A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

He hung over her looking down at her watching her reactions as he thrust into her body, harder now. Something inside her tightened, an unbearably sweet pain of needing keening through her blood, thrumming with the promise of release.

  “Anton,” she whispered. “My dearest sweetest—” He stopped her words with his mouth. A kiss of bliss. Of demand. Of giving. Her inner muscles tightened around him, drawing him deeper, clenching around him, until she thought she might go mad with sheer sensual torture.

  He groaned into her mouth.

  She stroked her tongue over his pointed teeth, loving the sharp sensation but wanting... wanting a deeper connection. Without knowing why, she searched within herself, following a silvery pathway she had never seen before, like a country lane twisting and winding through velvety green. Something dark and terrifyingly black rose up in front of her. A barrier she reached out to touch, not with fingers but tendrils of spun moonlight.

  They turned back on themselves and fear choked her throat. A fear of the darkness she had lived with all her life. No more. She forced those tendrils to reach out a quick darting flick of a touch. Not flat, this inky darkness, but razor-edged and twisted. Pain. So much pain. The tendrils shivered with the agony transmitted from their brush with this dreadful barrier. In their wake they left trails of silver sparks.

  And where the sparks fell, the dark shrank back.

  “Must not see.”

  In her mind, Anton’s agonized voice.

  He did not want her intrusion.

  “See what?” she whispered back along the tendrils, her inner voice echoing strangely.

  “Evil,” returned the voice. “Darkness.”

  Too late for the darkness part. Instinctively, she reached out again, heard him groan, as his body drove into hers and the fragile silver tendrils burrowed through the killing dark, separating it strand by barbed strand until they cradled his dark beating heart.

  Shock opened her eyes to discover Anton above her, his eyes glowing red, his expression tortured.

  “What have you done,” he rasped. “You make me want. I cannot....” His lips drew back from his fangs and he struck at her throat.

  What had she done?

  Pain and darkness roiled through her in a wave.

  “Drink,” his voice said dark and seductive. Something pressed against her lips. “Take.”

  She sucked. Swallowed a drop of hot liquid, consumed it as it consumed her.

  Hot. Blissful heat. Searing heat. Surging through her veins. Bliss. So much bliss. And pain

  The darkness shattered in fountains of silver sparks. She shot skywards. So good. So amazingly wonderful. And then a fall.

  Dark. Oblivion.

  A groan. His. Anton opened his eyes. Became aware of the small form at his side. So still.

  And remembered. He rose up on one elbow pushed her hair aside and found his worst nightmare. Two puncture wounds leaking blood. He laved them with his tongue, clotting the flow of blood. He touched her cheek. Her forehead. Her skin was cold. Icy. Her lips fading from pink to blue at the edges.

  And then he saw his wrist. Two punctures wounds there too. His heart thundered wildly. He put a hand to her breast and felt... only the beating of his own heart.

  In that second he knew what he’d done.

  Horrified he flung himself out of bed, rang the bell, pulled on his dressing gown.

  He made to stride from the room, to hide from his shame, his heartbreak and found he could not. Instead he knelt beside the bed and took her hand in his. “Sybil.” He pressed his lips to icy flesh. “May the gods curse me.”

  The coldness he’d always used as a shield refused his summons. Loss slashed at him, seared him. He rested his forehead on the sheets beside their joined hands and accepted the pain as his due.

  He’d lost control, let desire overwhelm him, and now she was dead.

  “Lord,” Mifflin whispered. “You rang?”

  “Fetch Healer Ester,” he mumbled. He lifted his head, stared down at the delicate creature laying on his bed. “Quickly.”

  Mifflin turned to run and almost crashed into Ester. He stepped back and stood wringing his hands.

  “Go, Mifflin,” Anton said. “There is nothing you can do.”

  “Anton,” Ester said. “What is wrong?”

  “She is dying.”

  “Let me see.”

  He forced himself to stand up, to move aside. “I killed her. I wasn’t going to do it. I planned to smuggle her out of the Citadel. Something happened. I lost control.”

