Satan swiped his hand across his mouth to dislodge the grit. Lilith’s turquoise eyes followed the gesture. His skin itched and his wings felt overly sensitive beneath her gaze, as if she found him unclean.
Memories of the last time he saw the same look on her face crawled over the surface of his mind, like ants over a rock. Ancient detritus that had him shuddering as he relived his expulsion. His senses reacted.
The smell, touch, and taste of death invaded his mind: the stench of sulfur caking his wings, the feel of rotting angelic entrails on his flesh, and the coppery taste of blood pooling in his mouth as he lay wounded by his twin’s hand—visceral marks of his failure. He glanced at Lilith.
“I am incapable of forgetting you, or what you have cost me.” A finger tapped her left cheek. “You have never wallowed in your own vomit and blood, or watched your body tormented by fire you cannot control.”
The same finger lazily stroked a circle on her exquisite skin. “I live with the deaths of every angel who fought at my side. Each breath I take carries the memory. It lingers on my tongue, weighs heavily in my lungs, and sleeps in my blood. No, Lilith, I will never forget who you are and what you have done.”
His gaze drifted across her features. Lilith’s human loveliness sat well with the angelic beauty impossible to conceal. “Why would you choose such an angel-forsaken place to live? I would expect such desolation to be anathema to an archangel.”
“Blinded by pride as always, Satan. Even the tenacious grains of sand clinging to your body possess an extraordinary beauty. If you saw this world as I—”
He silenced her. The last thing he wanted to hear was the seductive compulsion in her melodic voice. It was another of her gifts, the compelling power to gentle even the most turbulent spirit. Once the velvet sensuality might have seduced him to her will, might have soothed his troubled heart. No longer. She had chosen.
“The only thing I want to see is where my twin hides.”
He watched dark lashes lower over Lilith’s eyes, her silence an impenetrable and protective barrier between him and what he wanted. Like ivy clinging to an ancient oak, a constricting quiet wrapped itself around his will.
Then she looked at him.
The emotion in her gaze caused his anger to trip over his heart and desire rushed in. His fingers reached up and pushed the hood from her head. Late morning sunlight illuminated her hair and subtle shades of obsidian came to life. Her dark locks had been woven into a pattern of intricate braids and then re-braided into a single rope that fell across her shoulder. A few obstinate strands refused restraint and laid along her jawline and cheeks, attentive signposts to a pair of compelling eyes.
Satan found it was impossible to escape the inevitable fall, getting lost in irises the color of the Caribbean. What tore at his soul was the deep-seated longing that carried him below the surface and into a hell of his own making.
A burst of wind fanned the air between them, billowing Lilith’s sleeve and saving him from stupidity.
“I see you still bear the mark of my brother.”
“For now, I am his Consort.”
Satan stared at the mark of joining, impulsively reaching out to trace its pattern along her slender brown arm. Love and lust slammed into him at the same time his body jerked in pain. He sucked in a quick breath saturated with dry desert air and felt the sharp contraction in his lungs and his groin.
Images filled his mind. Lilith’s naked body quivering while his mouth pleasured hers, his tongue razing the smooth surface of her belly before tasting the slick wetness between her long legs, moments before he thrust deep into her feminine channel. He wanted to hear the sounds of her rapture, her voice claiming him as her Consort and soul’s mate.
Warm desert air silkily caressed his cheek, and the moan he fought to suppress escaped.
“I can’t be what you want, Satan,” she murmured. “Our union was not destined to be.”
Satan sensed her pity, knew she heard the emotions that weakened him. He didn’t want her pity, only her love, and that was denied to him. “I would have accepted life as a slave for you.”
Lilith snorted her contempt. “Do not lie to yourself, Seraphim. Or to me. You would bow to no one. Not your brother or even your father. That is the difference between us. I accept who I am and my purpose. You do not.”
Her shoulders sagged as if finally giving in to the pain and weariness. “Your words change nothing. Just as your rebellion changed nothing. Do what you’ve come to do. End this game now.”
