by Bianca D’Arc
A forbidden union forged in love—and tempered in hellfire.
Inferno
© 2009 Bianca D’Arc
A Tales of the Were Story
One last task and Megan will be free of the debt of honor owed by her family. Spying on Dante, a powerful vampire with questionable friends, sounds simple enough. But her mission is complicated by the fact she’s got something every vampire wants—tangy, powerful, werewolf blood.
It’s easy to capture his attention. The hard part will be getting out with her heart—and soul—intact. Not to mention her life, thanks to a crazed bomber.
Dante isn’t the kind to forgive or forget easily, especially the grudge he holds against werewolves. Still, he is instantly drawn to the injured lone wolf in his care. When he and his friend Duncan treat her wounds, they discover something that marks her as much more than she seems.
That mark is a neon sign warning to be careful, but Dante can’t help himself. He wants her and nothing will stand in his way. Not her species. Not his. Not the strange woman who keeps trying to kill him.
Not even the magical poison in Megan’s blood…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Inferno:
Dante paused to sniff the air, satisfied for the moment with the ripe scent of humanity that assailed his sharp senses. He also noticed some other, more subtle scent lacing the air.
It was off to his right.
Dante opened his eyes and looked around, only to meet the gaze of the most alluring woman he’d ever seen in all his long centuries. Lustrous, mink brown hair framed her face and swayed gently with her movements. Snapping hazel eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes batted at him with come-hither motions.
She was sitting on a bar stool, surrounded by mortals, but she shone as if she were the only being in the room. She was not human.
Dante sniffed again.
Were.
And she was looking directly at him, meeting his eyes boldly while she raised a glass of red wine to her lips. He followed the curving line of her luscious throat as it flexed in a swallow, and he went hard. Just like that.
This woman was potent.
And she held knowledge in her eyes.
Silently, she stood and stalked toward him. She moved like a predator, sinuous and sensuous as she held his attention and his gaze, mesmerizing him. He got the feeling he was definitely her prey this evening and not the other way around. It was a novel experience for him. Never had a woman enthralled him so quickly or so completely.
And they hadn’t even touched.
That would soon be remedied.
“She’s a fine looking woman, but beware my friend,” Duncan said in a low voice, “she is not what she seems.”
Dante nodded, his gaze glued on the woman as she approached. “I know what she is.”
“But do you know why? Why would such a creature seek you out?”
Dante shrugged. “Probably for no good reason, though I find it hard to resist the puzzle she presents.”
“Just be certain this puzzle doesn’t get you staked out in the desert at dawn.” Duncan laughed as he moved off, two women already in his sights. “I’ll be near if you need backup.”
She didn’t realize he would be so handsome. Of course bloodletters were said to have a Glamour all their own. She didn’t think she was close enough to feel his magical influence, but she didn’t have any personal experience with his kind. Their powers were said to grow with the centuries, and Dante was an old one.
There was something about the tall man at his side too. Something that gave Megan the heebie geebies. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what the deal was with him. He wasn’t a bloodsucker. His scent was different but very, very magical. Not human entirely, yet not anything else she recognized. She would have to tread carefully—very carefully—until she knew exactly what she was dealing with.
Still, the ball was in play now. She’d have to see it through and play the game she’d planned. Just this one last task, and she’d finally be free of the meddlesome Altor Custodis. She would do just about anything to clear her family debt of honor, but she had to be careful. This Dante fellow was more than likely the deadliest being she’d ever meet.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked up to him and shifted her weight to one foot, letting the opposite hip jut out toward him provocatively. Dante was certainly a tall drink of water, almost a foot taller than her own five foot four. Of course, she was petite for a wolf shifter. She was only half were by blood.
She didn’t speak, just looked him over and let him look in return. She saw the flare of interest in his eyes before he banked it to something less obvious. She was close enough to scent his magic though well protected—she hoped—against his vampire mojo by her shifter nature. Still, he certainly did have an effect and she had to admit—mojo or not, this man was potent with a capital P.
“Do you like playing with fire, little one?”
His voice wafted over her like dark silk, caressing her pelt in the most sensuous way. She had to suppress a shiver of pleasure at the tone and timbre.
She struggled for nonchalance. “I know what you are.”
“And still you came to me? You’re a brave little shifter. Does your pack know what you’re up to?”
“I have no pack. I’m a loner.” Her chin rose defiantly.
“Ah, a lone wolf out on the prowl.” He made the words mocking. She squared her shoulders and stood her ground. “You are a foolhardy youngster, out to test her limits.”
“No doubt I’m younger than you but by no means a child.” She thrust out her chest and was glad to see his gaze snagged by the motion. “I’m curious, I’ll admit. I’ve heard your kind has certain abilities for pleasure.”
He leaned back, studying her from under hooded eyes. He was a seducer of the senses in every word, every motion. It would be hard not to fall under his spell—magical or not. Everything female in her wanted to be with this male, regardless of his species or his power.
He watched her, seeming to come to some kind of decision. “My name is Dante.”
