by S. A. Ravel
Ishaiq laughed. “If that’s what you want, Abella, we can fill the Skyhall with our young.”
She laughed as he swept her into his arms and carried her to one of the backless lounging couches in the room. “Is that possible? A human carrying an Aikalah?”
“It isn’t common,” he said. “But neither are you.”
That night, Abella slept in Ishaiq’s bed. She lay in his arms as he stroked her hair and whispered into her mind until he drifted to sleep. She watched the peace that settled over his face, knowing that it would be there every day now that they were mated. Knowing that, when sleep finally took her too, she would have the same blissful expression.
Would you like the next Dreamkeeper new release romance FREE? Click the image to be placed on our list.
Warrior Enflamed: Archan’s of Ailaut #2, will launch FREE for one day only in Feb. Sign up to get access tot he free day notification.
ARCHAN’S OF AILAUT #2
A sultry lounge singer in debt to the mob… A winged warrior determined to claim his Muse…
In Nevhana, a dark underground rules the entertainment district. Perrine, the French Creole owner of Club Parodie, makes a deal with an enforcer to avoid paying her debt to the mob… with her flesh.
But her deal means betraying the powerful Archan Davingelo, who claims she is the key to unlocking his power- power he must access to protect the innocents he has taken under his wing.
He will seduce her to his will- he will kill to keep her in his power.
But the Mob has other ideas. Perrine owes them a debt- and now it’s time to pay up, or pay the price.
A steamy science fiction fantasy romance for readers who enjoy alpha alien warriors, a curvy heroine willing to play with the Bad Boys to get what she wants, a Ride or Die relationship with action adventure leaping off the pages. Book 2 in the Starr Huntress Archan’s of Ailaut series. Book 1 is Warrior Awakening.
CHAPTER ONE
Perrine, the most beautiful woman in Nevhana, arched her back as she flipped hair over her shoulder, long waves providing the perfect ornament for her curvaceous frame. Her assistant, Jerica, adjusted the light sensors in the room until a dim, warm-glow suffused the air. She stood on the small stage in Club Parodie, facing an empty room that would soon fill with men and women looking for respite from the hum-drum reality of their lives. The wait staff dashed around the room setting silverware and straightening candles.
Nearly an hour had passed since the blazing Ailaut sun set over the horizon. Soon the people of the city—human and Aikalah—would be on the prowl for a good time. The veteran staff knew that Perrine demanded perfection for their customers. New staff got the message quickly, or found themselves beating the pavement again for a job. Even in paradise, people needed credits to fill their bellies.
Attention to detail was a vital step in making a good impression, and in the city of Nevhana, a good appearance was as valuable as money. Perrine’s shimmering bronze skin and perfectly manicured nails were designed for one purpose—advertisement. She looked a woman who liked to have a good time, and she was more than willing to share her knowledge… for a price.
She smiled, and snapped her fingers, a sound that rang out clearly through the quiet room. The rich purple and silver-accented walls glowed, tuxedo-clad bartenders came to attention. The staff gathered in front of the stage with its heavy velvet drapes and gleaming wood floors. Dancers sashayed out from the backstage area and joined Perrine on stage, automatically taking their places at her side as if they were about to do a show, the fantastic peacock feathers of sparkling costumes a foil for her slick, simple gown. Essa and Hila, Perrine’s star Aikalaan dancers, were decked in full costume and makeup, but several human dancers were still draped in their satin robes. She glanced at the face of the communicator on her wrist and made a mental note to have a conversation with the ones who weren’t ready.
But for the moment, Perrine had other things to deal with. Her eyes swept over the assembled group, smile unwavering. Every night before the doors opened, she gave a short speech to the staff and dancers, informing them of the evening’s VIPs, what wine and spirits to recommend if they valued their lives, and reminded them of their stake in the club’s success. The nightly pep talk was a tradition, and everyone knew they could speak to Perrine at any time if she wasn’t on the floor engaging customers. One must not disturb the show, after all—and the Mistress of the Club touring the floor was a show. A kiss here, a smile there, a breathy laugh or special look to ensure Monsieur So and So felt special—and spent more money to maintain the illusion of his unique manliness, especially when Perrine watched. And smiled. And flashed just a little thigh—accidentally, of course.
