Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  Instead, she pushed him away. “This isn’t going to happen again, Xander.”

  Releasing a frustrated exhale, he smoothed his palm down his face and took a step back. His heavy brow dug down over his stormy eyes, his scowl deepening as if he didn’t like being backed into a corner.

  And damn if Cordray didn’t want to close the distance he had put between them and kick off round four.

  Instead, she pulled up her big-girl panties and, through a Herculean show of mental fortitude, slid open the balcony door. Closing her eyes, she took one last inhale of his essence, bowed her head, and said, “Goodbye, Xander.”

  Before he could reply, she stepped outside and dematerialized to her mansion in Chicago.

  Chapter 6

  Good thing Cordray had an assignment to carry out, or she might have fallen into a Xander-deprived funk the moment her feet landed back on Windy City soil.

  Pushing all thoughts of her lycan liaison to the back of her mind, she reluctantly showered away his scent, changed into clothes that smelled like her again, and poofed back to the parking garage outside the Garter to pick up Micah’s trail.

  If Xander made good on his promise to return to Chicago and look her up, she would change his mind real quick. She didn’t need the complication. No sex was good enough to risk her life over.

  Picking up Micah’s trail—and Blondie’s—she followed both to a decrepit brownstone that needed serious work on the roof and gutters, as well as the landscaping.

  Just… dayum. She’d seen abandoned homes with more curb appeal.

  Blondie’s scent was strong here. Was this trash heap her home? Surely, she could afford better.

  Micah’s scent was strong here, too, although he’d left long ago. Had Blondie dragged his beat-up ass here? All by herself?

  Give that bitch props. She had big, gnarly lady balls.

  She sniffed around outside, studying the biomarkers permeating the siding and foundation. Oh! She stopped and breathed in. Micah had fed. From Blondie. And… holy shit. Had he mated her?

  Needing to confirm her suspicions, she flashed to the Sentinel. Oh yeah, Micah’s mating response had fired up like a supernova. He had a hard-on for Blondie that only a biological link could satisfy. And from the potpourri of smells coming from his apartment, not only was his body producing mated feel-good hormones by the millions, he’d been eating anything he could get his hands on. Good, because given the famine-stricken look he’d been sporting last night, he hadn’t eaten or fed in weeks. Check, and check.

  That and the “Don’t Worry Be Happy” vibe saturating the air around his apartment meant her work here was done. Micah was no longer in danger. Thank God, because babysitting assignments blew ass.

  Flashing to the roof, she pulled out her phone and called Bain.

  He answered after one ring. “Tell me.”

  “Micah’s good.”

  “Good?”

  She wandered toward the edge of the roof. “Your boy is going to be just fine.”

  She gave him the quick-and-dirty summary, took his thanks for a job well done, and hung up, not mentioning Xander. She should have warned Bain that a lycan had violated the treaty, but that might have led to questions she didn’t want to answer. Besides, she liked keeping dog boy to herself. As long as he stayed out of Chicago, she could keep her little secret.

  As she tucked her phone into her pocket, she glanced down at the street. Whaddya know, there was that same skulking vampire she’d spied at the parking garage last night, watching the Sentinel from the shadows like he was its own personal guardian angel.

  Or was he Micah’s?

  Smirking at the absurdity that she’d been assigned to look after someone who already had a bodyguard, Cordray turned and dematerialized back home.

  Alone.

  And for the first time in a long while, alone felt… well… lonely.

  And lonely sucked.

  Chapter 7

  The next twenty-four hours felt like a month.

  Cordray tried to sleep but couldn’t. She tried to read and ended up ripping the book in half. She tried to find a movie worth watching but only grew more frustrated.

  That’s when she started pacing like Charlie Sheen in rehab.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Xander.

  The way he tasted. The way he moved. The godlike way he threw back his head as he came. The way he worked her over just the way she liked. The mental orgasms. Both of them. No one had ever given her multiple orgasms like that. Not even Gideon, and she’d been with him when she’d still possessed her sense of touch.

  So what if Xander was a lycan? He was hotter-than-Hades and knew how to handle her body to give her the only kind of pleasure she was capable of. Did she really want to give that up?

  If he was willing to defy Memnon and Rameses, couldn’t she defy Bain? She was a badass, right? She could make her own decisions. Her brother didn’t need to know who she was feeding from or who she was sleeping with. It was none of his business. If she wanted to screw Xander ten ways to Sunday every day, she had every right to. Who was she to deny herself blood as strong as his?

  With fresh resolve and a sense of purpose, she pulled on her coat, stepped outside, and dematerialized to New York, to the balcony outside his bedroom.

  It was well into the wee hours of the morning, but he was there, awake, lying in bed, pointing the remote at the TV and clicking through the channels just as she had been less than an hour ago.

  With the wind whipping her hair over her face, she stepped forward and tapped the glass with the tip of her fingernail.

  His gaze swung around, his body contracting as if preparing to rip apart whoever had interrupted his channel surfing. When he saw her, every cell in his body appeared to take a breath, and a pleasantly surprised grin tugged at the corners of his mouth before he ran his fingers down his beard, replacing the small smile with feigned indifference.

