IN HIS WILDEST DREAMS by Marie Treanor

IN HIS WILDEST DREAMS by Marie Treanor

Every dream can come true…in unexpected ways.

The only time Glenn Brody acted on the waking dreams his mother called second sight, he landed in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Now he keeps himself grounded in the real world, turning a neglected Scottish mansion into a co-op that gives ex-cons a second chance.

He’s almost managed to ignore the persistent, erotically charged dreams featuring a beautiful, passionate woman—until that woman accosts him in the street to ask for a job.

In hiding from her violent ex, Izzy Ross has made a peaceful life for herself and her young son in the isolated Highland village of Ardknocken. Handsome men with a criminal record aren’t high on her list, but when work dries up, she’s forced to ask Glenn for a menial cleaning job at the big, dusty house.

Their mutual attraction turns all their preconceived notions upside down, and stirs the mansion’s legendary ghost. Attracting the kind of media attention that could force Glenn to make a perilous choice to save the woman he’s grown to love.

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Excerpt:Copyright © 2014 Marie Treanor
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
He didn’t look like a laird. He was big and rough, wore tatty, mud-stained jeans and a baggy grey sweater, and he crouched on the roof of the largest outhouse, hammering nails into slates. His thick, too-long brown hair was tied back in a careless ponytail.

As Fiona and Jeremy emerged around the side of the big house into the yard, he lifted his head to face them. For the tiniest instant, he remained perfectly still, then he slid down the roof and dropped lightly to the ground. He still gripped the hammer in one large hand as he walked toward them. Something in his stride reminded Fiona of a caged animal, its violence temporarily controlled but far from tamed. It did things to her libido—until she looked into his watchful, scarred face and remembered, finally, why his name had seemed familiar.

Oh shit! He was holding a hammer, and Jeremy had no idea who he was.

Frozen, Fiona watched Jeremy walk forward to meet him, hand outstretched. “I’m told you’re the laird,” he said jovially.

“I’m Glenn Brody.”

She was right. It was him—Glasgow gangster and reputed hit man, recently released after serving ten years of a murder sentence. And yet G. Brody was listed as the owner of Ardknocken House and estate.

Clearly, the name meant nothing to Jeremy, who’d never had the benefit of working in Scotland. He beamed at the ex-con. “Excellent! My name’s Jeremy Danehurst. I work for a television company called Genuine. This is my colleague, Fiona Marr—whom you may recognize!”

Brody took his time to shift the hammer to his left hand before grasping Jeremy’s in his right for the briefest shake. Then he glanced at Fiona, who felt like a rabbit trapped in headlights. Or staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle. His lips twisted slightly, but no one could have called it a smile. To her relief, he didn’t offer to shake hands with her.

Jeremy said, “Fiona’s going to be fronting a new series we’re doing on haunted houses.”

“Another one?” Brody said sardonically.

“This one’s going to be a bit different,” Jeremy assured him. “We’re looking at historically significant places, bringing genuine background into the story of the haunting. So we’d love to feature Ardknocken House in one of our programmes. You should have had a letter, but we didn’t receive your answer, so I don’t know—”

“I didn’t send any answer,” Brody interrupted. “I understood that would be taken as ‘no’.”

Jeremy laughed easily. He was good at this stuff. But even his southern English ears must have picked up Brody’s accent, by now—hardly public school, or even regionless Scottish like her own. Brody’s was pure Glasgow. Although, admittedly, you could make out the words.

“Mr. Brody,” Jeremy said with an expansive wave toward the weathered grey turrets and stone walls of Ardknocken House. To Fiona, they no longer looked romantic and atmospheric; they seemed as threatening as the man who owned them. “You can’t expect us to give up on such a fabulous opportunity without a second try.”

“Is that why you’re here? Sorry you’ve wasted your time. My answer’s no. Unequivocally. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Somewhere, in prison or out, he’d developed enough social presence to make it impossible for them to stay. Almost like obedient children, she and Jeremy allowed themselves to be shepherded around the side of the house. From inside, a muffled cacophony of rock music and machinery drifted through the stone or from open windows. Fiona could hear a television too.

“Can I ask why?” Jeremy hazarded, still not giving up.

Brody shrugged. “Too busy. And besides, the house isn’t haunted.”

“We wouldn’t get in your way,” Jeremy promised.

Brody looked at him. “Yes,” he said, “you would.”

Even Jeremy blinked rapidly at that, a rare sign of fluster.

They rounded the corner to the front of the house, where they’d parked the car. Outside the impressive—and now open—front door, a young woman and a wiry, middle-aged man were arguing, although they shut up when they caught sight of “the laird” and his visitors.

“Good-bye,” Brody said with finality. He stood still as they walked on to the car. Fiona felt only relief.

But Jeremy, bloody Jeremy, paused with his fingers already on the door handle. He turned back and said over his shoulder, “You do understand that we’d pay you?”

It was, she supposed, inspiration. A place like this must cost a fortune to keep up. And even Brody, who didn’t look exactly tempted, gazed at him consideringly before he asked, “How much?”

Fiona gaped when the number rolled off Jeremy’s lips. Twice what they’d agreed to pay even the most mercenary of participants so far.

“F*ck,” said the wiry man on the doorstep with undisguised admiration.

Brody’s expression didn’t change. Then: “I’ll think about it,” he said abruptly, and turning on his heel, he walked up the steps past the two people at the door and disappeared inside.



“What’s to think about?” Chrissy demanded, following him into the house. “Money like that would solve more than a few immediate problems!”

Glenn could hear the car’s engine starting up outside. He shrugged but kept walking toward the dark oak staircase. “Whether or not we want them here. They’re making TV programmes about haunted houses, so they’d be under our feet day and night.”

