Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  “So I need a man to be safe? A fated match as you say, like finding a mate? I don’t need someone to complete me. I can take care of myself. Scarlett has been helping me train, and as soon as this damn council releases me, I can join the coven. I am sure whatever Scarlett can’t teach me, Selena can.” Her lip curled as Selena’s name rolled off her tongue.

  Scarlett came running into the room. She stopped short at the scene in front of her. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, then her eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”

  Jeremy stood, looking instantly alert and wary at the same time. “What is it, Scarlett?”

  “Oh… umm… The high warlock is coming up the road. Selena called and said he had felt the fated match flare through the council, and he’s on his way here to ‘deal” with it.’ She air-quoted.

  “What match?” Sandra asked, still a bit oblivious to the obvious.

  “Ours,” Keith replied.

  Chapter 4

  Sandy pinned Keith with her gaze, placing her hands on her hips and tapping one foot impatiently.

  “I’ll delay him as much as I can.” Jeremy turned to Scarlett and said, “I may need your help.” He placed his hand on Scarlett’s lower back and guided her out the door.

  “Me? What can I do to help?” Her voice squeaked as she and Jeremy exited the study.

  “Mr. Blackwood, explain what you mean by ‘ours.’” Sandy tapped her fingers in rhythm with her foot.

  “We don’t have time for the full explanation of fated matches, but suffice it to say they are only gifted to those of pure blood.” He raised his hands, curbing her reply. “It’s how the goddess decreed it when we were gifted with magic in the beginning. Anyway, those of pure blood are born with a witch’s or warlock’s mark. Legend states when you find your fated match, your mark will flare and begin to change. Your soul will reach for its other half, and your magic will yearn to combine with your match’s. Once the binding ceremony is complete and you share everything body and soul, the mark will change permanently to match the one of your soulmate.”

  Sandy rubbed the back of her right shoulder. “And this match is a threat to the council?”

  “It shouldn’t be. Fated matches are revered and celebrated in most cases.” He stood and slowly walked around the desk. “In our case, the daughter of this century’s vilest warlock and the son of the former high warlock could make quite the formidable pair. You are an unknown, untrained, and with no real loyalties to anyone. I am a smart warlock who rebelled and bucked the council his whole life, working to change things for the better. Those of age and who want to cling to the old ways are scared. Their time is short if our binding completes.” He placed his hand over hers, stilling it as it rested above her mark.

  “How do I know we’re a match?” Her stubborn head was still riding shotgun over her body. Her pulse skittered beneath her skin, and her veins throbbed with magic vying to reach out to him. Not trusting what she felt and unable to wrap her head around this new development in her heritage, Sandy needed more concrete proof. Her name uttered from his mouth both calmed and excited her, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  Keith shrugged off his suit jacket, placed it on the back of her chair, and unbuttoned the cuff of his right sleeve. Then he rolled it up to his elbow, revealing muscular forearms and, more importantly, a warlock’s mark—the mirror version of hers. The outer circle was slightly red, and the inner crescent moon was raised and bumpy. She grasped his arm and brought it closer so she could trace the mark with her finger.

  Her body jerked at the connection she felt through her fingers. Heat and need flared within, but she fought it. Now was not the time to act. He leaned in and kissed her head, though she preferred he kiss her elsewhere. “Do you believe me now, sweetheart?” The endearment felt natural to her as he said it.

  “I think my heart and body knew even before you arrived.” Sandy’s whispered reply belied more than anything else she had said that day. “But my head couldn’t wrap around what you said, about Mother or me or anything else. It’s been a lot to take in these past six months, with just realizing I had some magic, and now to find out buried deep down somewhere underneath is a binding spell? That’s a shitload more. Oh and the council is afraid of you. But don’t worry, you have a fated match who can help. You just have to say yes and go through some ceremony and then bone him for it all to work out.” She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

  Keith threw his head back as laughter erupted from him. “I have never heard it summed up in quite so eloquent a manner, but yes, you have the gist of things.” He cupped her chin and raised it, angling her head as he asked. “So, do you accept me, sweetheart?”

  Her gaze lowered to his mouth as her tongue peeked out and moistened her lips. “Yes,” she said through a heavy breath.

  “Good,” Keith replied as he took possession of her mouth.

  Her soul leapt for joy and their magic intertwined as their bodies molded together.

  “I will wait no more! I am the high warlock and wait on no one!”

  Keith turned Sandy around, brought her in front of him, and encased her in his arms. He leaned down to her ear. “Do you trust me?’

  Even though she had just met the man and logically she should say no, her gut told her yes. This man she could trust with her life. He would never hurt her, always support her, and be by her side. “Yes.”

  “Good, then follow my lead.” He kissed the shell of her ear before standing tall behind her, relaxing, and molding his body against hers.

  Sharp steps echoed after his words, the only notification Keith and Sandy had before the high warlock stormed through the doors. “What the hell is going on here, Blackwood?”

  “Welcome, Councilman Lorick. Please come in.”

