by Tawny Taylor
He turned his attention back to Keri, desperate hope making his heart race. She was still lifeless, lying where he’d left her.
Dead.
Dammit. This wasn’t fair.
If he was free now, to live and love, why did he have to lose his Keri, the woman who’d given him such a precious gift? He realized he didn’t want to live without her. Didn’t deserve to.
He couldn’t accept the redemption he’d received. Not with Keri gone.
He snatched up the knife again, but before the first cut, a sound from Keri’s direction made him stop. Not sure what to think, he twisted to look at her, bending down to feel for a pulse.
Yes. Yesyesyes!
She gasped, and a pink flush suffused her skin.
Talen dropped the knife and laughed through his tears. Alive. She was alive! “Keri.”
She rocked her head to the side, her lips curling slowly. A smile. She was smiling. She was alive and smiling and ohthankthegods! She was his. And he could be hers.
“Keri, do you hurt anywhere?” Frantically, he ran his hands over her body, feeling for signs of injury. The wound in her back seemed to have healed instantly.
“No. I don’t think so.” She let him help her sit up, lifting her slightly glassy-eyed gaze to his. “I’m a little dizzy. Feel funny.”
“Here. Let’s get you up on the bed.” Without hesitating, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, lowering her gently onto the mattress. Once she was settled, he stood over her, his gaze sweeping up and down her body, watching, waiting. Was she okay? Could it be? “Do you hurt anywhere?”
She grimaced a little, set her hand on her nape. “Well, no. I don’t hurt. But my head’s a little fuzzy, and I had the strangest dream. It’s kind of hazy, but I remember there were a bunch of guys wearing funny clothes and talking strangely. They all had an insignia on their chests. It looked like…”
Listening, he pulled the bloody shirt off her and bent to pick up the blanket. “Go ahead.”
“Your tattoo?”
“What?” He straightened up, dropping the blanket. “The insignia looked like my tattoo?” Was it any coincidence that she was describing his gods? Not a chance.
“It’s gone.”
“What?”
“Your tattoo.”
“It is?” He turned his head as far as he could, tried to get a glance of his back. When he couldn’t, he quickly covered her with the blanket then hurried into the bathroom to take a look in the mirror. If the tattoo was a mark, given by the gods when he was cursed, did that mean it would vanish when the curse was lifted?
It seemed it had. There could be no other explanation.
“Talen?” she called, staggering toward him, looking as happy as he felt. “I remember now. What they said.” She threw herself into his arms, tipping her head to look up at him. “They said…”
“I’m free!” He kissed her, sobs of raw joy and love tearing from his chest. “Free.” He kissed her again. “Freefreefree!” And again and again and again. He leaned back, his fingertip tracing the spot where there had once been a gruesome wound. “You did this for me. I know it.”
After about the hundredth kiss, Keri pulled back, smiling. “You aren’t going to die?”
“No, Keri. I will.” When she frowned and her eyes filled with anguish, he explained, “Just like you will die. I’m mortal. My life will end. Some day. But if the gods are as merciful as they’ve been this day, I won’t die today or tomorrow or next week. Next month. Or next year.”
“Ohthankgod.” A fat tear fell onto her cheek.
Gently, he wiped it away with his thumb. “I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking the gods for their blessing. And you, for your sacrifice.”
Surprising him, Keri slipped from his grasp, sinking to her knees. She lifted her arms. “Thanks to you, heavenly lords, for your blessing. We will live exactly as you have commanded.”
“As they commanded? What does that mean?” Talen gently helped her to her feet.
Her smile hinted at a secret. “Don’t you worry about that. Just know from this point forward, I am going to make sure every day is filled with love and life and hope. Just as you’ve done for me.”
This time it was his turn to drop to his knees. He took Keri’s little hand in his, stroked the back with his thumb. She was his. For the rest of his days. His to love, cherish, adore. “And I vow to fulfill every promise I made earlier. You will surrender to me. Every night. And you will feel like the most powerful, satisfied and thoroughly loved woman on the planet. We have both been reborn. I have been delivered from my curse and you…”
“From fear,” Keri finished for him. She kneeled before him and placed her hand on his heart. “I won’t ever be afraid. Not with you by my side. My master. My lover. My soulmate. My phoenix.”
The End
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Please turn the page for a special sneak preview of TS Taylor’s Wrath’s Embrace and Claimed, The Vampire’s Shared Bride!
(An excerpt from) Wrath’s Embrace
(Masters of Sin)
by
Tawny Taylor w/a TS Taylor
Copyright 2017 TS Taylor
ABOUT THE BOOK
Only one woman's sexual surrender and loving touches can quiet the monster possessing them.
Cyr and Magus. Two immortal men, possessed by the spirit of Wrath. Its voice is never silent. Its evil demands almost impossible to resist. Driving their desires, testing their will every minute of every day.
Until they meet Gina.
They want her. They need her. Her love and submission. For she is the light to their darkness. Their peace. Their gift.
