Masters of Seduction: Books 1-4: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 16

  The Head Female, Constance, led him into a room he’d never seen before. Though dotted with dozens of tropical plants it was very formal, with ancient furnishings, floor to ceiling windows, a walk-in fireplace and intricate carvings on the walls.

  “We have thirty unclaimed Nephilim,” she announced. “All are excited to meet you, Master Vipera.”

  Scarus knew there were more Nephilim in residence at the Harem. The twelve-acre property boasted over one hundred rooms and ten suites. As was custom, Nephilim stayed, as Daya had, for the duration of their pregnancy and afterward. Granted, a Nephilim was only required by law to produce one child, but some chose to remain. To have more young and to remain immortal.

  Scarus’s chest tightened, but he cursed it away. He was not here to think on the past. He was here to feed and to grow in strength once again.

  “Where are they?” he said, his tone cool and fierce. “These thirty Nephilim? I do not appreciate being kept waiting.”

  The woman blanched, pressed her lips together.

  “Perhaps they weren’t informed of my arrival?” he continued, knowing he was acting the brute, the barbarian.

  The Incubus.

  And yet he stared imperiously at her.

  “I… Of course…” she stumbled.

  The doors to their right opened abruptly, and two eunuchs entered.

  An audible sigh of relief escaped the woman before Scarus and she turned. She exclaimed weakly, “You see.” She gestured to the wave of females coming into the room. “They come, Master Vipera.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Late. Late. Late.

  Stupid female.

  Forgetting about her usual, hunched over gait, Rosamund ran though the Harem. Constance would have her working not in the kitchens as was the usual punishment, but in the baths. Washing toilets as well as the hair and skin of the Nephilim. Back in her anteroom, she’d meant to close her eyes for only a moment, but had used up a good three hours. She’d had very little time to make sure her appearance was grossly on point. And to make matters worse, her dream male—Roger, of course—hadn’t even shown up.

  Spotting the two eunuchs standing sentry outside the Garden Room, Rosamund slowed and hunched. Four days left. She wasn’t blowing it with something as foolish as a change in posture. Eyes down, she entered and hastily made her way to the line. Two Nephilim she didn’t know very well made room for her with an irritated sigh. Not to worry, females. I will only serve to make you look better to Master Vipera.

  As nervous, excited energy pinged off the walls, Rosamund wondered who the shameless Incubus Master would choose for his first night in the Harem. Her money was on Beatrice or Cleo. They were definitely the most beautiful, and though they had been chosen before had yet to produce a child.

  Hair falling in her face in a greasy mass, she ventured a glance upward. It was a mistake. All she saw before the earthquake hit her was thick blond hair, massive shoulders encased in a perfectly tailored gray suit and thick-fingered hands flexing out from a fist.

  Wave upon wave of the most intense shocks of desire she’d ever experienced slammed into her. She felt like she was drowning. It was glorious. Her hips started to swing and she moaned. Gods, she wanted to take off her clothes, wanted hands on her body, in her body—and she didn’t care whose hands they were. Her eyes lifted again, and this time connected with gold orbs so fierce, so sexually powerful, she felt a rush of moisture leave her sex and trickle enticingly down her leg.

  Me. You want me.

  His nostrils flared and he breathed in. Sweat broke out on Rosamund’s forehead and neck and the backs of her knees, and she realized she was panting. In her peripheral vision she saw that the females on either side of her had dropped to their knees. They were rubbing their breasts and moaning. One was trying to take off her dress.

  Will that be me soon? Rosamund’s mind queried softly, weakly. Standing before the gold-eyed Incubus naked and glistening with sweat and arousal?

  The question did something to her. Slapped her face and pulled her just a few inches out of the sexual earthquake that was continuously erupting inside of her. Naked. No. No. I…can’t be naked. Those gold eyes narrowed. No, Incubus. I belong to…whom? Whom is it I belong to?

  Someone was speaking. To her?

  “Rosamund!”

  It was one of the Nephilim. No…no…it was Constance.

  Rosamund didn’t take her eyes off the Incubus. She had to fight back. It wasn’t uncommon for these males to turn on their power, their thrall, during selection. But not like this. Never like this.

  Fucking barbarian.

  His expression changed in that moment to one of cruel determination, and Rosamund realized through her sexual haze that she’d said the words out loud.

  And suddenly she was a nerve, a violin string. And this Master was playing her body like it belonged to him—like he knew it intimately. Like he’d watched her every day and every night. How she moved, how she breathed, how she touched herself. A gasp escaped her throat. Goddess, what was happening to her? It was too much… It was too delicious…

  It was the dream.

  She cried out as her body flooded with wet heat and gave in to the climax it so desperately craved.

  And then it was over.

  Sucked from her marrow.

  Though she still breathed deep and rapid, and though her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings, and though her underwear was soaking wet, the intensity—the command—was gone.

  She glanced around. The Incubus wasn’t there anymore, but twenty-nine pairs of eyes were glued to her person. And each was filled with a different emotion: shock, irritation, jealousy, interest and rage.

