Temptation at Twilight: Lords of Pleasure

by Jo Carlisle

  Hard-as-nails Valkyrie bitches, every last one, which she had no problem calling them to their pretty faces. With love.

  “Taryn!”

  The young man eased smoothly into her bedroom from the hallway, where he’d no doubt been anticipating her waking up and calling on him. Kass’s personal body slave lived to serve her, which frequently included pounding his big cock into her pussy until she screamed the palace down.

  Valkyries had a very healthy sex drive. Kass and her sisters were no exception.

  Taryn’s attentiveness, not to mention the eager member jutting proudly from between his thighs, brought a smile to her lips. The man did love his position. So to speak.

  “Yes, mistress?”

  She took a moment to appreciate his beauty. The slave stood patiently with his feet spread shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back. His body was long and muscled from his daily fitness regimen, so different from the starved whore she’d taken in four years ago. Straight hair as black as a raven’s wing spilled just to his collarbone, framing a face saved from being too pretty by the scar running from his left temple across his cheek, stopping an inch from the corner of his mouth.

  A crazy john’s attempt to filet the gorgeous young man, the last mistake the slimy bastard had ever made.

  That went a long way in explaining the devotion shining from his soulful brown eyes. The man didn’t give a damn that his mistress was a tough, heartless warrior. To him, she was a goddess, and he told her so on a daily basis. They shared a bond of sexual passion and an odd friendship for a rent boy–turned-slave and his mistress.

  “Has my armor been cleaned?” she asked. “You know how I hate blood stains.”

  “This morning, mistress.”

  “And my sword?”

  “Polished to a shine, of course.”

  She gave a humph of satisfaction. “Then come here, pet,” she said, stretching like a lazy cat. “Give me a proper wake-up call.”

  “My pleasure, as always.”

  Watching him stride for the bed completely naked, wearing that hungry look on his face, had yet to get old. Maybe that was because she’d lived for about two thousand years and had only known him for a fraction of that time, but she’d enjoy his delectable body while the shine was still on the penny.

  He climbed onto the bed and stalked her on all fours, a half smile on his full lips. She spread her legs, inviting him in. He knew what she liked and was glad to give it. Settling between her thighs, he combed his fingers through the dusky patch of curls and then parted the delicate folds to better reach the nub waiting there.

  His tongue flicked out, tasting, and she buried a hand in his silky hair, urging him to feast. He didn’t disappoint. After teasing the little clit for another minute, sending delightful shocks through her womb, he began to nibble. First the tender nub and then downward, to lave her slit. A few more swipes and she tugged at his head.

  “Up here now,” she said hoarsely. “I need you.”

  His smoldering eyes met hers. “As you wish.”

  Crawling up, he moved over her, placing the head of his cock at her entrance. He pushed into her heat ever so slowly, causing her to shudder with pleasure. When he was fully seated his hips began to pump, sliding deep, then retreating. Then repeating the process again. And again. If there was anything in eternity to compare with a man’s hard body claiming hers, she couldn’t name it.

  The heat built, that wonderful crescendo that swelled in time to their music, carrying her higher. Her nails raked his back, just a bit of pain to remind him who was truly in charge. He shivered and groaned in response, hips snapping furiously now. Plunging into her welcoming channel with relish.

  “Oh! Gods, yes!” she shouted.

  “Can’t stop, mistress!”

  “Come for me!”

  She didn’t have to repeat the order. His big body went as taut as a bow string and he buried himself fully, shouting his ecstasy. His release filled her, and she followed him over the edge, clinging to him, riding the waves. When at last they were satiated, he placed his customary kiss on her cheek, a chaste ritual considering the intimacy they shared daily. But only a Valkyrie’s mate was allowed the deep, mouth-to-mouth kiss of forever love.

  A love her fierce kind had little hope of ever finding.

  Withdrawing from her, Taryn stretched out at her side. “Why the frown, mistress? Weren’t you pleased?”