Tormented by her own denied passions, Gina is wary of the blatant masculinity of her new neighbors. They're both gorgeous. They’re both charming. Seductive. Dominant. But below the surface she senses a seething rage, barely restrained, even while her body responds to every heated look, touch and word.
A battle is being waged-for the lives and souls of two men-and Gina is the key. As the darkness closes in and Magus and Cyr struggle with the malevolent beast threatening to consume them, only one woman's sexual surrender and loving touches can save them.
But will she have the courage to confront the beast?
Previously published in 2010 by Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Prologue
They are ancient. Masters of Sin. Fourteen men blessed by the goddess. And cursed.
During the Time of Darkness—the period mankind calls the Dark Ages—fourteen brave and honorable men willingly surrendered their souls to save humanity, accepting a portion of a spirit of sin within them so that humankind could finally break free from the shackles of evil.
With the dark spirits contained, the good spirits reigned.
Man was able to step out of the shadows at last—all men but the fourteen Masters of Sin, who struggle with the darkness every minute of every day, as they wait to receive their reward.
Chapter One
Bruised, bloody, and beat. That was when he felt best.
The voice was quiet. Blessedly silent. That was getting more and more rare recently.
Smelling worse than a hog bathed in sewage, Magus Lambard slid into the driver’s seat of his Expedition, cranked the ignition and shoved his favorite CD into the player. Frowning, he glanced at the clock. At the peak of rush hour, among a horde of jerks who didn’t know how to drive, was not the best time to be battling what would soon become overwhelming rage.
Dammit, why’d the coach have to keep them so late?
He pulled onto the street, punched the gas and breathed slowly as the pulse of the music echoed through his body.
Peace. Tranquility. Calm.
Nothing soothed better than Me
hdi. Sweet melodies, performed on strings, piano, sitar and dulcimer. He hoped it would be enough to get him through this hell.
Damn it was hot.
Knowing how much the dark spirit loved the heat, Magus cranked the air conditioning full blast and concentrated on relaxing as he navigated through the maze of clogged freeways and congested streets that took him home. As he did every day, he swung by the ice arena to pick up Cyr Placett, his lover, best friend, and the man who shared the other half of the spirit of Wrath.
And as Cyr did every day, he grimaced and smacked the power button on the radio, cutting off the music that had effectively lulled Wrath into a coma. “How can you stand to listen to this pussy shit?”
Instantly, Wrath roared to life, curling Magus’ right hand into a fist. “It’s soothing,” he hissed, forcing his hand down to the gear shift instead of planting it in the center of Cyr’s face like the spirit was goading him to do.
Shit.
As much as he loved Cyr—and he loved him greatly—the man knew exactly how to push his buttons. Both the right and wrong ones.
“Speaking of pussies,” Magus growled between clenched teeth, “I think we both could use some of that right now—better that than I beat your ass.”
Cyr threw his head back and laughed. “Beat my ass? In your dreams. The way you reek, the best you’re getting is your hand or Hilde that idiotic sex doll Troi keeps stashed in his closet.”
“I’m not touching that thing.” Magus eased the Expedition into a lane next to the Honda that had been hogging all three lanes of the road for the past five miles, resisting Wrath’s demand he flip the driver the bird when he was finally able to pass her. A toddler was screaming bloody hell in her backseat. He actually felt sorry for her. “Troi uses it.”
“No shit?” Cyr poked the radio’s power button, flipping to his favorite news station. “I thought he kept it in the closet, literally.”
“He’s possessed by the spirit of Lust,” Magus said over a commercial for a mortgage company. Wrath decided the commercial was annoying enough to make a guy want to pound someone’s face in. “What did you expect? There aren’t enough women in town to keep him satisfied for more than a week.”
“Still.” Cyr shook his head as he leaned back. “How anyone can lust for a hunk of rubber is beyond me.”
“Amun’s worse.”
“No way. Amun might have more than his share of Lust, but he wouldn’t poke a rubber doll.”
“Perhaps, but he’d poke a goat.”
Their laughter kept the beast at bay for the rest of the drive, even when they were caught behind some jerkwad weaving between two lanes while driving twenty miles per hour below the limit.
Finally, after a hellacious drive, they pulled into the driveway, parking behind Amun and Troi’s ridiculously overpriced cherry red Saleen S7 and Delius and Rane’s even more expensive black Koenigsegg CCX.
Such a disgusting show of luxurious consumption, all four of them. Even so, they were outspent by another pair, who was driven by the spirit of Gluttony to spend amounts that made most men dizzy.
Both possessing Envy, Delius and Rane couldn’t stand to be out-classed when it came to anything—clothes, cars and especially women. Which was why, to keep the peace, Magus had asked the masters of Gluttony to move out a long time ago.
Magus couldn’t stand drama. Irritable by nature anyway, his portion of Wrath made him even more short tempered. Especially in the last couple of months.
Annoyed neither pair had bothered to park in the garage so Magus could pull what the other four called The Beater up to the house all six of them shared, Magus stomped on the brake and cut off the engine.
“I can’t wait to move out of here,” he said as he shoved open his door. “They’re driving half-million dollar cars. We could all afford something bigger, but still they insist we stay here, in this neighborhood.”