  “Answer my question, Blackwood. You were sent here to investigate this girl, and here I find you cavorting with her. I can see she has used her womanly ways to seduce you into giving her a positive report. It’s a good thing I showed up when I did, boy.” The councilman smugly waited for Keith to respond.

  “You’re correct. I was sent to investigate her, but what you don’t realize is I maneuvered so it would be me. You see, I did some digging of my own into Ms. Harrington and her lineage, and I uncovered scandalous secrets. Secrets, I’m sure the council would prefer to remain so.” He rubbed Sandy’s arms in a loving way. “Your records of her being a half blood are incorrect.” He paused.

  With a clenched jaw, the councilman said, “I can attest Ms. Harrington is indeed a half breed. I did the testing myself when she turned twelve.” His nose raised a tad as if being in the same room with a half breed offended him.

  “Yes, and those tests were adjusted to read what you wanted them to. The real results were supposed to be destroyed, but they weren’t. I discovered their results. Ms. Blackwood is of pure blood and from two of the longest and most powerful lines in magical history. She is also my fated match.” Keith rotated his right arm, revealing the mark as it glowed and continued to change.

  The councilman’s eyes rounded in surprise with a bit of horror. “The council will never agree to it.”

  “Oh, I think they will once they read the report I had delivered to them the moment you left the building. By now, they should be voting, and I expect a call any minute granting us the right to begin the preparations for the binding ceremony.”

  Chapter 5

  Sandy stiffened in his arms at his declaration. He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, squeezing and kneading as he spoke his next words.

  “The ceremony will take place when Sandra is ready and not before.” Keith’s words brooked no argument. Sandy’s body relaxed as she waited for the councilman’s response.

  A phone rang before any words could be uttered. Keith reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone, tapped the screen, and placed it on the desk. “You’re on speakerphone. The high councilman has graced our presence.”

  “Blackwood, your repor
t checks out correct. We put everything to a vote, and your request for a binding ceremony has been approved. If your man Jeremy would be so kind as to let the men at Ms. Harrington’s door in, we will take the former high councilman off your hands.”

  The councilman’s face turned an angry shade of red, his eyes bulged, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he sputtered words—what sounded like the beginning of a spell. The walls around them bowed out as power coalesced around them. She heard Keith whisper words of his own, which seemed to throw a shield around him and Sandy.

  “You will never join with her.” The councilman raised his hands, his eyes glowed red, and a burst of flames exploded around him, singeing everything in the room but Keith and Sandy.

  Incoherent words continued to flow from the councilman’s mouth. As the walls sucked back in, beginning to crack, his body shuddered, interrupting his cast. He fell to the floor.

  “I’ve always wanted to use one of these,” an imposing man dressed in black said, as he put away some type of device. With the help of two others, he gathered the now-unconscious councilman, placed a set of manacles on his wrists, and carried him out of the house.

  Jeremy walked in with another man, this one taller and broader than the others but still dressed in black.

  Keith released the shield around himself and Sandy and steered her around the desk to greet the newcomer. He reached out his hand. “Thank you for believing me and being so quick to respond. It’s always good to see you, Kirt.”

  “You too, Blackwood. As soon as the council verified your report, I gathered the troops and headed this way. I am glad we made it in time.” He glanced around the room. “I am sorry we couldn’t prevent this bit of damage.” Kirt directed his attention toward Sandy. “Ms. Harrington, the council will take care of all repairs and replacement. I’ll have a team sent tomorrow to start the work.”

  “Thanks, Kirt, the councilman did me a favor. The room still reeks of my father.” She smiled. “A complete overhaul is in order.”

  “She is a strong one, Blackwood. I wish you both the best. Let me know when the ceremony is. I don’t want to miss it.”

  “We will. I’d never leave you off of the guest list.” Keith pulled Sandy to his side and wrapped his arm around her waist. “It won’t be for a while though. Sandra still has a lot to deal with. I’m letting her take the lead on this one.”

  “You two will be a pair to be reckoned with.” Kirt gave a short nod of his head. “Call me if you need anything else. I have a prisoner to transport and will thoroughly enjoy throwing him in a cell.” He strode from the room whistling as he left.

  Sandy asked, “What now?”

  “Now we spend some time getting acquainted. You spend time getting to know your magic. The binding ceremony can wait as long as you want.” He cupped her cheek and leaned in. “But this can’t.”

  Sandy melted into the kiss, encircling her arms around his neck. One hand threaded his hair. Her body melded itself perfectly against his.

  “It’s about damned time,” Jeremy said. “Let’s give them some privacy. Their only focus is each other. Come on, they’ll find us when they are done. I could use a drink after all the excitement. How about you?”

  “Yeah.” Scarlet’s voice wavered slightly in reply.

  “We’ll be in the kitchen,” Jeremy called.

  Keith’s lips turned upward as he continued kissing his fated match. Her moans filled the silence left by her friends.

  “But the room, it’s a mess,” Scarlett said. Her voice fading as they walked away.