“Everything has changed, Lilith,” he said coldly. “Look at where we are, what we’ve become. You are human and I control humankind. Will you submit to my will?”
“You of all angels should know no one can force my obedience, not even my Consort.”
His fingers clenched and she screamed, her body struggling to absorb the sudden jolt of pain he sent coursing through her. Tiny beads of bloody perspiration fanned across her forehead. Their gazes locked.
“No need to suffer, Lilith. You need only tell me where my brother sleeps. His life for yours, and the humans you love.”
“You would have me become like you? Heartless, devoid of compassion, mercy, and love?” She closed her eyes. “Do what you must, Seraphim.”
Rage crashed through him and his mind lashed out. Pain radiated through her body like twisted coils of steel and she cried out. Her slender form vibrated with each strike.
“I rather not to subject you to such agony. Tell me where Lucifer hides and I will release you.”
Lilith swayed, but remained upright, her lashes sparkled with wetness. She stared defiantly at him.
“You betrayed me.”
“Betrayed you? Lucifer is my Consort and your twin brother,” she snapped. “Don’t deceive yourself, Seraphim. You are the genesis of your expulsion, of the sins that have befallen angels and humans. The only betrayal is yours.”
“Enough.” Satan slid one palm across the other, and she doubled over. “You were angelic and powerful. Now look at you . . . human, weak, and suffering.”
He flexed one hand and then fisted his fingers. Lilith’s body stiffened as she fought the pain, making no effort to mask her agony. She was prepared to die to protect the secrecy of Lucifer’s hiding place until Fate walked the earth.
“Tell me where my brother sleeps and you will live to return to your mortals.”
“You slaughtered them.” She inhaled softly before her lips formed a resigned smile. “I accept death at your hand, Satan. It was prophesied you would witness my death, but not that you were to be the instrument. I forgive you.”
Satan started to speak and she shook her head. “You will listen to me, brother of my Consort. You believe I had no choice, but you are wrong. I chose to accept Lucifer, just as I embrace death by your hands and no other because Fate requires it.”
He stepped closer to her, his wings expanded in outrage. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her. “You dare to speak to me of Fate. Look at you. Your human body is incapable of stopping the pain and still you reject me. What can be worth your life?”
Lilith glanced at the sky and then back at him. “Such arrogance. I was born to bring into the world the one who will save all life. I am your salvation. That is reason enough.”
“My salvation,” he spat. “You can’t even save yourself from the mortality you wear. What has Fate given you except suffering and death? Your death will not stop me from finding my brother. Your stubborn resistance will not save the life of the child you’re seeking to protect. If it even lives you will be dead. Your sacrifice is in vain.”
“Fate protects the child who will end your reign of terror, Seraphim. Even if you pass the child on an empty street, you will not recognize them. Until Fate choses to reveal herself to you, you will wallow in blinded ignorance.”
Lilith winced as his fingers dug deep into her flesh. She inhaled slowly, tiny gasps collecting bits of air. “End this now, Satan.”
“You will die.”
&
nbsp; “Death is inevitable. You saw to that.”
“You have sealed your end, Lilith.”
She leaned into him, her fingers splayed across his naked chest. “My death was set into motion the day you rebelled.”
“Why? My brother would have accepted your refusal. You belong to me. Why?” Satan couldn’t mask the hurt and longing in his voice, and hated himself for speaking out.
Lilith reached up and stroked his cheeks before her fingers pulled his head down. Her tongue caressed his mouth before it invaded. In human form, she could give him what she dared not as Consort to his brother. She loved his mouth until her human lungs nearly exploded with the need for air. She broke their kiss, her tongue sliding across his one final time before it retreated. Twin tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Because I cannot bear the thought of your death, beloved. Everything I have done, everything, has been to save you.”
She stepped back and ran a slender fingertip across his bottom lip. “Lucifer had Lilith’s loyalty. You, Seraphim, always held her heart. You are my life as I am yours.”
