away, the two men are like gladiators of old, shirtless bodies lunging, gleaming muscles coiling. Jagger Foxx, the Arcadian court’s lieutenant of military operations, does not give his American guest an inch of visitor’s courtesy—a handicap Court would take as an insult anyway.

  The result is…

  Glorious.

  Slanted forward, his body forty-five degrees from the lawn, Cassian Court is a breath-stealing study of sinew, strength, might, and motivation. His thighs, clearly etched beneath his white fencing pants, wield the force of a stallion. His torso, the color of a lion in the sun, coils with equal power.

  Their blades clash. Metallic collisions zing the air. Jagger stumbles back. Again. Grunts hard—though not as deeply as the man besting him. Just like that, Cassian Court turns into an even more exhilarating sight. His beauty is meant for the glory of physical triumph.

  All the heavens help me, I cannot stop staring. Or wondering. What would it feel like…to be held by those massive arms? What would it be like, to lie beneath that beautiful body? To spread my legs, allowing his hardness against my welcoming softness…my tight readiness…

  My throat turns into the Sahara. I swallow, coughing softly as the moisture clashes with the dryness.