  She turned to Constance. “What happened?” she panted.

  The woman looked perplexed. “He has chosen you.”

  “What?” She didn’t understand. Couldn’t have. Clearly, her brain was still in a fog.

  “He has chosen you, Rosamund,” she repeated. “I find it impossible to believe as well.”

  Rosamund turned to the Nephilim, her eyes running down the line of sweating, pissed off females. Maybe she was looking to them for clarity. Or maybe to start laughing at what Constance had said. But all she received was a curt nod from a narrow-eyed Cleo.

  “No.” Her head whipped back to the woman, and she managed another, “No…” on a panicked gasp.

  But Constance was looking elsewhere, her arm outstretched. She was calling to the eunuchs at the door. “He waits for her in the Desert Suite.”

  Fear and anger coursed through Rosamund as she felt fingers enclose her upper arms. She stared at Constance. Waiting. For something. Anything. This couldn’t be real. She was four days from freedom…

  But the woman only uttered a stern, “Take her to him,” before the eunuchs yanked her back and led her from the room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He could have fucked her right there. In front of the others. It mattered not. It was a feeding he craved, and she had great power.

  But the Nephilim of the Harem had rules.

  As the night wind off the desert blew cool and dry through the thin, white curtains near his massive chair, Scarus surveyed the plush suite that was to be his feeding ground for the next two nights. It was a small private villa set apart from the main compound, and boasted one massive room and an equally sizable marble bath. Everything about it—from the Persian rugs to the mosaic walls to the moonlight shining in through the stained glass windows around the central dome in the ceiling, and the four poster bed surrounded by sensual, shimmering purple bed curtains—was seduction for the eyes.

  Not that he needed it. Maybe the Nephilim he’d chosen did. Scarus hardly remembered her. She’d just been the first in the line who’d lacked the scent of fertility. But the one thing he did recall were eyes the color of glistening sand, fringed with long amber lashes. And power within her blood. So much power.

  Saliva pooled in his mouth and his fingers twitched reflexively as they hung over the arms of
the chair. He hoped she would come to him unclothed and ready to be taken—ready to receive the pleasure of his mouth, his tongue and his cock, as those in the past had done.

  It would make for an easy transaction.

  A knock on the door across the room brought his head up. “Come,” he called, his tone thick with restrained hunger.

  The two eunuchs from the Garden Room entered, pulling something behind them. The female? His eyes narrowed. Why were they handling her as though she were a prisoner? As she moved into the room, Scarus was truly able to take in her appearance for the first time. She looked unwashed, unkempt, and though she was tall, he could barely see her shape through the thick, faded orange robes she wore. But those eyes…he remembered those eyes. They captivated him still, enflamed his already palpable hunger. They gleamed with the color of the desert sand at dawn, a pale, erotic golden brown. They were stunning, fearsome, soulful eyes that didn’t match the rest of her, but spoke of her sensual power.

  “Are you going to say something, Incubus?” she demanded in a strong, clear voice that went straight to his groin. “Or are you just going to look me up and down like a hog at market?”

  Scarus stared at her, surprised. Her appearance may have been lacking, but her tongue was sharp as a blade.

  “You could ask my name,” she suggested. “Or are manners in the House of Vipera as nonexistent as they say?”

  He sat back in his chair. He had never been spoken to in such a way, not even by his advisors, and the urge to have her brought to him, have her sink to her knees before him and find some better use for her mouth pulsed in his blood.

  “No words, no introductions?” she continued, trying to pull herself away from the eunuchs holding her. “Perhaps you would just like the males here to turn me around and lift my skirt.”

  The suggestion entered his gut and slithered lower. That is an idea. Though he sincerely doubted she meant it. He turned to regard the males on either side of her. He didn’t like their hands on his meal. “Release her.”

  The eunuch on the left only gripped her tighter. “Master Vipera, it is unwise. She is a hellcat—”

  “Release her,” Scarus replied in a deadly cold voice. “And do not speak again, male. Unless you wish me to cut out your tongue.”

  Both eunuchs paled and not only freed the woman but backed up until they reached the shadows near the door.

  Scarus shifted his gaze to the female once again. She stood in the center of the room, those lovely pale brown eyes surveying every inch of the suite. When they caught and remained on the massive bed with its waves of purple curtain, her nostrils flared and her lips thinned. Curious, he mused. And unprecedented. This Nephilim’s sharp tongue stemmed from either nerves or a desire to be anywhere but here.

  “Come ti chiami?” he inquired.

  Her head whipped around to face him. “He speaks. And it’s in Italian.”

  Her voice had a power of its own, utterly separate from the female. Scarus couldn’t help but wonder how it would feed him as he fed from her, brought her to orgasm with his lips and tongue.

  “What is your name?” he said.

  “Rosamund.”

  A brow lifted over his right eye. A name befitting a queen. “And are you angry, Rosamund?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered plainly.

  “Why is that?”

  Her chin lifted a fraction, but she never dropped her gaze from his. “What you did to me out there… To all of us.”

  Confusion moved through him. “Out there?”