Lilith kissed him once more then grabbed his fist and shoved it against her chest. Satan felt the hardness of his knuckles splinter fragile human flesh and fracture her ribcage. The sound of crushed bone rang in his ears as his fist brushed her heart. She forced his fingers to embrace her heart. “Lilith belonged to no one but you, Satan. You are my life mate.”
He fought to break her hold, only to find himself powerless. Puzzled, he scanned her. Then he saw the faint residue of angelic power. How had he missed it? How had she kept it hidden from him? His breath locked in his chest as his fingers slowly tightened its grip on her heart.
“Lilith.” His voice cracked as he said her name.
“It has to be. I die so Fate can be born,” she said. “I have always loved you, Seraphim. You are my heart and soul.”
Her heartbeat ceased and as she collapsed Lilith’s lifeless shell dragged him to his knees. He jerked his bloody fist from her chest. His eyes stared at the blood dripping from his fingers. Fingers made to care for her heart, not destroy it.
A bestial howl clawed its way to his throat and exploded in agony. The reverberation of his anguish shook the land like an earthquake before the deafening roar of thunder denied him even the sound of his grief. A white spark ignited and flames erupted to consume the lifeless husk of skin, bones, and cloth. Lilith’s scent twined with smoke, saturating the air and his senses.
He sucked it all in, breathing in guilt and rage for what he had done. What he had lost for eternity. His eyes watched the flames extinguish themselves, leaving a small mound of golden ash where Lilith had stood. Satan crawled to the mound and scooped it up. His hand fisted before he opened it to stare at the fine dust covering his palm. Wind whisked the dust into the air, a few blood-soaked grains clinging to his fingers.
You held my heart. I have always loved you. You are my life mate. You are my life as I am yours.
Her words echoed in his mind, faint whispers and a reminder of what Fate had taken away from him. Satan ran his tongue across his palm and licked what was left of Lilith, absorbing the tiny particles into his body. His fist slammed against his chest and he raised his tortured gaze to the sky.
“Damn you, Lucifer. Damn you and Fate for all eternity. I swear you will pay for this.”
Daughters of Saria, Book 2
Fate’s Kiss
* * *
The infamous Holland’s League is a perfect guise for the witches sanctuary Anne Willoughby runs. However, a demonic threat to the brothel’s existence has the shapeshifting supernatural turning to a man she knows she can trust, and never have, “Demon” Gabriel Elstone.
An undead with free will and out for revenge, Demon Gabriel is a deadly thorn in Mephistopheles’ side. The unexpected request from Holland’s League’s owner for his investigative skills is an offer Demon won’t ignore. How could he possibly refuse the mysterious courtesan, a night to remember, and a chance to infuriate his enemy?
Anne and Demon’s bargain takes a deadly turn when the unlikely pair of supernaturals find they are destined life mates. Sparks fly and, of course, Fate is not above meddling in Anne and Gabriel’s lives to move prophecy along.
* * *
Enjoy the following excerpt
London, 1681
* * *
“The auction, Anne.”
Bella’s impatient voice intruded on Anne Holland’s distracted thoughts and Anne tilted her head to look at her friend.
“Everything is in readiness,” she said. “Emile will surpass himself this year with food and drink as he has done since we introduced the auction. What more must be attended to?”
“Requests for invitations only you can refuse,” Bella declared. “Lord Pellen seeks one for himself and a guest. This is the first year he’s asked. He’s not secret about wanting to bring the brothel under his control.”
She shuddered and reached up to rub her furrowed forehead. “It worries me how much power he wields and that he has the King’s ear. A too deep investigation may prove our undoing.”
“Alan Mountjoy will never set foot in Holland’s League and not just because he tried to kidnap Celeste as she left the apothecary,” Anne stated. “I’m not worried about his plans. I will notify Pellen his request is refused. I’ll also send a message to my cousin. The second request?”
“Demon Gabriel.”
