Masters of Seduction: Books 1-4: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 17

  “Well, I don’t want him,” Rosamund returned almost petulantly.

  Constance was crossing to her, standing before her, nostrils flaring with fierce irritation. “Listen to me. Whether you know it or not, the world outside these walls is in turmoil. The Sovereign is nowhere to be found, the Three have revealed that they destroy any human who gets pregnant by an Incubus, and just as of late an Incubus was killed by a Temple Blade.”

  “What?” Rosamund exclaimed on a soft gasp. She had known about the mystery surrounding the Sovereign. But… “They kill humans who are pregnant by Incubi? Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t have the answers. The balance that the Three were so capable of maintaining is starting to crumble.” Her eyes appeared weary and fearful. “We need to help them and ourselves—make sure our world stays in balance by standing by the old ways. I know you do not wish to be the catalyst for a war between the Incubi and Nephilim by rejecting one of the Masters.”

  “Of course I don’t,” she said in all seriousness.

  “Then we must sustain this delicate balance between the Incubi and Nephilim. The traditions of the Harem will be upheld. Do I make myself clear?”

  Rosamund’s heart was pounding so hard she worried it might explode inside her chest. She wanted to belong to Roger. He was light and easy and simple and kind. Like her, he wished for a family, a home and normality. She’d never known her father, and her mother had died when she was only two. Roger represented everything she’d prayed for growing up alone in the Nephilim world.

  She had to figure out a way for Scarus Vipera to retract his choice. Only then would she be free. Could she reason with him? Tell him the truth? Beg him to choose another? Could she do that without disrupting the delicate balance Constance spoke of?

  Two Nephilim she didn’t know entered the room. They were both wearing thin, white bathing sheets that glowed in the light of the fires. One was obviously pregnant, though her belly didn’t extend farther than four or five months along. The other was a little older than Constance and carried a basket of soaps and oils, brushes and shaving implements. Without a word they walked down the steps into the pool.

  “Remove your clothes, Rosamund,” Constance commanded.

  Panic flickered inside her belly. She’d thought she would be able to bathe alone.

  “He believes I am to blame for your appearance,” Constance continued with a humorless laugh. “Who knows? Perhaps he will change his mind once you are brought to him. Once your personality and figure have been revealed to him. After all, how much can clean hair and a proper shave change reality?”

  Rosamund’s breath was held captive inside her lungs. This was it. She couldn’t hide herself any longer.

  One dark brow lifted over Constance’s left eye. “Shall I call the eunuchs in to assist you?”

  Without a word, Rosamund lifted the pumpkin robes over her head and let them fall to the terracotta tiles below. Then she quietly and quickly untied the belly padding covering her flat stomach, and unwound the binding that hid her full breasts. When she was completely naked, she lifted her gaze to meet the older woman’s.

  Shock and ire glittered in the depths of Constance’s eyes. She shook her head. “What have you done?”

  “I want a life of my own choosing.”

  “You are Nephilim,” she answered blackly as if this was all the answer that was required. And maybe it was. “Do you hide anything else, Rosamund?”

  Her shoulders fell. It was foolish to try and keep up this ruse now. The woman would give her a cavity search if she felt Rosamund was further deceiving her. Opening her mouth, she slipped out her rotten teeth and handed them over. Then without another word to the furious and flabbergasted den mother before her, she walked to the pool’s edge and descended the steps.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Scarus stood on the private terrace between two stone columns heavy with red bougainvillea and surveyed the blue-tiled swimming pool, which was bordered by olive trees, hibiscus bushes and brightly lit torches. Hunger raged inside of him. Not for the meal that was to be served at the table to his right. But for the sharp-tongued Nephilim who he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind.