  “Oh, hush, you.” She slapped playfully at his muscular arm. “You were fabulous, as always. I guess I’m just a little . . . I don’t know how to describe it, really.”

  “Bored?”

  She thought about that. “No, not exactly. There’s always plenty to do, what with the never-ending politics and backstabbing among the gods.”

  “Hmm. Sad?” he said softly, tracing her cheek.

  Startled, she met his gaze. “Me? I seem sad to you?”

  “Yes, mistress. If you don’t mind my saying so, you’ve sort of been in a funk lately.” He paused uncertainly.

  “Go on, Taryn.”

  “Well, I overheard your sisters talking about you. Not in a bad way,” he hastened to add. “They’re worried. They think you need a new challenge to bring the smile back to your lovely face.”

  “What kind of challenge?” Knowing her sisters, it would be sure to piss her off.

  “They were discussing how long it’s been since a worthy male warrior has been brought to Valhalla to appease the gods. The general consensus was that you should escort the next one.”

  Her brow furrowed. “That’s not much of a challenge at all. What are they up to?” she mused aloud.

  “I don’t know, but from their laughter, there did seem to be more to it that I didn’t catch,” he said darkly. “I don’t like it.”

  She had to smile. “Loyal Taryn. What would I do without you?” Kissing his forehead, she scooted from the bed. “They live to annoy me, and each other, so I’m positive it’s nothing to worry about. What’s the harm in taking a fallen warrior to serve the gods? It’s an honor for the male, and a task I’ve done thousands of times. It’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, mistress.” But he didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  “Get cleaned up and see if you can help in the gardens today,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “And stop fretting.”

  “Yes, mistress.” With a sigh, he headed for the door.

  Turning, she padded into the master bath and paused in indecision. Normally she’d start her day—after Taryn’s expert attentions—with a nice long soak in the huge marble tub, up to her chin in bubbles, but a sense of disquiet crept into her bones. This was a new feeling, totally different from the malaise that had plagued her lately.

  There was suddenly a shift in the atmosphere. A heaviness, like black clouds gathering before a storm. The tempest was coming, but she wouldn’t be able to move from its path, nor could she run. Not that a Valkyrie would run from any threat, but this was an unknown. Something bigger than herself, and for once she was afraid.

  Laughing nervously, she turned on the water in the shower, letting it heat. Then she jumped in and took care of washing quickly when she would rather have lingered. And avoided the storm.

  But avoidance wasn’t in her nature, no matter the threat. The quicker she got on with her day, the quicker the problem would be revealed. She doubted that it would be half as scary as her fanciful imagination was making it out to be.

  After drying her long hair, she fixed it in a braid that hung down her back. In the bedroom, she found laid out on the bed her black pants, short-sleeved black T-shirt, and boots. Beside those was her silver breastplate, a lightweight, deceptively strong piece of armor enchanted so that no weapon could breach it. And beside that, her belt and sword in its scabbard.

  It appeared someone else sensed that today wouldn’t be a lazy one for Kass.

  She pulled on her pants, socks, and boots. Then her shirt. The belt with the sword came next, the armor last. She had dre
ssed this way more times than she could count. The process came easily.

  Glancing in the mirror, she was satisfied that she represented her kind well. Tall, though not as tall as her two eldest sisters, and strong. Not much was capable of defeating a Valkyrie.

  She didn’t care to meet an exception. Not today.

  Striding into the corridor, she set out to find someone to tell her what the hell was going on. Her search ended in the dining room, where five beautiful women were chatting animatedly and munching on the usual breakfast fare of muffins, Danish, bacon, eggs, and toast. One by one, her sisters noted her arrival and conversation ground to a halt.

  Serena, the eldest, arched an eyebrow at Kass’s battle dress. “My, you’re awfully sharp this morning.”

