Masters of Seduction: Books 1-4: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 20

  “I will think on it and give you my decision tonight,” he told Constance. “Now. To Rosamund.”

  “As I said, she will be returned to the Harem.”

  “No.”

  Her brows slammed together in a confused frown. “Sir?”

  “I want her released. As the Harem’s clause states. She was not chosen by an Incubus in one year’s time.”

  A slow, worried expression moved over the female’s face. “How do you know about that?”

  “It matters not.”

  “She has told you, hasn’t she?” Constance asked, rising from her chair. “How could she know such a—” Suddenly, realization dawned, and the female’s eyes sharpened. “That is why she wore the disguise. Oh…she shames us. That wicked girl.”

  A snarl broke from Scarus’s throat. “Never speak of her that way, do you understand me?”

  Constance gasped and dropped back down into her chair.

  “Now.” He leaned down, placed one hand on either side of the desk. “If you want life at the Harem to continue as is,” he said coldly. “If you want the Masters to continue to come here, you will release Rosamund in two days’ time.” He leaned in. “Am I making myself clear?”

  As she stared up at him, every inch of her body trembled with either fear or anger. Scarus didn’t care which one it was. All he wanted was her acquiescence.

  “Sì, signora?” he pressed darkly.

  She nodded, her gaze lowering. “Of course, Master Vipera.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rosamund rearranged herself on the pillows once again. She was going for casual sexy. Her hair was mussed from bed, and from Scarus’s wonderfully greedy hands, and her lips, cheeks and skin were all pink from a morning of energetic sex. Never in her life had she felt so happy, so content and so blissfully confused. This Incubus, with his barbaric nature and caged heart, had come into her life, had shaken the foundation of her carefully constructed ruse and had made her forget about her past and her future and just live in the now.

  She grinned and hugged the sheet to her chin. Maybe the now could be stretched into days or a week. She knew he had business to see to—no doubt that’s where he was now—but there had to be more time for them.

  “Sleep well, bella?”

  The sensual growl wrapped around her and squeezed. Her eyes lifted and took in the gorgeous Incubus dressed in a crisp black suit, white shirt and muted gold tie. Business, indeed. She nearly moaned looking at him.

  “Very well,” she replied warmly. “But I’m starving.”

  He moved to the edge of the bed, his eyes blazing down into hers. “How I wish that I could feed you.”

  Heat surged into Rosamund’s cheeks, and other more intimate places as well. She licked her lips. “You can, Master Vipera. In fact, I’ve been dying to know what you taste like.”

  His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened with tension. “I have been to see Constance.”

  It was as if all warmth, all intimacy, everything they’d created over the past two days evaporated in an instant. Ice water filled her veins and she stared at him, stuttering, “What? Why?”

  “I want you to have your chance, Rosamund,” he said with passion—passion that almost rivaled his touch, his kiss.

  Oh Goddess, no… She blinked up at him, feeling lightheaded. “I don’t understand. We agreed.”

  His eyes moved over her, slowly, desperately, as if he was trying to memorize her. “In two days you will be free.”

  “But that’s not possible. I was chosen by you. Taken by you.”

  “No one will know that.”

  No, no, no. What had he done? She cast aside the sheet, not caring for modesty or foolish thoughts of seduction, and scurried across the bed. “I rejected that choice, Scarus. I made my decision.”

  A groan escaped his throat as he took in her nude form. “I want you to have what you want, Rosamund. Your life the way you see it—the way you desire it. Not sitting in the Harem waiting to be impregnated.” He backed up, growling at the idea.

  Rosamund didn’t cover herself. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “I could be carrying your child.”

  He shook his head. “No. You aren’t fertile at this time.”

  Her eyes widened and her heart started to beat furiously inside her chest. “How could you know that?”

  “The Vipera line can scent fertility, Rosamund.”

  His tone was wicked and cold, but it sounded forced. He was trying to hurt her. Trying to make her detest him. But he only succeeded in destroying the vulnerability, the sweet intimacy, they’d created together.

  Her hands shaking, Rosamund reached for the sheet and covered herself. Scarus watched with shuttered eyes. But behind them, she could see his pain.

  “Did you know that when you chose me?” she asked.

  “I did,” he answered.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. “Is that why you chose me?”

  “Yes.”

  Without another world, Rosamund scrambled off the bed. She needed clothes. Needed to get dressed. She swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek just as she reached the armoire. She splayed the doors and grabbed a pale blue takchita.

  As she tossed it on, Scarus stood behind her and tried to talk to her. “I didn’t want a child, Rosamund,” he explained, his voice threaded with anger and pain, frustration and desire. “I couldn’t go through that hurt again. I was growing weak. What I needed was the power of the Harem.”

  It didn’t matter. His reasons for wanting her. None of that mattered. “I understand,” she said. What mattered was that he was pushing her away.

  “I know what you want, Rosamund,” he continued. “The life you want. Home and family. It is a beautiful thing, but nearly impossible for an Incubus.”

  And he wasn’t going to follow her.

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything more. I understand.”