  In the past two hours, he’d attempted to work. The Vipera line had dealt in art, ancient currency and manuscripts for centuries, and had amassed a great fortune, but Scarus had been the first to bring their prizes public, both at galleries and museums. Tonight, he was attempting to discuss details for the Vipera Gallery opening in his home town of Ravello—which was just a few days away. But his concentration and creativity had waned early on. The female invaded his thoughts. Rosamund. There was just something about her. Granted, she was no beauty. But that didn’t matter to him. She carried deep power within her, and the way she’d spoken to him, with such resolve, such fire, had made his insides come alive again.

  He stalked to the edge of the pool and stared out. Beyond the villa, moonlit sand stretched for miles. It had been many years since he’d felt such a stirring. Five years to be exact. And he didn’t know if he should be intrigued or concerned. If he should grab hold or turn away.

  His nose caught her scent on the desert breeze and he inhaled deeply.

  “I didn’t know Incubi consumed anything other than sexual energy.”

  Her voice snaked through him and brought his head around. “We don’t need to. We are—” The words died on his tongue. Or perhaps they died in his mind. Whatever it was, he was rendered mute as he stared at the female who occupied the very same spot he’d vacated only a few moments ago. Bracketed by columns of wild, ruby red bougainvillea, she was a stranger to him, this tall, slender goddess in white. And yet, she had the same defiant lift to her chin. The same brilliant sandstone eyes that connected to his without fear. And the same vibrating power that broke from its stunning cage, traveled the seven feet to the water’s edge and wrapped around him—not once but several times, until he felt squeezed by it.

  “You were saying?” she asked, one perfectly manicured eyebrow lifting.

  “That Incubi don’t need food to survive,” he forced from his throat, taking note of the growl in his tone. “We are sustained by a female’s climax.”

  Her eyes widened at that, and her cheeks flushed pink. Scarus took note that it wasn’t just her cheeks that held this healthy glow now. Gone was the ugly orange costume, and in its place was a strapless white caftan that showed off her full breasts and cinched her small waist with gold roping and beadwork. The stark white fabric made her long blond hair glow gold, and displayed smooth, pink skin that looked as though it had endured a hard scrubbing. Irritation bit at him. Who had been granted the honor of performing that task? Whose hands had rubbed oils into her shoulders and back? Who had helped her dress?

  His eyes cut to the eunuch hovering near the French doors behind her, and his lip curled. “Go.”

  The male went ashen and he stammered, “Lady Constance has asked that I…that I remain, sir.” He cleared his throat. “To make certain the Nephilim pleases you.”

  “She more than pleases me.”

  “My lady means for her to do her duty, Master Vipera—”

  “Do you wish for this eunuch to stay, Rosamund?” Scarus cut off the male coldly, his eyes shifting to the Nephilim. “Do you want him here? Do you want him watching your every move?” His brow drifted upward. “My every move?”

  She didn’t answer right away, but he could see her pulse pounding at the base of her long, soft neck. His hands twitched as he imagined running his fingers over that furious tattoo.

  “I don’t want him,” she said at last.

  The words, however they were meant, enflamed Scarus’s blood. He started toward the male. “You heard her.”

  The eunuch’s eyes grew wide with unease and he started to back up. “But sir—”

  Scarus kept coming, his strides purposeful and predatory. “Tell Constance we need no chaperone, no witness, no interference or assistance.”

  The male nodded, stumbling
back into the suite. “Yes, sir.”

  “Go, then.” Scarus stopped at the French doors. “And Goddess help you if there are any more interruptions tonight.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he shut the doors with a little too much force, then turned back to face Rosamund. “Sit,” he growled, gesturing to the table heavy with food. By the look on her face, he knew he sounded like a bastard, a barbarian, and quickly amended gruffly, “Please.” Even walked over and pulled the chair out for her.

  Her eyes went to the chair, then to him. “If the eunuch is gone, who’s going to serve dinner, Master Vipera?”

  Scarus knew what she was asking, and what she was thinking. His expression calmed and he said, once again, in a far gentler tone, “Please.”

  This time, she walked toward him, her hips swaying attractively inside the white silk. When she sat down, he poured wine into her glass, then his own.

  “Are you sure you should be doing this?” she asked.