  “Aren’t I supposed to be?” Placing a hand on the hilt of her sword, she scowled in annoyance. “This is how I always look when I fight—or when I escort a warrior to Valhalla.”

  The five hellions exchanged glances around the table.

  Millicent said grumpily, “That slave of yours tells you everything. Someone needs to take him in hand.”

  “Touch a hair on Taryn’s head and I’ll scalp yours,” Kass promised. “And strangle you with it.”

  “Anyway, it is your turn to escort a worthy warrior,” Serena said, interceding before the argument could get warmed up. “Besides, the trip will do you a world of good.”

  Kass advanced into the room. “I smell five rats. Since when do you all sit around worrying over what’s good for me or what isn’t?” Silence. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  Serena stood and patted her arm. “Nothing, dearest, other than the name of the male and his location. His name is Luc Fontaine and he’ll meet his end very soon—this morning, in fact. Odin wants him badly. Something about being cheated out of getting the warrior hundreds of years ago, and now he’ll have his due. Will you escort Lord Fontaine?”

  “Lord? He’s vampire?” Kass asked in confusion.

  “That’s right.”

  “But . . . Odin doesn’t take vampires! At least he never has before.” She puzzled over that one. The temperamental god had never believed vampires worthy of his hallowed halls. Why this one? Then she shrugged. “I’ll take him.”

  “You give your word as a Valkyrie?”

  A chill of dread seeped into her spine, though she couldn’t say why. What difference could this simple task make? What game was her sister playing? To refuse would blight her name, and another sister would be assigned to the task anyway.

  “I give my word.”

  And if she broke it, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

  So she’d follow through. It was that simple.

  Lifting his chin, Luc Fontaine inhaled as his horse walked at a sedate pace.

  He loved riding. Always had, even as a young boy in the late seventeenth century, years before he and his brothers had reached full vampire maturity. He probably should’ve stuck around the mansion, what with his eldest brother Aldric gone on business and the middle one, Soren, under the thumb of that skanky voodoo witch he’d brought home. Leila Doucet. Just thinking her name made his skin crawl. There was something seriously wrong with that female.

  But the lure of a relaxing ride, of getting away from their pleasure resort for a bit, had called to him. He had to laugh a little at the idea. What sane vampire actually looked forward to escaping from a constant feast of all the sex and blood he wanted? What was this restless longing in his soul, this urge to look for something he couldn’t name?

  He shook his head at his own oddity. Whatever. He wouldn’t be gone long.

  The pungent aroma of the forest flooded his senses. Earth, pine, water—and animal. Warm, pulsing blood. Normally the scent would call to him, make his fangs itch, but something was off. The birds had stopped singing. Nothing moved.

  Except a telltale footstep, not quite muffled in the undergrowth. A creature walked here. Something very close . . . and fucking large. He drew his mount to a halt. Listened.

  He felt a shift in the air. More footsteps crunched in the fallen leaves behind his shoulder. Coming closer. Shit. What the hell was it? The horse quivered, straining at the bit, eager to be gone. Probably a good idea.

  “All right, boy. Let’s go.” He lifted the reins.

  The staggering blow caught him square in the chest, sending him flying from the saddle as the horse squealed in fright. He landed hard on his back and lay stunned for a moment, wondering what had happened, listening to the pounding hooves of his mount fade away.

  He rolled painfully to his hands and knees, then stilled, heart in his throat. Right in front of his hands were two paws the size of footballs. Slowly, his eyes crept upward, taking in the furred, enormous shape of the thing towering over him.

  More than nine feet tall, it stood erect on two strong hind legs. The broad torso expanded into a thick chest and arms with claws like rapiers on the end of its fingers.

  And its face.

  Yellow, narrowed wide-set eyes glowed down on him with malice. Dark fur surrounded the face and the long black muzzle, which was full of teeth as long as steak knives.

  A werewolf. Not a shifter changed into his full wolf, but a werewolf in half-form, which was on average three feet taller than a man and a third again as broad. The deadliest creature on two legs.

