BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Unforgettable Billionaires: The Complete Collection Boxed Set 1-12 (Young Adult Rich Alpha Male Billionaire Romance) (Alpha Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)

by Violet Walker

  For someone still wrestling with the mere concept of demons, the immensity of this unknown society was overwhelming for Elizabeth. It didn't help that with Luthias tied up with lordly duties, she was being handed between tutors and handmaidens all trying to prepare her for the expectations of being Lord Cennasaí's potential woman, though none seemed to know what to think of her. Able only to see him in passing the first few weeks, she wasn't all that sure what to think, either.

  The castle itself was beautiful. Built directly into the mountainside, the stone towers were a testament to true gothic architecture, ornately detailed from every angle. Haunting statues littered the grounds, yet the palace gardens were serene in spite of them, saturated with lilies and roses of all shades. Even so, Elizabeth found the most beautiful place of all was the shoreline, which lay just a short walk outside the castle grounds. She spent a great deal of time there, often with Prince Kieran, who took every opportunity he could to avoid business at the palace. It was easy to begin to see him as a father, of sorts. He was kind, always looking out for her—it was more a father than she had ever known, at least.

  Prince Avery was far more complicated. Elizabeth knew of him, and he seemed to know of her, yet Avery seemed to go out of his way to avoid interaction. She knew it must be strange, her looking like his dead mother, but she thought she at least deserved a conversation. Unfortunately, that didn't seem possible. At best he was indifferent—at worst, openly hostile, as she felt his black eyes tracing her when she passed, an almost-sneer disfiguring his otherwise handsome features. She did her best not to bother him.

  Some weeks went by where she honored the status quo, allowing the tutors to shape her into the woman the palace expected her to be. She learned to endure corsets for the Canines' strangely Victorian fashions, and how to politely decline the bloodier cuts of steak. But of course, she grew bored, and her mind wandered. Grateful as she was for the sudden life of finery, it couldn't distract from the questions she still had yet to answer.

  More powerful than boredom, however, was a growing desire to know Luthias. Thoughts of him began to cloud her mind. Whenever she got a glimpse of him, whispers of lust swirled about her thoughts. Her initial attraction to him had been amplified by her gratitude. As she began to feel alone in that large bedroom she hardly deserved, she resolved to finally break the silence between them.

  That evening, Elizabeth wore the closest thing to a modern dress she could get her hands on, though the servant who had helped her dress insisted that she be laced into a corset regardless. The plunging neckline emphasized her breast, squeezed tight to bursting into the bodice, though the long skirt provided a more natural emphasis to her hips and thighs. As she let her long hair fall from the bun that had secured it all day, she glanced into the mirror behind her, seeing the tresses tangle around her shoulders. She wasn't sure why she was hesitating. All she wanted was to talk, and if something else happened, or if it didn't, that was fine.

  Navigating the palace halls by torchlight was more difficult than she had thought. Elizabeth made more than one wrong turn before she slumped back against a stone wall, frustrated with herself. She gave a start when she realized she wasn't alone. Prince Avery stood before her, arms folded, a brow raised. He was the spitting image of his father, though of a slighter build and neatly cropped hair.

  "What are you doing in this wing?"

  She paled. Did she lie? She technically wasn't doing anything wrong.

  "I was looking for your father," she blurted out.

  As expected, Avery was annoyed. And then, he surprised her. He stepped aside and gestured down the hall, even as he rolled his eyes.

  "Just keep going until you hit the door," he said. "Knock first."

  It was the most conversation they had had. She tried to thank him, but he had already turned the corner, the thud of his boots his only word of departure. She sighed, continuing on.

  The door was just a door, no more intimidating than any other—yet, she stood frozen before it, unable even to raise a hand to knock. What if he refused her? What if he didn't?

  She wouldn't get the chance to change her mind. The door opened. There Luthias stood, robe open and shirtless, showing a glimpse of that body that made her heart do flips. He seemed as surprised as she was before he suppressed his expression.

  "It's late," he said.

  She bit her lip, looking at his.

  "I know," she said.