  “What? Seeing to your needs?”

  The pale hair on the back of her neck lifted at his words, and Scarus felt the reaction deep in his gut.

  “Waiting on me,” she clarified. “Masters should be treated like royalty. Or so I’ve heard.”

  “It’s true,” he said, dropping into the seat across from her. It barely contained his large frame. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer the same treatment to the very beautiful Nephilim before me.”

  Her gaze slipped and she reached for her wine.

  “Which leads me to ask,” he continued, lacing his fingers and dropping his chin. “Why would you hide such beauty?”

  She took a sip of wine, then placed it back on the table.

  She looked uncomfortable, but Scarus was not about to pull back. She was hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know her.

  “Rosamund?” he pressed.

  She released a weighty breath. “I don’t want to be here. In the Harem.”

  “Why not? Isn’t it an honor to be chosen?”

  “Yes.” She reached for a slice of brown bread.

  “An honor to lie with an Incubus,” he added. “A blessing to carry his young?”

  “I’m sure for some it is,” she said cautiously. “But for others, it’s not necessarily the choice they’d make if a choice was offered.”

  Scarus stared at her, dumbfounded. In all his years on this Earth, all his days and nights in the Harem, he’d never heard a Nephilim speak so. It had never even occurred to him that one might not wish to accept the honor of bedmate and… His mind slowed, then suddenly whirled back in time. Could this have been the reason for Daya’s defection? Had she not wished to lie with him? Bear his child? Had she punished him by taking their son?

  No. He refused such an idea. Refused to believe it. Incubi and Nephilim had engaged in this exchange of power and peace forever. Perhaps the woman before him was merely making excuses to cover up feelings for another male.

  Scarus’s eyes narrowed on her. Just the suggestion made his insides pulse with a primal fervor.

  He watched as she took a bite of the succulent lamb in plum sauce. “Can I ask you something, Rosamund?”

  She glanced up and her eyes held a touch of humor. “Do you really need my permission, Master Vipera?”

  A shiver moved through him. His name on her tongue… Her wet, pink tongue… “Did you give yourself to any of them? The other Incubi who came here?”

  That humor died. “No.” She didn’t even hesitate. “No other Incubus chose me.”

  Relief moved through him. “I’m glad of that. And I’m glad you wore that disguise.” His eyes traveled over her face. “Although they were fools if they couldn’t see the jewel beneath it.”

  Her eyes softened at his words. “I appreciate what you say. I appreciate your position here, and the connection our two worlds have forged in the name of peace and endurance. But I can’t sleep with you.”

  Scarus stared at the woman, once again astonished. “You find me unsatisfactory?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Does the idea of coming to my bed repulse you?”

  “Of course not.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “But that’s not why I can’t be with you. I have a man waiting for me. Outside of these walls. It’s why I donned a disguise in the first place.”

  Scarus’s jaw flickered with tension. A male? So, he’d been right. He regarded her intently. “You are bonded to another and yet the Three called you here. I’ve never heard of such a thing. What is happening in our world? Perhaps the whispers are true. The Three are not ruling properly.”

  “No,” she said, passion in her tone. “That’s not it at all—”

  “I was turning a blind eye to the unrest,” he continued. “To the Sovereign’s abandonment of the Obsidian Throne. I didn’t want to acknowledge that this balance we share could be in trouble. But clearly, it is not just happening on the Incubi side.” He reached inside his jacket for his Blackberry. The Master of the House of Xanthe was a distant, but trusted, acquaintance. He was also one of the best spies ever born. Scarus would retain Jian’s services. Find out what was truly happening with the Sovereign, then take it to the other Masters for review.

  “Please, this has nothing to do with the Three,” Rosamund insisted, her tone heavy with panic. “This is all about me. What I want. What I never had and always wished for.”

  Scarus glanced up from the text he’d just sent. Rosamund’s lovely face was grave. “What do you mean?”