“That’s because it’s quiet and the neighbors leave us alone. It won’t be too long now.” Cyr kicked the Saleen’s front tire and the siren triggered, the annoying squeal grating Magus’ already frayed nerves. “Lucky for us the house next door’ll be empty in a week or two.”
“If we have to stay here, I guess it’s the best we can do. We’ll have our own space but still be close enough to keep an eye on each other and vice-versa.” Magus threw a glance over his shoulder, took one last glaring look at the twin sports cars then glowered at the cheery petunias planted in neat little rows along the front porch. “We’ll have our own driveway. And our own gardener.” He pushed open the front door, stepping into the foyer. “Wonder what the little brats have been up to today.”
“Brats?” a male voice echoed from deeper inside the house, mocking laughter lifting the tone.
Everything was a laugh to the little bastard, Troi. Wrath itched to show Troi something truly funny.
Shoving the spirit’s suggestion aside, Magus headed straight toward the stairs. A long shower would do wonders. Then maybe he’d pay a visit to his favorite submissive. Sweet little pain slut that she was, Jolie’s willingness to please and high tolerance to pain made her the perfect partner for play. The games eased his burden for a short time. But only for a little while.
Never did the relief last long.
Not after a hard workout. Or even after taking a beating on the field during a game. Within an hour, the anger returned. Burning. Churning. Tying his insides into searing hot knots.
If only he could find relief that lasted longer. Two hours. A day. Oh, what a wonder it would be not to feel this way for a whole day. Or two. Imagine a week.
But he’d long come to expect that would never happen, regardless of what the goddess had told them that dark day so long ago. She’d promised they wouldn’t suffer forever. That someday their sacrifice would be rewarded.
Yeah, sure.
His glum thoughts for company, he headed into the bathroom to try to tame the beast where it was safe—away from everyone.
* * * * *
Something smelled bad. Not bad like a skunk having been mistaken for a cat. Or like a deadly cocktail of cleaning products having been mixed together. But like something burning.
Again.
Cursing under her breath, Gina Charis clutched at the towel wrapped around her body toga-style and raced down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Grandma!”
No answer.
“Grandma!” She waved the smoke away from her eyes. She’d forgotten to unplug the stove again. Dammit. Racing as fast as she could down the hall and through the living room, she smacked hips and shoulders into dainty tables littered with ceramic critters, and shelves loaded with candlesticks and Christmas figurines.
Around the corner she dashed, through a dining room housing a dining set that took up way too much room for her to navigate in a hurry, and that was without a grey cloud blinding her. Choking on smoke, she tripped, lurched and stumbled forward.
Finally, she made it into the kitchen in one piece, though slightly battered and bruised.
An angry blaze flared from a soup pot on the stove.
The guilty party was nowhere to be found.
Gina grabbed the fire extinguisher off the counter—it was always close at hand—and doused the flames. Once she was sure the fire was truly out for good, she padded barefoot through the house, calling for her grandmother.
Not in the family room, in her usual spot on the couch. But her grandmother’s favorite television show still blared from the old set sitting in the corner.
Not in the basement.
Or garage.
Or in her bedroom.
She checked the front door. Unlocked.
Dammit. Not again!
Her search had taken her almost full circle, to the hallway. The bathroom and her bedroom were just around the corner, so Gina grabbed the first bit of clothes she could find, jumped into them—literally—and raced outside into the early evening.
Right. Left. No sign of Grandma.
She jogged around the perim
eter of the house, shouting “Grandma!” at the top of her lungs.
No response.
She stood in the middle of the enormous backyard, looking between lilac shrubs ablaze in purple petals, toward the property line. Beyond the wooden fence was a corn field, thankfully only neck-high with corn. No Grandma. She turned left, searching the neighbor’s backyard, which sloped down to a creek on the far side. No Grandma. Still, because her grandma tended to head that way when she got out, Gina jogged around the side of the neighbor’s house, toward a pair of French doors.
She stopped.
Her grandmother was inside the neighbor’s house, dressed in a getup that would get a girl arrested for indecent exposure. And she was surrounded by four, no make that five, men. She wore quite the naughty smile on her face.
“Oh, Grandma. Some seductress you are.”
Little did the sweet old lady realize that the whole vixen look she had going on was ruined by the pink plastic rollers in her wispy hair and sloppily applied makeup. Blue eye shadow smudged up to her eyebrows. Red lipstick smeared all around her mouth. Glaring pink rouge circles on her cheeks added to her clownish appearance. Still, she was batting nonexistent eyelashes, pursing lips and swaying hips like a twenty year old.
Gina had to smile.
The guys gathered around her grandmother were all grinning at her good-naturedly. One offered her a seat on the couch. Another brought her a glass of something. Grandma gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“You go, girl,” Gina whispered, chuckling.
It was such a shame to spoil her grandma’s fun. Yet, on the other hand, Gina had to make sure her vivacious little grandma—with a thing for younger men, it seemed—wouldn’t wander off again.
Reluctantly, she knocked.
Six sets of eyes snapped to her.
Her grandma’s smile widened.