She laughed. “Playing with fire indeed. I get the literary reference, Dante.” She grinned at him. “My name is Megan.”
“Well then, Megan, can I buy you a drink?” He ushered her toward the bar where two chairs opened up for them as if by magic.
She knew darn well he’d used his influence over mortals to make the others move. It was a casual show of power that scared her. Without the protection of her shifter blood, would she be as powerless against him as other mortals? And how could she be certain she was protected? Would she even know if she was being influenced by his vampiric powers?
It was a worrisome thought. This man was more than she’d been led to believe. She could tell from the few minutes she’d been in his presence. And his friend was troublesome too. What was he? Megan feared she’d suddenly been thrust into the deep end of the pool with no warning, and she’d have to learn to swim. Fast.
“So what brings you here tonight?” Dante asked, turning back to her after ordering wine for them.
“Just on the prowl.”
“Ah.” He nodded knowingly. “Something your kind enjoys, from what I hear.”
“How do you know what we enjoy?” She tried her best not to sound suspicious but feared some of her wariness showed through.
He leaned back as the bartender returned with their wine. “Contrary to popular thought, I actually do have some friends among the weretribes.” He kept his voice low so that only she could hear him. Her hearing was better than any mortal’s and he definitely knew the scope of her abilities in that area at least, proving his shocking words might hold some truth.
“It thought your kind didn’t like weres.”
He sipped his wine before answering. “It’s not that we don’t like you. It’s more that we don’t like how resistant you are to our power. Bad blood in the past has made all the various supernaturals distrust each other over the centuries. Yet I have a feeling that will soon come to an end.
”
She was shocked. “Why?”
He shrugged. “You’re a loner so you probably haven’t heard. There are certain bad elements returning after many generations. I was around the last time we fought them, and we all worked together. Seems to me we might have to do so again.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head in the negative. “Not here. No matter how good your hearing, there may be others listening as well. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you in private.”
“I want to know.” This was her chance. Even if he was leading her into some kind of weird vamp trap, she needed to get close to him. That was her mission and she wouldn’t shrink from it. She was also curious about his hinted knowledge. She really was a lone wolf. She hadn’t had interaction with her own kind in a long time. If there was something going on in the supernatural world, she didn’t trust her contacts in the Altor Custodis to tell her. They were too damned secretive and their policy of non-interference went way too far in her opinion. She’d like to know what Dante thought he knew.
“All right then. Later.” He drained his glass of wine and set it on the bar. “For now, will you dance with me?”
Love comes at the turn of a card…or the crack of a whip.
Sting of Desire
© 2009 Lilli Feisty
Sandine would love to walk out of her ex-boyfriend’s life forever. Except the sadistic bastard stole the ancient tarot cards her late mother gave her, knowing she’ll do anything to get them back. Including endure his abuse on the stage of his sex club.
For the crime of trying to get her prized cards back, she’s steeling herself for the public beating of her life. Knowing that no matter how much she screams, no one will come to her aid.
Harry Marshall should be immune to undercover work at sex clubs by now. From the moment he spots Sandine chained at the mercy of the suspected drug dealer he’s after, his gut tells him something isn’t right. He can’t believe he’d risk blowing his cover by stepping in, much less his body’s erotic reaction to inflicting pain on her luscious body.
Question is, how deeply involved is she in her ex’s drug dealing—if at all? If she’d stay out of his way long enough to find out, he wouldn’t have to put his own mission in danger to keep protecting her from her ex…and herself.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sting of Desire:
Harry gunned his Harley up an almost vertical street. As he crested the top of F’illmont Street, the San Francisco skyline appeared, its multicolored lights reminding him of the Christmas trees his mother used to decorate many years ago. But even happy childhood memories couldn’t knock the thoughts of Sandine out of his head. If anything, the contrast only succeeded in furthering the self-disgust that had settled in the pit of his belly, a feeling that had been fermenting ever since the adrenaline rush of being with Sandine had dissipated.
He eased up on the throttle slightly to rumble through a stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Why had she trusted him? Her trust—that was what had put him over the edge, that was what had gone straight to his heart, his head. The smoky look in her eyes, the moan on her lips, the tremble in her legs. All of it killed him.
She’d submitted to him completely.
He hit the throttle, his black coat flying behind him in flapping waves. It didn’t take a fucking shrink to figure out he was attempting to outrun his feelings.
His Harley wasn’t that fast.
She had wanted him to do it. He knew that, just as he knew he liked his steaks rare and his showers hot. She wanted him to master her, and he had liked doing it too. A lot. But the guilt had sucked the lingering pleasure from him like a leech would fresh blood.
Nothing made sense.
Before he had started this case a file had been dropped on his desk. Sex Clubs for Dummies, he’d called it. But he’d read it—he always studied a case voraciously before he went in. He liked to be prepared, with weapons and knowledge. And so he had gone in armed with more than a whip, some guns and a few knives. He’d gone in with information.
Over the past three weeks he’d seen others engage in similar acts, and sometimes he’d felt a slight stirring of sexual excitement, but for the most part he’d been able to keep those feelings in check and stay focused. He’d been in control.
But nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming adrenaline rush of whipping Sandine. Which begged the question he’d been asking himself for an hour. Was it her or the act itself that had affected him with such intensity?
Or was it the combination?
Either way, what it came down to was he had beaten a woman and derived pleasure from doing so.
Inflicting pain—the act went against the very foundation of his ethical beliefs. Morals that had been drilled into his head ever since he could remember. His father had been a doctor, donating his time and services all over the world. The man had been a champion for those less fortunate than he. He’d been a spokesperson for peace. A hero.
Harry wasn’t a hero, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a cop—a good cop—and shouldn’t that mean something? What it should mean is that he didn’t get off on that sort of thing. His father would roll over in his grave at the thought.
Yet, the feeling that had come over him while he did it—while he’d whipped Sandine—a sense of calm mixed with elation, was odd and thrilling and hit him like a drug. It was similar to the way his body reacted just before a freefall jump.
So, now you aren’t satisfied with extreme sports, you need extreme sex too?
He gunned his bike up another hill, feeling like he was about to drive straight into the sky. All he could think about was holding her, making sure she was okay. Some primal, protective instinct beat in his chest, unlike anything he’d felt before.
He didn’t understand it, any of it. Sure, he had done his research and knew the basic psychology of why Le Cheval held allure for so many people. But he had thought himself above all that. In fact, that was why the chief had picked him for this job. Unlike half the force, Harry’s preferred flavor was vanilla.
Wasn’t it?
Sandine eased into the claw-foot bathtub, closing her eyes as the water enveloped her tight limbs into its warmth. Taking a few deep breaths, she attempted to center herself. Something had happened tonight, a part of her mind had unlocked, and she needed to know what had triggered it.
All she saw was Harry, circling her, cracking that whip with a mastery that had melted her. And that was what he had done tonight—mastered her. Dominated her. Opened her up and let her go.
He amazed her. Her mind floated from how he’d played her earlier. Adrenaline thrummed lightly through her body.
And yet she had no idea who he was, this man who had saved her from Cain’s anger.
Rubbing the scrapes around her wrists, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. A fucking Tarot reader, trained in divination from birth—how could she have acted so impulsively, with no pause to listen to her own intuition? What would have happened if Harry hadn’t been there to intervene?
She sighed as the warm water lapped at the trace of a line where his whip had struck her outer thigh. The reddened skin would be fine by tomorrow, but she wanted the proof to remain. Wanted to see his mark on her skin.
It had been hours since she’d seen him and still her body tingled from the caress of Harry’s lips on her skin, the feel of his large, warm fingers sliding into her body, the sting of his whip across her ass. Lightly touching her lip, she recalled the way his tongue had caressed the inside of her mouth. So natural, that kiss.
She had been so close to coming—simply thinking of the pleasure he had given her put her on the edge of an orgasm.
Again.
She closed her eyes, imagined him kissing her now, recalled his taste of whiskey. Whiskey and smoke.
She lightly pinched a sore nipple. Like a familiar lover, Harry had loosened the nipple clamps exactly enough to give her sharp pleasure. She raised her legs, rested he
r calves on the edge of the cold ceramic tub. She touched her ribs and moved lower, could feel the leather of his whip wrapping around her waist. The crack of the whip seemed to echo in her ear.
The water lapped at her skin as she submerged her hand to trace her shaved S, where she lingered for a moment before touching herself between her legs. Even in water her pussy felt wet and slick on her hand, and as she caressed her sex she pretended it was Harry’s hand teasing her. His hands were lovely—long and confident, like the rest of him.
The look in his eyes as he had circled her, snapping his whip on the ground, reminded her of the lion trainer who had traveled in the cirque with her family. Like Harry, the trainer had been tall and lean, and even as a girl she had been fascinated with the graceful way the man had wielded his tool, the way he could coax a roaring beast into submission with a few controlled flicks of his wrist.
She slid her fingers to her clit, rubbed that throbbing point until she gasped, watched her toes go stiff. Her pulse began to race as she recalled the bound woman in the chair, the way her face had contorted in pleasure as the kneeling man licked her very center. Le Cheval had been throbbing with energy tonight, and Sandine had soaked it in like a plant does water. Her veins still hummed from the palpable excitement, feeding a long-forgotten part of her soul.
Ironically, despite her public display earlier, here she was alone, masturbating. But even this felt different, more exciting. She thought of Harry as she rubbed her clit and pinched her nipple, trying to find the exact pressure he had applied earlier. She couldn’t get it right, damn it. God, if only he were here to do it again…
She remembered how she had wanted him to fuck her, how she had begged him for it.
Moaning, she slid her hand deeper into the folds of her sex, palming herself as he had done. It wasn’t exactly right—her hand felt small in comparison—but at least it provided some degree of gratification. When she pushed two fingers into her body, working them in and out, she gasped in pleasure.
She wanted it all. She wanted Harry to fuck her, lick her, whip her—pain and pleasure—