  They regarded one another, something passing between them in the silence. He stepped aside, allowing her in.

  Hearing the door close behind them, her hesitation returned. She surveyed the room to find it surprisingly bare: although the bed was large and fitted with fine sheets, he had nothing else but a dresser and a simple mirror, before which was an old-fashioned wash basin and a damp cloth. The walls were unadorned, except for a large portrait, shrouded by a thick black sheet.

  "I don't spend much time here," he said, as if hearing her unvoiced confusion.

  "I guess there's no one to impress," she murmured.

  She regretted her words even before she turned to see his reaction; his expression flickered with pain, but he had yet to reveal any sort of authentic emotion. She had to assume that the moment he had murdered Mr. Seymour was as unguarded as he had ever been with her.

  "I wanted to thank you," she said. "I'm still afraid that I'm not who you think I am, but you've done so much for me that...it doesn't really matter..."

  He watched her closely. Again she felt that lightness of breath, along with a sort of dizziness that only happened when it was him who stared at her like this.

  "Is that all?" he asked.

  "...no..."

  With a step, she lessened the distance between them. His back still against the door, she was near enough that she had to tilt back to see him fully, reminded of his height.

  "I think of you more often than I can say," she confessed. "We've hardly spoken, but I feel somehow that..."

  She stopped, unable to put this into words. Unable to read his expression, she pulled back, ashamed.

  "Forgive—“

  Before she could apologize, he was kissing her. Far from an innocent first kiss, this one involved such a ravenous desire that his teeth grew as sharp as Kieran's, leading to the taste of iron drawn by pinprick nicks in her fragile lip. Her back hit the wall with a thud as she was shown the extent of the strength she had seen in each flex of his body, always draped in clothes that did no justice to the magnificent form beneath. Her wrists were immobile in his firm grip, pinned above her head while he kissed her just as long as he damn well pleased, tongue finding its way through this new mouth that grew hungrier for him the more it was given.

  He pulled back suddenly, carnal desire in golden eyes that were once so distant. The words he spoke were tainted by a trembling growl.

  "Is this what you want?"

  Admittedly, his intensity frightened her. Reason told her to pry herself away now, before she got herself hurt. But it wasn't reason that had brought her to his room that night. She was already breathing heavy, causing a sharp rise and fall to her huge breasts, already squeezed together and lifted by a corset that she was regretting terribly. When she saw his gaze lower down to this steady heave of her plunging cleavage, felt a massive erection pressing into her hip, all remnants of reason were doused by the dampness between her thighs.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  Unable to move her hands, held fast by his grip, she inhaled and arched back to invite him to her endowments. He accepted the invitation. He dropped her hands and released her from her dress, sliding the sleeves from her shoulders so that the unsupported gown fell in a heap around her feet, a heap soon dressed with his own discarded robe. Faced now with her corset, she gasped with both alarm and a rush of relief when he tore it apart, breaking steal boning like it was nothing. Her breasts bounced free. The ruined garment was tossed aside as he lifted her beneath her rear, Elizabeth hooking her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck
, so he could suck each teat where it rest at eye level.

  She was surprised by the act, which was all but gentle, even as his sucking made her moan and her slit moisten. Held up like this, squeezing her legs tighter around his back to steady herself, she could lean her forehead against the top of his head. He finished sucking her right nipple and took in her left, lowly rolling the peak with his tongue as he pressed his face into the whole of the large breast, like a pillow of warmth against his forehead. Her fingers tangled then in his thick black locks, moans escaping her steadily. When his tongue stopped the roll and flicked her peak up once between his teeth, she cried out with pleasure.

  "L-Luthias...I'm so wet..."

  Elizabeth wouldn't be able to see her partner's smirk, hidden against her heavy mounds. This was a nice change, he thought.

  "Do you need me?" he asked, as though his own erection didn't just hurt with want of her, and the scent of her damp underwear to his sensitive nose wasn't making him throb.

  "Yes," she cried. "Oh please..."

  "Then call me your lord."

  "My lord, please," she whispered, without hesitation. "Fill me up."