  Ester chafed her cold hands. Felt for a pulse, pressed her ear to her chest, then lifted her head to look at him with sorrow-filled eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “There has to be something you can do?”

  “Nothing.” She looked distraught. “It was why I came. Anton, vampire blood is poison to the Fae.”

  Fury ran hot in his veins. “Why did you say nothing of this before?” He pounded a fist against the nearest wall.

  “I did not see it before. It is a footnote in a discussion about things poisonous to vampires. I stumbled on it trying to discover why Fae are so dangerous to vampires. It turns out that I was looking in the wrong direction.”

  He let go the breath he had not realized he’d been holding. Perhaps he was breathing for the first time since he awoke. He did not want to breathe. He collapsed on the nearest chair, buried his head in his hands. “She was so beautiful. So bright. So bloody good. Why? She did not deserve this.” He lashed out and a lamp crashed to the floor. He picked up the goblet standing beside it and flung it at the wall.

  “Anton, stop. It won’t help.”

  “I killed her. I killed my mate. Let them put me down like a dog.”

  “If she was your mate, you need to let her go, Anton. In the way of our forebears.”

  Every instinct rebelled against it. “She’s mine.”

  “She belongs with the gods now. You have to break the bond and let her go to them.”

  The thought of the loss of even that fragile connection sent him sliding to the floor to kneel beside the bed, to take her hand. “Not yet.” He stroked her cold fingers. “Not yet.”

  “You must. For her sake. You cannot be so cruel as to let her rot in limbo.”

  No he could not. “How long? How long can I have?”

  Ester shook her head. “Anton. You cannot bargain with the gods.”

  “When have the gods ever listened to our Race. I just want to know how long I have before....”

  “An hour. Two at the most. Nothing is certain. The longer you wait the harder it will be.” She frowned, paced around the bed. “You should be feeling the rot already. Be sick with it. It is the way.”

  She was right. The other half of a bond always felt the vile onset of death. It was what made the separation possible. “I feel nothing. The bond was not accepted.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  Vlad strode in, his face concerned. “Paris came to find me. He said you were smashing things up in here and your servant was crying.”

  Nausea swept through him, his head spun. He forced himself to speak the words. “The turning did not work.”

  Vlad’s gaze flew to the bed. “It wasn’t one of the choices. You drank of her?”

  Anton nodded. “And she of me. It killed her.”

  Vlad put his hands on his shoulders. Gazed into his face. “You look different.”

  Ester stepped closer, peered into his face. “Your eyes, they have gone from dark brown to gold.”

  Anton ignored them staring at Sybil, knowing what he had to do and dreading it. To cut the bond in his mind, even if they had never fully joined... and yet.... “I can feel her. And there is something new, something fine and silvery twisted around the bond.”

  “Then it is imperative that you cut her free.” Ester said. “Before the link becomes too strong and her soul is condemned to wander for ever.”

  He closed his eyes, attempted to part the strands. They were stronger than steel and shi
fted avoided his attempt to slice them through. He cursed. “I can’t do it.”

  “You must,” Ester said.

  “I’m trying, but they slither out of my grasp.”

  “She’s Fae,” Vlad said. “We know nothing about how they mate with other races.” He put a hand on Anton’s shoulder. “I really am sorry, Anton. I thought,” he shook his head. “I left you together hoping the gods would be kind. After what you did for Ester, you deserve better.”

  Anton stared at his boyhood friend. “But what I did after, Vlad. For your uncle. So much blood. So much death.”

  “It was your duty.”

  “It was wrong. And the gods know it.”

  “Perhaps there is a cure,” Ester said. “In one of the other books.” She didn’t look hopeful.

  “Go,” Vlad said. “Discover what you can. Take my ring as a token.” He eased off his finger. “The Librarian won’t dare say no.”

  Ester hurried out.

  Vlad grasped Anton’s upper arm. “Come away. There is nothing we can do here until Ester returns. Let me fix you a brandy.”

  Unwillingly Anton went with his King, but he refused to allow him to close the door. He sat where he could see her. It was all he had.