  Tossing the remote aside, he dragged himself off the mattress and leisurely strolled to the sliding door.

  He unlocked it and eased it open, but didn’t step aside to let her in. “You lost, Chaos?”

  Her gaze locked to his. “Found, actually.”

  He arched one brow. “Is that so?”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching with the weight of an elephant.

  He braced his arm on the side of the door, creating a blockade. “I thought you said we shouldn’t do this.”

  She stepped closer and ran her palms down the front of his shirt to the bulge in his sweatpants. “I lied.”

  The tip of his tongue wet the seam of his mouth as he inhaled deeply. “You know, if you and I aren’t careful, we might break each other.”

  She circled his hardening length with her fingers. “I’d like to see you try.”

  He released a shuddering breath as she stroked him. “You’re dangerous, Chaos.”

  She leaned forward and nicked his bottom lip with her fang. “Should I stop?”

  He snuffed air through his nostrils, eyeing her up and down. “Hell no. I like danger.”

  Pressing closer, she trailed her tongue up the side of his neck to his ear and whispered, “Prove it.”

  And he did.

  Over and over… and over.

  Maybe she and Xander could never mate, and maybe their relationship would never be more than sexual, but Cordray didn’t care. Because this…? This meeting of mind and body with an untamed force as strong as she was? A force that hit her head-on and didn’t cower from her like a dog that was all bark and no bite? It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  And just what she needed.

  For now.

  * * *

  If you want to read more about Cordray and her supernatural friends, read Donya Lynne’s All the King’s Men Series, starting with Micah’s story, Rise of the Fallen, currently FREE.

  About Donya Lynne

  Donya Lynne is an award-winning and bestselling author of the All the King’s Men S
eries, Strong Karma Trilogy, Banger Trilogy, Savage Storm Series, and several standalone novels and novellas. Her novel, Rise of the Fallen was a USA Today Recommended Read, and she has won two IPPYs and five eLit Awards. Donya writes sensual romance that haunts your emotions in the subgenres of paranormal, contemporary, new adult, and women’s fiction, all with a spine-tingling erotic flair.

  Subscribe to Donya’s Newsletter

  Also by Donya Lynne

  Buy Donna’s Books

  Rise of the Fallen (FREE)

  Heart of the Warrior

  Micah’s Calling

  Rebel Obsession

  Return of the Assassin

  All the King’s Men – The Beginning

  Bound Guardian Angel

  BLACK

  Micah’s Bride

  Raven’s Gift

  Tournament of Reckoning by Allie Marie

  A Netherworld Short Story

  Chapter 1

  The Declaration

  The time had come.

  The opportunity for which Siv Anemos had trained her whole life finally arrived.

  With a slight fluttering of nerves, she approached the temple square where a mirrored orb floated. Encircled by a mist of rainbow water droplets, sparks of fire shot from the many octagonal facets covering the sphere.

  She smiled at the choice of an instrument of air to call competitors to the tournament. The fires could die, the waters evaporate, but even without them, the orb would remain floating. Without air, it would fall.

  Her last unsettled nerve evaporated as her slightest move sent the mirrored ball bobbing. Air was her strongest element. Even when she did not utilize her powers, a touch of aerokinesis always emanated from her being.

  The closer she got to the orb, the easier she could see through the shimmer of fire reflecting off the water. Ignoring the armed guards standing in the shadows, she read the names already etched on the facets.

  Thirty candidates had entered the competition for the most coveted post in the kingdom of Mesolands—the Grand Sentinel, head of both council and church.

  All other council posts were filled through an election process corrupted over the ages. By law, however, the selection of Grand Sentinel was determined by a jousting tournament of all contenders who declared an intent to compete.

  Through narrowed eyes, she studied the list, recognizing the names. A number were Necromancers—dragon riders who could touch the four elements of life, death, undeath, and afterlife. More than two dozen Elementalists—practitioners of all the air, earth, water, and fire elements—had signed on. One Medja, a jouster who commanded the single art of water, had etched his name. No Paragon—those able to touch all eight of the elements of magic—had declared.

  If ever a playing field had been designed for one individual, this was hers. As a Paragon, she had a distinct advantage, along with her extraordinary jousting.

  She spun the ball, rereading the names to be sure.

  Yes, she was the lone Paragon—and the only female.

  Elation rippled through her, sending the faceted ball dancing. Prejudice and sexism ran rampant in her nation. She’d fought hard for the right to be named as the first female High Priestess in the church.

  But as yet, no woman had ever filled a position in the council government, let alone that of the highest ruler.

  Seven minutes remained until the deadline. Siv calmed her emotions. She raised her hand, protected by armored metal gloves with an odd assortment of fingers.

  Over the eons, she’d created the daunting pair of gauntlets by replacing the normal metal digits with armor scavenged from rivals she’d defeated in jousting tournaments. Each long-pointed appendage sported a different color, size, and shape. Never intended to be of practical use, they served as a stark reminder of her victories to psych out the men she battled. Extending the sharpened claw of a long-defeated Water Elf, she selected a tile with no other names surrounding the space.