  “Should’ve gone for the horse,” it growled. “But you’ll fill my belly well enough, vampire.”

  Luc’s brain short-circuited. On his knees, he froze, mouth open, unable to utter a sound. The werewolf bent, grabbed him firmly by the arms, and lifted him clear off the ground. Rational thought fled Luc. He stared at the muzzle of the beast in mute terror, shaking his head. Fetid breath fanned inches from his face, the beast’s canines gleaming in the darkness.

  Mentally he reached out, his silent cry slicing through time and distance.

  No! Oh, gods, help me—

  The wolf’s huge jaws clamped down where his neck and shoulder met, crushing bone and muscle. The thing shook him like a rag doll. A warm rush of blood splattered his clothing and face, and he was slammed to the ground. On his back, he could only gape in stark horror as the beast crouched over him, lowering its great head to feast on his flesh.

  Sharp teeth and claws ripped into his throat and chest, and suddenly his brain shut down. Blessedly, he felt nothing more. A strange quiet enveloped him, and he floated outside himself, disembodied, no longer a part of the pain. Oblivion was the only defense left to a man being eaten alive.

  Before the darkness took him, he saw an angel. Over the wolf’s shoulder, the woman appeared from nowhere. She was tall and strong, with thick hair the color of dark honey pulled back into a braid. A great sword was gripped in one hand, and with a fierce expression on her angular face, she swung at the beast while emitting a harsh battle cry, sending the beast’s head flying.

  She moved to squat beside Luc, and she stared at him with something like awe. “Easy, Luc. You’re going to be all right.” A soft hand stroked his brow.

  But it was too late for him. He didn’t even have the voice to whisper his thanks to her.

  Aldric. Soren. I’m so sorry.

  Blackness closed over his head, and he knew nothing more.

  No! Oh, gods, help me—

  The man’s terrified cry exploded in Kassandra’s brain, taking her breath away. Stumbling, she put out a hand and steadied herself against a tree. Got her bearings.

  She’d traveled south, teleporting to a wooded area on a resort located on the outer edge of New Orleans. She’d known she was getting close, had sensed someone else nearby. But she’d expected to find the male dead already, not to arrive as the poor bastard was being attacked and meeting his prophesied end.

  Before she thought it through, she raced toward the sounds of a struggle, dodging brush and fallen limbs. As she reached a small clearing, the sight ahead filled her with horror. The biggest werewolf she’d ever seen was crouched over his victim, claws and teeth shredding s
kin. Ripping at the man, shaking him as though he weighed nothing. Was nothing but food.

  It wasn’t her fight. She had a job to do. Yet for some reason, her vision was awash in red—the crimson of rage. The beast was merely doing what it must to survive, but all that mattered to her was the man pinned to the ground, limbs flailing helplessly against one so much stronger.

  Suffering a hideous death.

  A loud war cry erupted from the depths of her soul, and before she considered the consequences, she launched herself across the space separating her from the target. The werewolf never saw the blade coming as she swung it over her head, cutting downward in a graceful arc. Its head went flying and the big body slumped to the side. Kicking it aside, she dropped her sword, crouched over the vampire—and gasped.

  By the gods above, he was beautiful. An angel. A shiny cap of shaggy blond hair fell around a face that belonged on a cover model. Big blue eyes stared up at her in shock as he struggled to breathe. Beneath the blood and the stench of death, his sweet, natural scent called to her. Imprinted on her senses as no other man’s smell ever had.

  “Easy, Luc. You’re going to be all right.” Stroking his brow, she watched as his eyes fluttered closed. Desperation squeezed her heart. Shit—what was she going to do?

  Indeed, very little could defeat a Valkyrie. Except finding the one special man she’d searched for these past two millennia.

  And learning she was sworn to deliver that man—her mate—to his gilded prison upon his death.