  She looked as though explaining further was the last thing she wanted to do. “I grew up with nothing and no one,” she said begrudgingly. “No family. My mother abandoned me a few months after I was born. And as a Nephilim, I was told only that my father came from Romerac House and that he died when I was three. I never even took a last name because I didn’t really know where I belonged. I was shuffled around the High Chamber, but as soon as I could manage it—as soon as I was old enough—I moved away and started a life of my own.”

  “Where?” Scarus asked, his surprise at her history evident. Shuffled around? It was not how things were done in the Incubi families.

  “San Francisco.” She placed her fork on her plate with care. “I met this man when I applied for a job at his veterinary clinic. Dr. Roger Young.” She smiled softly, sadly. “He’s so kind and calm and stable. After our third date he told me that he wanted to settle down, have a big family. It spoke to my heart because that was the one thing I wanted. I wasn’t looking for romance or—”

  Fury roared through Scarus and he interrupted with an explosion of words, “You belong to a human?”

  She drew back an inch or two. “Yes. Well, no,” she stumbled. “I don’t belong to him exactly. We’re not engaged or anything. But he told me he cares about me. And when I went away, he promised to wait for me.”

  The urge to hunt down the human male and rip his limbs from his body was strong within Scarus. He sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and attempted to be calm. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “I know it’s unusual.”

  “Very. That any male would wait for his female to bear another’s offspring shocks me. Your Roger sounds like an imbecile.”

  Every shred of color in her face vanished. “He’s not an imbecile. He doesn’t know. He thinks I’m working in Australia… And he wasn’t supposed to wait for long. There’s a clause in the rules of the Harem. If a Nephilim isn’t chosen by an Incubus within a year, she must leave.”

  “I have never heard of this rule,” he ground out.

  “Most haven’t. As you said, Nephilim consider it an honor to be here.” Her eyes implored him then, the meal before her all but forgotten. “You could choose one of them, Master Vipera. Now. Right now. I could fetch her for you. Cleo or Eva, these two Nephilim are stunning, and have a much more suitable personality.”

  “I chose you, Rosamund,” he said evenly.

  She bit her lip. “I know that. But what doe
s it matter to you, Scarus?”

  Again the shiver rushed through him as she said his name, and he inhaled deeply.

  “You came here for sex and to spread your seed. Does it matter who lies beneath you?”

  It shouldn’t, he thought darkly. As long as the female wasn’t in her fertile stage. And he was fairly certain there were other Nephilim in the Harem who fit this criterion. But he was immovable. He stared at the woman across from him with predatory and possessive menace. “I chose you.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared slightly. Wrath looked very well on her. “With everything I just told you, you’re going to keep me here?”

  “You aren’t promised to that male,” he answered as though it was the simplest thing in the world. “Therefore you belong to me.”

  “I don’t belong to you,” she returned hotly.

  “While we are in the Harem—” he began.

  She cut him off. “It’s one night.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She went pale. “What does that mean?”

  He leaned forward, his eyes pinning her where she sat. “Perhaps I will forgo selection and keep you. It would be considered a great honor, Rosamund.”

  “For whom?” she ground out.

  He inhaled deeply. Heat and power were radiating off her body and he wanted to lap it up with his tongue. “Let’s say for us both.”

  “You are a barbarian,” she accused, pushing back her chair and coming to her feet.

  “I am,” he agreed.

  “And an unreasonable, uncaring, take-whatever-he-wants-no-matter-what asshole!”

  “I believe that is the very definition of an Incubus.”

  She tossed her napkin onto her plate and stormed past him. Scarus remained seated, breathing in her scent. She was right on all accounts. He was a terrible, lecherous barbarian with the moral compass of a tarantula. He’d never strived to be anything else. It was his nature. His birthright. But now…

  He rose from the table. She had already passed the torch-lit pool and was stepping off the edge of the terrace into the sand. Now he wanted her. This female who seemed to have forgotten the ancient ways. A fact that both stunned and attracted him. It had been many centuries since his line had needed to stalk their female prey.