  “Rosamund—”

  She glanced up then, knowing her eyes were blazing with a love she had only started to feel—a love that was being obliterated right there. “I won’t be here when Eva or whomever you’ve chosen shows up for round two.”

  He flinched. “Merda, Rosa. Is that what you think of me? That I would welcome another female into my bed tonight?”

  She didn’t know, didn’t care. But in that moment, all she wanted to do was hurt him as much as he’d just hurt her. “You are a barbarian, Scarus Vipera. An Incubus. As you say, it is exactly who you are.”

  She left him then, walked past him and out the door, her newly released heart breaking.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The tiny San Francisco apartment felt stunningly large compared to the anteroom she’d lived in for the past year at the Harem. But at least, inside of it and outside of it, she could be herself.

  Whoever that was, she mused with a snort as she ran a line of tape across the box that held her dishes. Rosamund had been back home for only a few days, but in that time she’d managed to talk with Roger—whose wife was lovely and perfect for him—quit her job and decide that a new apartment and a new town were in order. She was going to head down the coast, maybe check out Pescadero or Santa Barbara. Nothing was holding her here anymore. Nothing was holding her anywhere, frankly.

  Nothing hadn’t even tried to contact her in the past two days.

  She kicked the box of dishes, then cursed when she heard something break. Get over it, Rosamund. What happened in the Harem wasn’t real. He wasn’t real.

  Armed with her tape dispenser, she moved on to another box. That was her go-to mantra now. Pretending that her time with Scarus was a fantasy she’d made up in her head. After all, it could happen. A delusion brought on by those nightly sex dreams.

  Leaning over, she placed the tape on one side of the box, and was about to pull it across when she spotted something white peeking up at her. Her heart sank. The takchita. The one she’d come to him as her true self in. The one she’d kissed him in, fought with him in, slept in, and woke u
p in. Woke up with him between her legs, doing things she’d only dreamt about.

  Her throat tight, she reached in and fingered the diaphanous fabric. So soft. Without Constance’s knowledge, she’d packed it away with her belongings before leaving the Harem. She’d just wanted something…

  Tears pricked at her eyes and she closed them. Oh, no, that wasn’t good either. Flashes of him wreaked havoc on her mind, on the insides of her eyelids. Tall, broad, dangerous, soulful, shameless…

  So it was real. Him. Them. So what? Hearts were broken every day. Whether they were human or Nephilim or…

  Oh, that bastard barbarian.

  She stuffed the dress back into the box and was just about to close it when there was a knock at the door. She swiped at her eyes. The movers were here. They didn’t need to see another post break-up scenario. No doubt they’d seen plenty in their time.

  “I’ll be right there,” she called.

  She finished taping the box, then hurried to the door. “I still have a bunch of boxes to close up,” she said, pulling the door wide. “But you can take the fridge down first.”

  “Buongiorno, Rosa.”

  That voice. It tore her apart. Made her weak and…wet. But that face and those eyes—those eyes that could look straight into her—it wasn’t fair. For two days, she’d tried to convince herself he wasn’t real. Or at the very least that he was a jerk who had murdered her heart and needed to be forgotten immediately. But here he was. Filling up her doorway. Looking like the ultimate sex demon that he was, in a perfectly cut dark gray suit, black tie and devilish expression.

  His eyes shifted to the boxes behind her. “Are you moving?”

  “I am,” she said, finally locating her voice.

  When he turned back to face her, his eyes were like two boiling pools of liquid gold. “Where are you going, Rosamund?”

  “Away,” she told him nonchalantly, though her heart was beating so fast and painful inside her chest she was afraid she might give herself a stroke.

  “That’s not an answer. I will know where you are going.” His brow arched severely. “And with whom.”

  With whom? Was he serious? Suddenly indignant, she forgot all about being nervous or stunned to see him. “I’m no Incubus, Scarus. I don’t leave one male’s bed only to jump into another’s.”

  “I should hope not.” His mouth twitched with a touch of amusement then, and he gazed down at her through his lashes. “May I come in?”

  Her skin tingled. Damn him. Damn that voice and those eyes. She backed away from the door. “Fine.” Then watched him as he moved inside, every step a lesson in predatory grace. Goddess, there was no one who could fill out a suit like him. “Why are you here, Scarus?”

  Once he’d checked out her very small studio apartment, he turned to face her. “I’ve come to ask you on a date.”

  Nothing. She just stared at him. There was absolutely nothing that had prepared her for him to say that. “A date?”

  “I realize this is unprecedented for one of my kind,” he acknowledged thoughtfully.

  “Yes, it is.”

  He exhaled heavily, even gave her a small shrug. “But so was what happened in the Harem, Rosamund.”

  Her heart gave a little kick. She tried to read him. Was he talking about her? About them? Or what had happened later, after she’d walked out of the suite. “Yes, how was the Harem?” she asked cautiously. “After I left, of course. Did you get your fill of Nephilim?”

  He stared at her for a moment, his eyes soft. Then he walked over and put a hand around her waist. “There were no other Nephilim, bella. There was never going to be. You refused to listen to me on that subject.” He reached up and touched her face, ran his thumb across her lower lip. “I wanted no other then, just as I want no other now.”