  About Miranda Lynn

  Miranda Lynn writes what she loves to read. Weaving genres, lore, and pulling from issues of real life, she produces stories that grab you, excite you, and keep you turning the page. She loves to read just as much as she loves creating worlds for you to fall in love with. Miranda is an only child and grew up on a large dairy farm in west central Illinois. She has fond memories of having the freedom to explore and let her imagination roam. Her love of weaving fantasy began at an early age when she created intricate stories for the toys and animals she played with. Miranda currently resides in Tennessee with her two teenage boys, two four-legged fur babies, and retired military husband. She works her day job at a high school and creates new worlds and characters for you by nights and weekends. She loves coffee, wine, chocolate, and gaming. (You can find her playing Neverwinter nights on Xbox most weeks.) She loves to hear from her readers, so if you love her worlds and characters, reach out and let her know.

  www.mirandalynn.com

  Also By Miranda Lynn

  Buy Miranda’s Books

  Standalones

  Portal Through the Veil

  * * *

  The Destiny Trilogy

  Discovering Their Destiny

  Accepting Their Destiny

  Fulfilling Their Destiny

  The Destiny Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3)

  * * *

  Black Mountain Pack

  Mack: The Alpha’s Mate

  Rook: Rescuing His Mate

  Sterling: A Second Chance Mate

  Wyatt: Discovering His Mate

  Jerome (series prequel)

  Alerian’s War by Dariel Raye

  Chapter 1

  Something was wrong. Once again, her premonition was too late. Knives stabbed her heart, each pain intensifying as she approached her father’s bed chamber. Unnatural quiet beyond the heavy, ornate curtain leading inside pierced Alerian with dread. Fighting through it, she bit her bottom lip, yanked the heavy curtain aside, then stepped into her father’s room. She already knew what she would find.

  Araqiel lay dormant on his gold satin bed. A clean, surgical incision spanned the entire perimeter of his neck with a shocking pool of blood soaking the lustrous bedding. His prime guard lay sprawled on the floor at an awkward angle, covered in purple and black bruises. Apparently, he had outstretched his wings to protect her father. Unfortunately, he had failed, losing his life in the battle. Alerian carefully stepped over his wings, resting her hand on her father’s chest, then checked for a pulse she knew she would not find.

  Blinking rapidly as fragments of the events flashed before her, she relived her father’s murder until she couldn’t take anymore. She needed to know, but watching her father’s last moments transported her to places she had never wanted to go. Her knees suddenly gave way, and she stumbled, landing on the bed next to her father’s body.

  Secretly, she feared that her visions were failing. A mere week before, she had seen her mother’s death prior to the tragic event taking place, but too late to stop it from happening. Now, her failure crushed her, tearing her confidence to shreds as she looked at the body of her father, the most powerful man she had ever known.

  She had never wanted children, choosing instead to study the art of battle, but sitting there considering her father’s life, the many battles he had fought and won, the amount of power he wielded, and the number of beings he commanded all reduced to this, the feeling of loss overtook her. For the first time, she questioned her original resolve. Only she and her brother, Raguel remained – the last of the One God’s Appointed line.

  Children of the Appointed, like children of the Fallen, were Nephilim. They, too, were cast aside with one foot in Hell, the other bound to Earth, hanging onto their angelic lineage by a thread, but one major difference remained – the original Appointed had been sent by the One God, commissioned to mitigate the damage wrought by their kindred Fallen. Araqiel had always taught them that this one major difference was the key to their redemption.

  Whirling around to face her handmaiden, who had run in behind her, Alerian could barely breathe, and her knees were too wobbly to walk. “Leesa,” she wheezed. “I cannot leave him. Bring the healer and my brother to me.”

  “Yes, High Priestess.” The woman offered a quick bow before running from the room.

  Swiping at her face, Alerian realized she was crying. She steeled herself against another emotional r
everie, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no time for tears. They blurred her vision.

  Although the images had told her how her father had been killed, she did not recognize the face of the murderer. It was clear, though, that he had not come alone.

  Raguel rushed into the room with the healer at his side.

  The healer’s steps were halting as he approached the body. Apparently, he already knew there was no hope for the high priest. The quiet man said nothing, but his downcast eyes and the slump of his shoulders clearly relayed his sorrow as he moved toward her father’s body to administer a final prayer.

  “What did you see?” Crossing his muscular arms over his chest, Raguel barely glanced at the healer and the two bodies before training his green gaze on Alerian, his visage a replica of their father’s.

  His unwavering confidence in her abilities almost bolstered her confidence…almost. Plagued by visions of unrelenting rain and a place with two moons, deciphering fantasy from reality became increasingly challenging.

  Raguel’s new prime guard stepped in on his heels, expressionless and unwavering as usual – Anael. His icy blue gaze followed every minute move Alerian made.

  Her body reacted immediately, making her suddenly aware of the thin, nearly transparent material of her nightgown. Awakened by the nightmare foretelling her father’s murder, she had not stopped to dress properly before rushing to his room in an attempt to prevent it from happening, and now, she did not have to glance down to know her nipples jutted forward, painfully taut with arousal.