  “In the Garden Room,” she ground out.

  Scarus leaned forward, one elbow on his thigh, his hand supporting his chin. “Pray do not tell me that was the first time an Incubus has released his power, his thrall, on the Nephilim of the Harem?”

  “You didn’t just release it, sir,” she fired back. “You flooded the entire room with it!”

  “So you haven’t felt the thrall before?”

  She sighed with irritation. “Of course we’ve all felt the great and wondrous power of the Incubi. But it was always contained, respectful.” She pointed behind her to the door. “What you did back there was degrading.”

  Curiosity trumped his lack of enthusiasm for this subject. “How so?”

  “You made females drop to their knees,” she said as though it should’ve been obvious.

  “Not you,” he pointed out.

  When she didn’t say anything right away, he continued, “In fact, you were the only one who remained standing.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why is that? Or how is that?”

  “Are you asking how I could possibly resist you?”

  His lips twitched. “Sì, signorina.”

  “Because in your experience no one ever has?” she continued with a mocking grin of her own.

  When he nodded that her assessment was in fact truth, her grin promptly faded. “Listen, I might not have fallen to my knees, but I was humiliated just the same. You made me…” Her cheeks flushed. It was a lovely sight, considering her strange gray pallor.

  “Come?” he supplied easily.

  She turned her head away and groaned. “Oh, sweet Goddess.”

  “I do not see the problem, Rosamund. You are Nephilim and I am Incubus. I take power and give pleasure. You give power and receive pleasure.”

  To demonstrate this, he released his thrall. Not full force, but enough to make her eyes close, her cheeks flush and her lips part with a hungry moan.

  Lovely. She was exactly what he craved. What his insides were screaming for. What would make him strong.

  “Stop. That,” she ground out, her eyes bursting open.

  Scarus felt her push back, and released his hold on her. Confusion swam in his blood. “I don’t understand, Nephilim. You resist me?”

  “Yes, you asshole,” she said through gritted teeth. “I resist you. Let me go and find another. There are twenty-nine other females out there who want you. Want this.”

  Both eunuchs broke from the shadows and headed for the female.

  “Wait,” Scarus commanded. He’d never experienced anything like this—like her. He would not take her against her will. But he would not give her up, either. As well as not being in her fertile time, she contained great power. He’d seen it in the line and now as she pushed his power back at him. He licked his lips. He would taste that magnetic force on his tongue.

  “Pray, take her to your mistress,” Scarus instructed the males.

  Rosamund’s eyes widened with hope. “You’re letting me go?”

  He took out his Blackberry and started typing. “I believe you’ve been treated harshly here. Perhaps it is because of your strength, your sharp tongue. I have just texted your Head Female, Constance. You will be pampered, treated as the jewel you are, then returned to me.” He stood and placed his phone back in the breast pocket of his suit.

  “I don’t want this,” Rosamund shouted as him. “I don’t want to be pampered. Look at me, you viper.”

  Scarus did.

  “How could you want this? I’m nothing compared with the other Nephilim. Can’t you see that?”

  His eyes never left hers. “You give yourself too little credit, Rosamund. In the Garden Room, I saw no one but you. Standing tall and proud and defiant as you took what I gave.” He turned to the eunuchs. “She is to be treated like a queen. Anything less and I will know.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You told him we mistreated you?” Constance demanded as she paced the terracotta tiles before the large bathing pool.

  “No. God, no,” Rosamund insisted, feeling as though her world—her carefully constructed world—was falling apart around her. “It was him doling out all the mistreatment.”

  The woman stopped and glared at Rosamund. “What do you mean? What did you say?”

  “That he was a barbarian who came in with his sexual guns blazing and forced every Nephilim to their knees.”

  “Oh dear Goddess,” Constance moaned, glancing around the Nephilim’s main b
athing chamber, which was glowing with the light of the dual fireplaces on the opposite side of the zelij-tiled pool. “What you fail to understand—clearly, what you have never understood—is that the females in the Harem want to lie with an Incubus. They want to have their wombs filled. They want the pleasure of his thrall.”

  Fine. Rosamund would give her that. She’d give them all that. Frankly, if she wasn’t promised to Roger perhaps she too would find Scarus Vipera…what? Attractive? No, that was too dull a word. Irresistible? Absolutely not. Tempting, perhaps? Alluring, definitely… But she had to believe that was only because her body still vibrated from the climax he’d given her in the Garden Room, and the one he’d nearly given her earlier in his suite.

  “I only chastised him for releasing his power so fully,” she said at last. “Causing that reaction in every female. He is a brute.”

  “You are impossible. You should be feeling grateful. Honored.” Her eyes skimmed down Rosamund’s body. “That male chose you for Goddess knows what reason—you continually look like something that has been wandering in the desert for far too long.”

  “Exactly. So please go and convince him how unsuitable I am. Bring Zoe and Eva with you. They’re always walking around naked. He won’t be able to resist them—he’ll forget all about me.”

  She sighed. “How I wish that were true.”

  “It can be.”

  “He wants you, you silly girl.”