  The clock on the mantel ticked away the minutes. Vlad sipped at his drink. Anton put his aside. He could not bear the smell of it. His gaze kept returning to the small lifeless form on the bed. In the silence, he could feel something. Like an odd beat in his heart. A rapid flutter.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. Everything seemed normal. Too normal given what had happened. He wanted to bleed, not sit here quaffing fine old brandy.

  But the flutter would not be stilled. If anything it felt stronger. More insistent. He looked within, to see if he could track down the source of the annoyance and— He shot to his feet.

  Nothing inside him looked right. His heart was no longer shielded by cold darkness but bare and vulnerable and resting on a bed of silver cobwebs.

  Vlad rose. “What is it? You’ve gone pale. Sit down, man. Don’t do anything rash until Ester returns.”

  Those cobwebs were pulsing to the rhythm he could hear in his mind. But even as he watched the silver was getting less bright somehow. One or two of the strands fell away, into a familiar and encroaching cold darkness.

  He grabbed his head. “I don’t know what to do. It is me. I am killing her.”

  “She’s already dead,” Vlad said, his voice harsh.

  Anton rushed into the bedroom, threaded her fingers in his. “What do I do?” he asked desperately looking at her face. “What do I do? Sybil. Darling. My dearest love. I wanted to die for you. I love you so much. Tell me what to do.”

  Her eyelids fluttered? Her fingers twitched in his grasp? They had. He was sure of it. Almost sure.

  “Sybil,” he said. His heart pounded. His mouth dried. And the flutter became a drumbeat. “Sybil, please. Wake up.” He chaffed her hands in his palms. Felt them warm. Or was he simply wishful thinking. “Sybil.”

  She breathed in with a gasp. Her eyes drifted open. “Oh,” she said, frowning. “I am here.”

  Did she sound....disappointed? “Where else would you be?”

  “There was a great hall. Pink marble. Columns to the sky. And a man in golden armour.” The furrow in her brow deepened as if she was having trouble remembering. “He was an archer. A warrior. He told me he was my grandfather of many centuries distant.” She shook her head. “He wanted me to stay with him. It was so lovely there. So light. So calm.” She grasped his hand. “The memories are dimming.”

  He scowled in an effort to hide the hurt he felt at her regret. “Why did you come back?”

  A sudden smile lit her face. “You said the words.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  “You said you loved me,” she said. “Oh Anton, I do love you so much.”

  He buried his face in her neck and wept.

  At the sound of Vlad drawing closer, he pulled himself together and sat up.

  Wonder filled his King’s face. “She came back to you.”

  “She did.” He gazed into her lovely grey eyes and saw they had turned a darker shade. Like thunder clouds as if they had absorbed some of his darkness. Fear clutched at his heart. “Are you sorry?”

  “Not one bit.” She touched her tongue to her canines and looked up sadly. “It didn’t work.”

  “You are not Vampire?” Vlad said over his shoulder. “No, I can see you are not. Smell you are not, but you are bonded to Anton. That I can tell from your scent. Both of you.”

  Yes, he was bonded. Joy filled him. “But Vlad, what of the Cabinet’s edict?”

  Vlad stroked his chin. “No King may part a bonded pair. It is against our rules.” He tilted his head. “None would dare argue that fact.”

  Relief rushed through him. “You are safe,” he murmured. He bent over and kissed her lips, ravaged them.

  The bedroom door closed softly. Vlad leaving.

  “I thought I’d lost you.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “Gods, I thought I was going to live knowing I’d killed you.”

  “Apparently, all you had to do was admit you loved me,” she said in a mock grumble.

  “That’s a pretty big step for a fellow who though he could never love anyone.” He kissed her lips. “Gods, how I love you.”

  “I can feel it,” she whispered. “The love. It is warm and lovely inside me.”

  He nodded. “I feel yours in return, bringing incredible light into my darkness. Can you bear it do you think? The darkness of what I have done?”

  “We all do things we regret. You followed the laws of your kind, obeyed your King, did your duty.”

  The darkness inside him shrank back. Defeated. “Will you marry me?”