Before Perrine opened her mouth to speak, Jerica climbed onto the stage, her sweet face twisted with concern. “Narcisse is waiting for you in the office,” she whispered, as Perrine covered the mouth of the old-fashioned microphone with her hand.
Merde.
Perrine ran the variables in her head. The bouncers would open doors in ten minutes. Longer than the meeting in her office could wait. Her father never bothered her during business hours unless it was important.
She pulled Jerica into a side hug and smiled at her employees. “Pardon, my lovelies. The Big Man is present. Jerica, please take over the briefing.”
Jerica nodded, and almost managed to hide the confusion from her face. When the staff turned to wonder among themselves what Narcisse was doing on the property, Perrine leaned down and whispered in her assistant's ear. “Tell them to push the melon wine. I don’t wish a rotting case of it on my hands because the sommelier allowed himself to be swindled by a salesgirl with a pretty smile. Imbécile.”
“Will you be gone long?”
“You’ll be fine. Just give them the instructions I told you and the place will practically run itself. Oh, and tell them I’m not to be disturbed until they see me on the floor.”
In her dreams, maybe. Between fielding random questions, sending security after customers who caused trouble, and buttering up the ones who didn’t so they would come back, Perrine spent most of the night jogging around the club in five-inch heels. But the whole thing would take more than a couple of hours to come crashing down.
She left the stage and went up the back staircase that led to her office. Normally, she had an open-door policy with her employees. Her father taught her that most fires could be extinguished or avoided altogether by just giving a damn about people’s stories. But for once, she had to make an exception. She couldn't risk anyone overhearing whatever her father had come to say to her.
Later that night, Jerica would probably give a breathless account of how hectic those few hours had been. Perrine would praise the girl for coping so well, and bolster her confidence for the next time she was left in charge.
Perrine entered her office to find Narcisse standing behind her desk, running his thumb over a data pad. His lips moved as his eyes scanned the screen, but no sound came from them.
“Double checking my paperwork, Père?” she asked.
Her father’s eyes lit up when he looked at her, almost making her forget her concern for his visit. A dangerously charming man, he’d fooled her mother into marriage and his daughter into eternal adoration—no matter how much of a rogue he was. He moved out from behind the desk, arms wide open to pull her into a hug. His slicked-back Billy Dee curls brushed the edge of his suited shoulders. Her father always wore a suit with a properly coordinated tie, pocket square, and bar pin.
“There’s my baby,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Why are you always so cynical, bebe? Cannot an old man visit his only child?”
She smiled and allowed herself to melt into her father’s arms for just a second. When she was a little girl, the only place in the world Perrine felt safe was in those arms. Now, as a grown woman, she knew there was no such thing as a place safe from trouble. Not for Narcisse Despre, and certainly not for his only daughter.
“Of course, you can
, but you wouldn’t unless you had really good news or really bad news. So, which is it?”
Narcisse’s mouth turned down at the corners as the trademark smile slipped ever so slightly from his lips. That wasn’t a good sign. Throughout her childhood, he instilled one lesson, one outlook on life he felt the need to pass on. The world was a dark, swirling pool of people’s worst natures. It was true of Earth, or so her parents said, and it was just as true of Ailaut. The only way to survive was to use whatever gifts one had to stay above the tide.
Her father’s best gift had always been his smile, and he’d never been afraid to use it, even on his own daughter... unless he thought it wouldn’t work.
Narcisse slid his hands into his pockets, a gesture that seemed too meek for his usually dashing self. “The till’s a little dry this month, cher.”