A shiver went through Anne. “Demon” Gabriel Elstone, Marquis of Alenesby had never sought the services of a woman at Holland’s League, or any brothel in London to her knowledge. Gossip about the efforts to reel the man in kept her amused. His rare visits to Holland’s League were limited to the hazard and vingt-un tables because of the brothel’s reputation for honesty. Once or twice, he had asked to meet with her but she always sent word she was unavailable. She had long accepted he excited and terrified her. Avoidance had kept him at bay, which meant Demon’s unexpected request probably didn’t bode well for her peace of mind.
“Do you agree, Anne?”
She turned her gaze to the woman who spoke. “What should I agree to, Celeste?”
“What Aretino says in his book. That a whore will discover a veritable treasure in her hands and between her thighs. Jewels of all kind can be hers. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Ellie insists he writes the truth.”
“What have you earned while at Holland’s League, Celeste?”
Anne’s mouth curved into a grin as the courtesan’s face gently contorted while she performed the calculations. One of the things Anne had insisted on was everyone employed by Holland’s League learn to read, write, and grasp arithmetic. That way no man or woman could ever take advantage of them.
“Nearly three hundred pounds,” Celeste answered.
“How much of that wealth is jewelry?”
“If the goldsmith’s appraisal is accurate, nearly one hundred fifty pounds.”
“I believe you have your answer,” Anne said. “In which case, we should all take Aretino and Eleanor’s instructions to heart.”
Eleanor caught Celeste’s eye and flashed her a smug smile. “Shall I continue with Betsy’s lessons?”
Celeste rolled her eyes. “Do go on.”
“There are two things you must always bear in mind, Betsy,” Eleanor began. “First, the smaller a man’s prick the more you will have to resort to trickery and guile. Flatter him, praise his skills with absolute sincerity, but never let him see your amusement or boredom.”
“Second, never believe a man who pays to be fucked, especially if he is married. Oh, if you chance to wed, never marry a man whose erection grows no longer than your middle finger.”
“Ellie, that’s unkind. What if he has a very skilled tongue? Might that not offset the size of his penis?”
Eleanor glanced at the speaker. “Angelica, you know a tongue is an inadequate replacement for a goodly sized cock. On occasion you will want to feel his rod against your womb. Tell me, can a tiny worm bu
ry itself so?”
Laughter filled the chamber before Eleanor waved a negligent hand. “Holland’s League is a brothel and we’re courtesans. Shouldn’t we be honest about what to seek out or what to avoid? Or what to do if a man’s purse is greater in size than his tool?”
As Eleanor and Angel debated the question, Anne’s gaze swept the finely appointed salon where the courtesans lounged. The room was a place of serenity and security. The walls were plastered the color of pale roses while thick woolen carpets muffled sound. The color also gave the room a warmth the outside world denied the women of Holland’s League. Chaises and cushions offered comfortable seating while small tables kept drinks and food in reach. The courtesans claimed the salon was their favorite in all of Holland’s League because it was one of the few rooms their clients were not permitted to enter.
Anne marveled at the success of the brothel. In just three years, she and Bella had achieved a miracle. No one had an inkling that a supernatural and a witch controlled one of the most exclusive brothels in all of London. Without question, the women seated in the salon were the true source for the wealth and reputation of Holland’s League. Beautiful, witty, and smart, they were well trained in the erotic arts under Bella’s tutelage. From the mahogany-hued Bella to the alabaster-skinned Celeste, the courtesans were the reason the yearly auction commanded the attention of England’s wealthiest men and women. The competitive spirit between the courtesans was matched by their true affection for each other, although Bella, Eleanor, and Celeste tended to command the highest prices.
When she discovered the secret game the three had created, Anne had laughingly put a stop to it. If word got out that Holland’s League’s courtesans wagered among themselves to see who could make a man ejaculate in the shortest amount of time, she didn’t want to think about the enormous bribes she’d have to pay to forestall an inquiry. Holland’s League’s existence was too important. The establishment of the brothel was more than just a way for unwanted women to earn a living. It secretly served as a sanctuary for witches and for nearly two years, they lived in relative peace. The only magic the women performed was in the bedroom and in the secret chamber designed to contain the effluence of their spells when they practiced.
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