  As Siv etched her first name on one of the octagonal glass discs, a shadow loomed over her. The fire sparks around the orb burst into flames and nearly dried out the water mist. She spun on her heels and bumped into the massive object behind her.

  Rand Emberfang, the hulking Fire Elf from the kingdom of Piironious, steadied her. Even though she was taller than the average Zeph by more than a foot, she still found herself looking into his chest.

  “Aren’t you a little far from Piironious?” she snapped. She took a step back, bulbous gaze focused on one of Rand’s pointed ears. The heat of his touch scorched her to the core—and not because of his command of the fire element.

  Rand took a step forward. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to discern where her gaze focused. Her compound eyes could be looking anywhere, but his masculine hubris decided she was looking at his crotch.

  With a subtle breath, she blew cold air between them. She lowered the temperature a bit with another blast, satisfied when a shiver overtook the Fire Elf.

  Her hair matched the exact same vibrant shade of white as Rand’s, but where her skin was pale almost to the point of translucent blue, his burned the deep volcanic red of fire. They had crossed paths at many of the same jousting events. His renowned jousting skills equaled Siv’s, but they had never faced off in a competition. Their social interactions, however infrequent because of schedules and distance, always provided interesting opportunities to flirt and scope each other out.

  Siv had always known that, like oil and vinegar, Fire Elves and Zephs didn’t mix. As a species, Fire Elves commanded awe and respect unparalleled in any realm—fierce warriors who yearned for a glorious death as their legacy. They had no trouble engaging in sex with any members of the other kingdoms, but when it came time to settle and have offspring, they usually mated with one of their own.

  She drew to her full height, still a half-head shorter than Rand. Tilting her head back, she said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finalize my signature. There’s less than a minute to go.”

  “You certainly waited until the last minute, didn’t you?” Rand moved closer to Siv, peering over her head as she etched her last name on a tile amongst the blank octagonal tiles surrounding it.

  “I did.” Siv finished and pushed past Rand.

  “Not quite.” With seconds to spare, he reached through the mist and fire. A bolt of flame shot from his finger, inscribing his name on the mirrored tile to the right of her signature.

  “What are you doing?” Siv demanded.

  As he withdrew his hand, the fire and mist diminished. A shroud of unbreakable glass surrounded the darkened sphere. Soldiers emerged from the shadows to retrieve the sphere for delivery to the Council Chambers.

  Council members milled around a refreshment table, engaging in small talk as they awaited delivery of the mirror. Across the room, a portly Zeph caught the attention of a lanky colleague. He inclined his head toward the chamber room. Both men slipped beyond the doors and headed toward the huge round table centered on the floor of the circular room. Twelve unusual saddle chairs surrounded the polished metal round table. Each saddle bore the name of a champion jouster and his or her retired dragon.

  Gallery-style seating lined the walls. Reserved for spectators during public meetings, the chairs sat empty for the closed-door meeting about to begin.

  Tudoriax, the Senior Delegate and longest-reigning member, chose a golden saddle with the names etched across the sides. He mounted with pompous dignity, plopping his large posterior in the groove. His feet slipped from the stirrups, nearly unseating him in the process. A quick clutch on the pommel prevented an undignified fall to the ground.

  “It’s good that we do not have to rely on your jousting skills to settle the concerns of Mesolands, Tudoriax. Or should I say your lack thereof?” mocked Zelman Maxir, Secretary of Internal Affairs. He opted for a blood-red saddle decorated with iridescent dragon scales.

  “Which none of us have,” retorted an angry Tudoriax. He slithered from the golden saddle and scrutinized the remai
ning empty seats.

  None of the current council members had earned their seats by winning the jousting competition. The tournaments had been suspended after a plague struck and nearly wiped out the Mesolands dragons. For several generations there were not enough grown creatures to allow for the jousting tournaments to determine the new members. Soon, the process evolved into candidates declaring for the empty seats, won by purchased votes and outright deceit, until all members had been voted into their positions rather than earning the spot.

  As a result, corruption became the standard and members served so long that the newer generations never had the chance to compete—or even campaign—for positions.

  Retirement was mandatory at the age of two hundred. But without notice, the Grand Sentinel had taken early retirement and immigrated to a new post in the Northern Realm, catching the council off guard.

  Tudoriax settled on a polished bronze saddle bearing the name of Siv Anemos and her latest retired dragon, Ordan.

  “Tudoriax, can we not just hold an election?” Zelman asked. “Or can you not simply name yourself as the new ruler?”

  The senior councilman shook his head. “I’ve checked this thoroughly with the Judiciary Office. It is law. If we’d known sooner, we could have eliminated the jousting competition from the rules and held an election. But we did not know in time to change the Grand Sentinel to the elected posts. We’re committed to the decrees in place. A tournament must be held to name the new ruler.”

  “Are proper strategies in place to ensure the outcome, Tudoriax?”

  “Only preliminary so far, Zelman. Once we see who will compete, we’ll finalize plans.”

  The two men ended the covert conversation as council members filed in and took seats.