That was it. No apologies, no excuses. She paid him the same courtesy. “Mine, too, Papa.”
If it had been her mother coming to tell Perrine money was tight, there would have been a long monologue about the Waking and how closing for repairs had put a dent in their savings, before the golden beauty charmed her way into a loan from her only daughter. But Papa just got straight to the point. Her parents were swindlers, but she’d done her fair share of… maneuvering in return over the years. None of them had perfectly clean hands.
Lots of money flowed through the island, most of it diverted to higher-profile businesses, the flashy ones near the dock and in the city heart. The Despre salon on Archan Ishaiq’s island depended on the locals as their customer base but after the Waking, most were too busy or too broke to book a haircut or facial. So, money was scarce. Perrine was insulated from the fallout as Club Parodie was in the heart of the downtown district on the mainland, but her mother was affected, so that affected the entire family.
Not Narcisse. He didn’t see the point in wasting time commiserating, when what they needed was a plan. Lans Madson knew about Club Parodie’s money troubles. As the enforcer for their district, he had to know everything that happened in it. The problem was he wouldn’t care.
Perrine took her father’s place behind her desk. She sat down in the leather seat and pressed a button on her desk. A hidden chamber slid forward from the side, revealing a bottle of whiskey.
Her father raised an eyebrow and set his hands on his hips. “Whiskey? Really, bebe?”
She shrugged as she poured two glasses of the perfectly chilled amber liquid. “Doesn’t go with the image, I know. That’s why I keep it here.” Kicking off her heels, she leaned back to put her bare feet up on the desk. If she was going to spend part of the evening coming up with a plan, she was for damn sure going to be comfortable while doing it.
Their suddenly low cash reserves weren’t the main problem. The Despres were survivors. “How long until Lans comes calling?”
“Five days. A week if that whore Luck opens her legs. Probably not long enough to borrow it from anywhere. A con could buy us more time…”
Perrine shook her head, full lips pursing. “What could we sell him on that he would care about?”
Narcisse shrugged and drank from his tumbler of whiskey. He must have been stalling for time, trying to soften the blow of whatever suggestion he’d come up with.
“I know a few boys who are new in town and hurting for cash,” he said. “They could drop in, nice and flashy like.”
“And cost us a few hundred credits in damage, not to mention scaring the hell out of my girls.” Perrine ran her fingers along her forehead to keep the approaching headache at bay. “Meanwhile, Madson will tell us to pay up anyway.” A staged robbery wasn’t the answer.
“We’ve gotta do something, bebe. A little birdie tells me that Lans is gonna call the balance in when the next payment is due.”
Perrine scowled. “C’est stupide. Who calls in the principal on the third payment? You miss out on all the juice.”
Lenders didn’t make their money off the loan repayment, they made it from the interest payments. In Nevhana’s underworld, the lenders set the terms, and they almost always only asked for that month’s juice to be covered. Almost nobody could afford to pay back the credits right away; they would have gone through more legal channels if they had that much free cash on hand. So, the lenders delayed payment and collected more interest as a bonus. Unless Perrine’s math was wrong—and her math was never wrong—they should have a minimum of eight payments left before Madson would even consider calling for a full repayment.
“I’ve known the man who told me for thirty years. He wouldn’t have come to me about it if he wasn’t sure.”
She soothed the sinking feeling in her gut with more liquor. It wasn’t ladylike to down a shot and then pour another, but there was no one here but Papa, and he was definitely no lady. “Why would he call early? That doesn’t make any sense. Unless he’s as hard up for money as everyone else… or there’s something he wants more than the money.”
Narcisse drained his glass and set it on the desk. He didn’t say anything, and that wasn’t a good sign. If Narcisse Despre didn’t have a plan, it meant that his read on the situation was the same as hers.
“You don’t know what he wants?” she asked.
Narcisse shook his head, avoiding her eyes. “Whatever it is, he’s not talking about it.”