  He almost came right then, but restrained himself. He carried her to the bed, where he laid her on her back. Seeing her there, her golden hair fanned out beneath her as she stared up at him with such grateful, wanting eyes, he would have given her the moon and stars. Emilie didn't cross his mind. He wanted her now—Elizabeth, more perfect than he ever could have imagined.

  Luthias stumbled almost ungracefully out of his drawers, but saw her sliding off her underwear with similar haste—he held back a smile. He approached and she laid back again, breasts no less impressive when she was on her back, and her stomach so smooth and taut he was distracted enough to lean down to kiss it. He wasn't disturbed when he saw the soft downy curls around her nethers, blonde as her beautiful waves. He slid down further and indulged his curiosity, a long tongue lapping up wetness between her folds, finding it metallic and far from unpleasant. He sucked her clit as he had sucked her tits, and that drew from her a moan so loud he knew it would wake the servants, which made him do it all over again.

  "Luthias," came her pathetic whimper, and he was so hard his dick had all but embedded itself deep in the mattress. Unable to control himself anymore, he held himself over her. To his great satisfaction, she spread her legs wide, knees up and toes digging into the sheets, her gaze begging him to proceed.

  Elizabeth knew she should have been more worried when she saw the size of his member, which was as boast-worthy as the rest of his naked form. Each part of him was not only defined, but bulging, arms like beams and even his thighs and calves a dense collection of perfectly formed meat and tendons. But that cock, like a small limb at its hardest, proved the most surprising part of him. She felt him sink deep and assumed that was all, but then he stretched her further. She was so wet by this point that she just splayed her legs further apart to let him stuff her like a Thanksgiving turkey, and reached back to the headboard to steady herself as he began to thrust—never leaving her completely, never able to. She squeezed him inside her, the friction of skin pulling in and out massaged her sweet spot until joyful tears formed in her eyes. She screamed and laughed, until at last she gasped with release. Her inner walls came down around him, shaking up and down, making him come with her.

  Elizabeth didn't give a second thought to the thick juices of his release that would coat her insides, remaining even after he slid from within her. He collapsed beside her, his impeccable composure finally lost. The mask of indifference was gone now, and Elizabeth could see instead a man, calmed by release and somewhat vulnerable in his sleepiness. He laid on his side, staring at her; she rolled onto her side to return the gaze. She began to smile. Before he could do anything, she leaned forward, giving him a gentle kiss.

  Luthias.

  For the first time in her life, she felt like she was home.

  For Luthias, unable to imagine another time when he had been kissed so simply, so kindly, after such a wild act, he found himself observing this woman with new eyes. Emilie, the temptress who had broken his will, now reborn again as this docile, beautiful spirit. He couldn't believe it. He lifted a lock of her golden hair, as if to confirm that she was real.

  Elizabeth.

  Over a hundred years since his mate's passing, they had found each other again.

  Chapter 4: A Claim on His Woman

  After that, Elizabeth shared Luthias’ bed each night. She forgot why she had been so worried about giving herself to him; he proved himself time and again to be attentive, protective, and passionate. Her loneliness dispersed like a cloud in sunlight—for so briefly, it seemed as though the traumas she had endured in her life had come to an end.

  Unfortunately, her life was never easy for long. The dizzy spells she had attributed to her growing feelings for Luthias didn’t leave her after her feelings were requited. They worsened, intensifying from a vague dizziness to pounding headaches, some so powerful they rendered her incapable of walking until they had passed. She hid this from Luthias, whose days were still filled with duties that he didn’t care to explain to her.

  Just three weeks after they had started sleeping together, Elizabeth sat out in the gardens, confined to the bench she had been sitting on when one of her headaches started. She held her head, focusing on her breathing, in hopes that that would help. It did not.

  As the pain intensified, she focused on a sound that seemed to be some distance from her, muted by a fog of noise she couldn’t quite decipher. Unable to do anything but stare at the rose bushes along the path before her, she concentrated. The more she concentrated on the distant sound, the closer it seemed. The closer it seemed, the more it sounded like laughter.

  You’re so sweet with him, was the noise of her thoughts.