  “I will, my darling. Oh, yes, I will.”

  Epilogue

  A WEEK LATER a knock on the drawing room door of their new townhouse, had Sybil leaping from Anton’s lap, where he had been reminding her just how addictive his kisses could be. As she tumbled onto the sofa seat at his side, she met the amused gaze of King Vlad.

  “His Majesty, King Vlad of Mondavia,” Mifflin announced proudly, then winced as he realized the King had dodged around him and was already striding into the middle of the room.

  “Thank you, Mifflin,” Anton said, his eyes sparkling gold with suppressed laughter.

  Sybil started to rise to her feet, but remained where she was at a quick impatient gesture from the King.

  “Brandy?” Anton asked.

  “I cannot remain long,” Vlad said. “I have a meeting at Whitehall.” He glance around. “I see you are settling in well.”

  “It was kind of you to give us the townhouse for a wedding gift,” Sybil said.

  Anton grinned. “Especially since it was furnished. All it needed was a new bed. I highly recommend Trent and Wellcome should you be looking for furniture. Lord Fen, the owner, is an artist. And very obliging about keeping odd hours.”

  “I will keep it in mind.” Vlad frowned. “I have to tell you something before you hear the news elsewhere. Prince David is dead.”

  Sybil felt Anton’s shock. And his sorrow. “How?”

  “Ledstone poison.”

  “He took his own life?” Anton asked, clearly shocked.

  The King sank into a chair. “We are not sure.”

  “But how else....”

  Vlad winced, looking at Sybil. “There is talk of magic. I don’t suppose you have managed to find out more about what Fae can and cannot do? We need help against this Mage.”

  Anton laced his fingers with hers. “We are on our honeymoon, Vlad, or have you forgotten.”

  They had married quietly two days after they had bonded. The marriage lines had been Mondavian, not British, and the ceremony had involved tattoos for Anton and a vow to remain faithful to the end of time in an ancient language Anton had translated. Only the Shadow Guards had been present, because while they were definitely bonded, Sybil had definitely no
t become Vampire. They were still not sure exactly what it meant or why she had survived ingesting Anton’s blood. She was looking into that too, with Ester’s help.

  “I had not forgotten,” Vlad said. “But if Vilhelm really is working with a Mage, we are at a serious disadvantage.’

  Sybil shook her head at Anton. “He is teasing you, your Majesty. Healer Ester and I meet every day in the Library. So far we have found nothing helpful.”

  Vlad looked frustrated. “You will let me know the moment you learn anything. No matter how small.”

  “If we do,” she agreed. She did not hold out much hope. So much had been destroyed when magic had been banned.

  “There is something else,” Vlad said. “The Cabinet would like you to resume your position as King’s Blade.”

  Cold brushed along her skin. She patted Anton’s hand, soothing his emotions.

  “No,” Anton said. “I will serve in the Shadow Guard as is my duty, but I cannot return to what I was before. Sybil feels everything I think or do. I already put her in enough danger when we bonded.”

  Vlad did not look surprised. “Then come up with an alternative.” He looked thoughtful. “Something along the lines the British use. Judges. Juries. That sort of thing. Suitable punishments. It is time we moved into the nineteenth century.”

  Anton rose to his feet and bowed. “It will be as you command, my liege.”

  Vlad pulled him in for a bear hug. “Go with the gods, Anton.” He turned and bowed to Sybil. “And you too, my lady. I am pleased to see my old friend so happy.” He strode out.

  “He is young for such a heavy responsibility,” Sybil said looking after him.

  “He will do well.” He sounded doubtful.

  “What troubles you, husband.”

  He pulled her close. “I adore it when you call me husband.” He kissed her lips.

  “I adore it when you kiss me,” she murmured. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I gather there is a move afoot to find him a princess to wed. I can only hope he will be as happy as we are.”

  She rose up on her toes and kissed him back. “Me too.”

  Anton’s fangs lengthened. A ripple of pleasure ran down her spine at the demonstration that he was not entirely in control. She heard the thundering beat of his heart deep within her when he kissed her again, more deeply.