Perrine rose and slid back into her heels, eyes trained on her father’s face. The bastard knew something, and it was bad—he couldn’t lie to her worth a damn when he felt guilty. But she knew well enough that he wouldn’t tell her anything until he was good and ready. Usually when shit had already splattered the walls. “Then do whatever it takes to make sure we don’t find out. I’ll work the floor and pop the books tonight. Maybe I can find the money somewhere.”
Even as she said it, Perrine knew the money wasn’t there. Somehow, they would have to come up with tens of thousands of credits in a week or face Lans Madson’s wrath.
Curvy single mom in trouble + elite alien warrior = a chance at the forever kind of love.
Three strikes and he's out. Zoriah's rebellious teenage son is in trouble again- this time, on purpose. She'll do anything to prevent her family breaking up, even allow her children to train for the alien Yadeshi army.
Why raise your sword if you have no mate or family? Elite alien warrior Benyon spends his time on Earth training humans in martial arts. He's come to love the three human children with warrior-spirits, and will do anything to prevent their unhappiness- even if it means going toe-to-toe with their mother- a woman who entices him with her fierce temper, lush beauty and strength of will to raise her children alone.
But she doesn't have to be alone- he won't allow it, not when he's made up his mind she should be his. All he has to do is convince her that alien warriors do it bigger, harder and badder. And when their family is threatened by a spurned would-be lover, Benyon seizes the opportunity to prove his worth. After all, there's more to him than just his big, blue... tattoo.
This is a steamy hot, science fiction romance for readers who love BBW and alpha male alien warriors. Perfect for your lunch break read.
CHAPTER ONE
“I’m afraid I must refer him to Social Intervention,” the school counselor said.
Zoriah stared at Ms. Beckett, employing the only useful technique she’d learned during her teenage years from the government parenting programs.
One breath, two. Three breaths, four. Think before you speak. Acts of aggression equaled weeks of remediation- more time under the watchful eye of an overburdened case worker. More opportunities for them to tear her family apart like children pulling wings from a trapped butterfly.
“This would be the third referral,” Zoriah said.
Her precious teenage son said nothing, arms folded, staring out of the window with every appearance of boredom. What was he looking at, besides his future dribbling down a drain? She wanted to smack him.
“Yes,” the counselor said, voice soft.
“If he’s taken from my care, will my housi
ng allotment be reduced?” Zoriah asked, knowing the answer. She knew what a third intervention meant. They all did. Focusing on practical matters helped prevent her from breaking down.
“That’s possible.”
They’d lucked out with the neighborhood they lived in now, one of the few remaining family sections where four-bedroom homes were still relatively new, the parks updated. With one less minor in her custody, her and the girls would be moved to a three bedroom, and three bedroom homes in low-tier sections in Omaha were... infamous.
Khalid stirred. “Ma. It’s all right, I’m not going to get referred.”
She struggled to remember the self-soothing visualization techniques. Ocean waves, the sun beating on her neck and the scent of brine and grilling fish. Peace and tranquility.
“Do you know something we don’t, Khalid?”
They had to teach low-tier women visualization techniques because the government wasn’t ever going to allow them the opportunity to improve their lives. Once a low-tier, always a low-tier. Someone had to do the cooking and cleaning for the rich- real human staff being a sign of their wealth. Everyone could afford a bot these days.
“I did it on purpose.”
Ocean waves morphed into a tsunami. “You what?”
He turned in the seat, faced her fully. “Look. I’m sixteen. Technically, I can drop out if I register for either a-”
“What have I told you about government sponsored trade school programs! It’s indentured servitude.”
His mouth tightened. “Stop yelling, Ma. Just listen, alright? I haven’t been skipping school to jack off.”
Zoriah winced. Did her son understand the... alternative... meanings of that phrase? She’d taken away his internet devices years ago to prevent learning such things.
“I’ve been training with the Yadeshi. At YETI.” He paused. “Yadeshi Earth Training-”