  Her throat went tight again. His words… Oh, how she wanted them to be real. “Then why did you go to Constance?” she asked. “Why did you tell her I wasn’t your choice? We could’ve been together.”

  “Yes,” he said, his jaw tightening. “And then you would’ve had to remain at the Harem. I couldn’t allow another male to touch you.” He leaned in and kissed the lower lip he had just been stroking. “Only me, Rosa.”

  Melting. Goddess, she was melting. “But you wanted me to have my freedom too?”

  “Yes.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Freedom to choose me, as I have chosen you.”

  “You’re an Incubus, Scarus.” Her eyes clung to his. “You said you can’t give me—”

  He covered her mouth then with a hungry kiss, lapping at her tongue, then pulling back and nipping at her lip. “I told you home and family was rarely done,” he uttered fiercely. “I told you losing my son nearly broke me.”

  “A son?” Rosamund said on a gasp.

  Grief flickered in his eyes. “Nico.”

  “Oh, Scarus.”

  “But I want it, bella. I want it with you.”

  It was as if her heart broke wide open at his words, and a hundred butterflies emerged. Their little, soft wings healing every inch of her heart. She felt light. She felt seen and known and understood.

  Scarus gathered her in his arms. “So, mia bella, what do you say to our date tonight? The first of many, I hope.”

  Blinking away tears, she smiled. “I say yes.”

  He returned her smile broadly, chuffed. “Then come with me now. We must hurry.”

  “It’s nine a.m., Scarus,” she said on a laugh.

  “We have a ways to travel. My plane is waiting for us at the airport.”

  A whirlwind of emotions were whipping through her. Fifteen minutes ago, she was boxing up her life, and now…she was running off to… “Where is this date? And please don’t say Morocco,” she added with a laugh.

  He sobered, even growled slightly. “You and I are never going there again. No. We are headed home.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Home?”

  “Ravello.”

  “Italy?”

  He nodded. “The Vipera Gallery opening is tonight. I wish for you to accompany me, Rosa. See where I have come from. See my passions, my land. See that I can not only give you my heart, but provide you and our young a safe, comfortable home.” His eyes softened. “You told me you never claimed a last name. I am offering you mine.”

  Tears flowed freely down her cheeks now. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But this wasn’t a dream or a false memory to protect her heart. It didn’t need protecting anymore. “Oh, Scarus…”

  “I am a barbarian, true,” he said, holding her close, one hand caressing her back. “But I would be your barbarian if you’ll have me.”

  For years, she had lived a half life. Aching for something real, something lasting, something outside of her world. Here he was. The barbarian, the bastard, the master of seduction—and the ruler of her heart. And he’d just claimed her. Forever.

  “Will you have me as your mate, Rosamund?” he said, his eyes darkening with emotion.

  “Yes, Scarus,” she cried passionately, lovingly, truthfully, snuggling deeper into his formidable chest. “I will have you. Your name, your children and your heart.”

  “Then let us go home, bella.”

  Home.

  Casa.

  It was a dream no more.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author LAURA WRIGHT is passionate about romantic fiction. Though she has spent most of her life immersed in acting, singing and competitive ballroom dancing, when she found the world of writing and books and endless cups of coffee she knew she was home. To Laura, writing is much like motherhood – tough, grueling, surprising, delicious, and a dream come true. Born and raised in Minnesota, she has a deep love of all things green, wet and grown in the ground.

  Laura is the author of the bestselling Mark of the Vampire series, the USA Today bestselling series, Bayou Heat, which she co-authors with Alexandra Ivy, and the New York Times bestselling Wicked Ink Chronicles series.

  Laura
lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young children and two loveable dogs.

  She loves hearing from her readers, and can be reached by email at laura@laurawright.com or visit her website at www.LauraWright.com.

  RUTHLESS

  House of Xanthe

  Alexandra Ivy

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jian, the Master of the House of Xanthe, stood at the edge of the barren, uninhabited island in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. He grimaced as he studied the jagged mountain of blue ice that soared toward the sky.

  Despite the weak sunlight, the breeze was edged with a lethal chill and beneath his feet the ground trembled as the ice abruptly split open. Only his swift leap to the side prevented him from tumbling into the deep fissure that formed.

  Not the first place anyone would willingly choose to spend the night.

  Not even a demon.

  Thankfully, Jian wasn’t just any demon.

  As a powerful Incubus, he could not only compel others with the force of his sexual enchantment, but he was physically impervious to the brutal elements. He also possessed the unique ability to see through magical illusions.

  Which was why he was the current Master of House Xanthe.

  Unlike other Incubi Houses, Xanthe didn’t accumulate their wealth through vineyards, or sprawling hotel chains, or sex clubs.

  No, their profitable spice trade had been destroyed, and worse, their lands stripped away, after Jian’s grandfather had stood against the House of Marakel and been labeled a traitor by the Council. Now Xanthe depended on their own skills to rebuild their empire.

  Two of Jian’s younger brothers were expert assassins who offered death for an obscene price. And a handful of cousins sold themselves as mercenaries for other Incubi.

  But it was Jian’s ability to gather and collect information that was slowly returning Xanthe to its position among the most respected Houses.