  She thought she was going crazy. She whispered to herself, wanting to hear her own voice to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  “I’m awake.”

  He’s loving it, that sound, that voice, continued. You’re the fragile flower he wanted me to be.

  “I’m hearing things,” she whispered.

  Whatever helps you sleep at night.

  She buried her face in her hands, terror overwhelming her. Of all the times to finally lose it, why did it have to be now?

  “Oy, Elizabeth.”

  Her attention snapped up at the sound of Kieran’s voice, aggravating her headache again. When Kieran saw her pain, his smile faded to concern.

  “Hey, do you need me to get a healer?”

  “Y-yes,” she managed a small nod. “Maybe…”

  He touched the top of her head to comfort her; not knowing how urgent the situation was, he left quickly to find help. Elizabeth was alone again in the garden, only able to soothe herself with breathing. Tears fell steadily as she questioned her sanity, hoping that the voice wouldn’t come again — because she knew who was talking to her, and she desperately didn’t want to.

  She heard footsteps approaching. Assuming it was the healers, she didn’t look up, too focused on her own pain and confusion. It was then a hand came from behind the bench, a damp rag pressed suddenly against her mouth and throat.

  “Boss, you can’t do that yet!”

  “I hear a moron giving me advice.”

  Elizabeth tried to scream, but she was already fading. As soon as the rag left her mouth she slumped limp onto the bench, unable to move. Consciousness began to fade, but not before a red-haired man leaned over her—mostly naked, except for a loincloth of furs. There were jagged scars across his chest, old enough to have faded to a vague silver on immortal flesh. He draped her over his shoulder, standing.

  “Let’s see Lord Luthias track a wolf.”

  THE END

  Demon Romance

  Forbidden Mate: Chained to the Alpha

  Secret Blood World Series Book Two

  Lucile Wild

  Forbidden Mate: Chained to the Alpha

  Prologue: Message fro
m a Rival

  Lord Luthias Cennasaí was an ideal ruler of his kind, trained to appear at all times poised, intent, and above all cruel. His meeting room consisted only of one long table, with him seated at the far end in a chair that was more of a throne, with three sharpened claymores hung by their sheaths over an arm of polished oak. Those who requested his audience had to seat themselves at the other end, nearly too far to make proper eye contact with him—yet even their guests could feel the intensity of his dead stare, which was known to make subjects spill truths that ended lives. Behind him was always his son Avery, intimidating in his own right but rarely interested in the conversation at hand, and his thin-faced advisor Ezekiel, a lesser Canine noble whose family had always served the Cennasaí sons.

  Yes, Luthias looked the part of the Canine Lord. No one knew though that his mind was elsewhere, and that he stared with impatience not as a tactic, but because he very much wanted the day to be over. Particularly since Elizabeth had begun sharing his bed, he kept his meetings as short as possible. Food is scarce on the island? Import food from the mainland until game repopulates. Squabbling over lineage? Ezekiel will give you an hour in the hall of records. Canine nation in Russia rebelling? Send a notice to all other nations that the first to serve the Russian lord's head to Luthias will earn rank for their family. The prisoners are fighting? Let them kill each other and send the scraps to the butchers, no one will notice and there's a food shortage anyhow. After almost five hundred years of hearing variations on the same nonsense, he was bored.

  He would have handed the lordship to Avery, if it weren't for the issue of Avery's human blood, which meant that doing so would incite lesser principalities to revolt. It was a headache he didn't need, and certainly not one Avery was ready for. Just one more way Emilie rose from the grave to drag nails down his back. But thoughts of Emilie drifted to thoughts of Elizabeth, treating him to rousing memories of her heaving breasts and cries of delight. She had made his life exciting again. Even as he sat in a meeting listening to the whining of a sharecropper who disliked his servants, life didn't seem so dreadful. Across his disinterested gaze played images of Elizabeth writhing around his cock, clutching at the headboard as her eyes rolled back and her talented tongue pressed into her upper palette. She begged him for more, and more he gave. Whatever she wished of him—for her, he was a kind lord indeed.