“Meeting tonight, then?” Chrissy pursued.

Without turning, he could see the pound signs in her eyes. With the TV money, they could buy the new equipment now and still deal with the most necessary of the house repairs. Though she’d have to sell the idea of visitors to more grumpy ex-cons that him.

When he’d first got out of prison, Glenn couldn’t bear being indoors, even in the pouring rain or howling gales. But here at Ardknocken, it never felt like being enclosed. The house was too big, too gracious. Light poured in its big, Victorian windows, flooded all the way down the main stairwell from the huge skylight in the roof. It was why he’d first let others stay here, because even if you heard their voices, you never needed to see their owners, let alone walk into them. Unless you chose.

He chose now to leave the rest of the outhouse roof until tomorrow. Instead, he felt the urge to play, solely for his own amusement. And making these choices for himself was still a pleasing novelty. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, stretching his legs out, and strode along the landing to the next flight, which he took at equal speed.

At the end of the next hall, he pushed open his bedroom door and went in, swiping up his favourite acoustic guitar as he went. Then he sat cross-legged on his unmade bed, by the window, the guitar resting on his thighs as he gazed out over the rugged landscape to the scattered village and the sea beyond. Farther to the right, the hills loomed tall and ancient, reminding him of his own and everyone else’s tiny place in the hugeness of the world.

He strummed the guitar once, and then he saw her, the woman who’d been haunting his waking visions for months, a fraction of a second before the world altered.

That was different. The tilt into the dream usually happened first. Perhaps it had just been hard to perceive, because in the dream, he was still in bed, just not with the guitar. And it wasn’t this bed or this room.

But the really important thing was, he lay naked, cradled between the bare hips of a woman, pushing slowly and exquisitely inside her. Her long, black hair spilled over the white pillow. Her huge, liquid-brown eyes stared up into his with aching passion as she clung to him, undulating beneath him.

He was so struck with her expression, with his effect on her, that it was several moments before he recognized his own state of physical bliss—something he seemed to have no control over. He didn’t choose how or when to move, he just did, sliding in and out of her, arching to bend his head and kiss her beautiful dusk-peaked breasts. She had such beautiful breasts, full and pert, a perfect fill, surely, even for his big hands. He wanted to try, to see if the hand that caressed her was his, but he was stroking lower down, holding her hips steady.

He plunged faster now, licking the tiny beads of perspiration from her brow as she moaned and gasped with increasing intensity. Her fingers ran up and down his spine, digging, clutching. He could stay here all day and into the night. Oh yes.

When the storm broke over her, a smile split her face like sunshine, and yet tears spilled from the corners of her eyes as she writhed and convulsed beneath him. He took her mouth, swallowing her cries, driving into her again and again until, finally—

He sat on his own unmade bed, the guitar barely held in his slack hands.

Glenn squeezed his eyes shut in desperation, but the vision had gone.

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HEXED AND VEXED by Rebecca Royce

HEXED AND VEXED by Rebecca Royce


Olive White has had a terrible six months. It's not bad enough that years earlier she earned the nickname "Worst Witch In Witching School," she is now being forced to watch the love of her life, Campbell Bane, marry her sister Cindy. And she’s being asked to do so in a pink, puke-colored bridesmaid’s dress. Vexed doesn’t begin to describe how she feels....

Her powers pick the wedding as the perfect moment to turn on, zapping both her ex and her to a magical island not found on any map. Someone is bound to find them, but perhaps Olive can get some answers, once and for all.

When Campbell falls ill, she uses her considerable skills to save his life, but can she believe him when he tells her he still loves her and always has? Was he hexed, or is it all a flimsy excuse for breaking her heart?

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~Excerpt~

“Tell me again how we ended up here. And speak slowly so I can understand every word you say.” A muscle clenched in his jaw.

“Well.” She might have preferred Campbell not bringing up her tendency to rush through speech when she felt nervous. “I think I may have, completely unintentionally of course, zapped us here.”

“You. Zapped. Us. Here.” He nodded in between each word like he needed to make sense of all of them individually before he could move on. He ran a hand through his dark hair. Strands she herself had once caressed on a nightly basis before he’d gone and decided to marry her sister, thus destroying her life.

“Exactly.” She hitched up her pink monstrosity of a dress and walked toward the inviting waves. The sea air tingled against her skin.

Campbell grabbed her arm. “Olive White, you’ve never successfully performed one spell. Not even one.”

“Yes, you would know that since you were with me every single time I bumbled one. The worst witch in witching school.” She hated that phrase and obviously, she’d made a spell work. Even if she hadn’t meant to. Maybe she could finally lose the nickname.

“Yes.” He smiled at her, letting her arm go. For a second, she saw his brown eyes sparkle like they had when he used to look at her, in the days before the whole world had shifted sideways. But then as fast as the adoration had appeared it vanished. “Well, since you can suddenly make the gift of the ancestors work, zap us back.”

Campbell tapped his foot on the sand like she should hurry up and get the job done. She stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, at the image he portrayed.

He still wore his tuxedo. In the sand.

Dark hair, dark eyes, and dressed in a designer tuxedo, complete with a black bowtie that had to have been Cindy’s idea, he stood on the beach looking like a fish that had suddenly found itself in a bird’s nest. He really didn’t belong in his current habitat. At least not dressed like that.

Olive covered her mouth to hide her smile. Campbell always fit in wherever he went and even though it seemed mean to laugh, especially because it was her fault that he’d landed on the beach, she couldn’t help but find amusement in how uncomfortable he appeared. After her months of pain, he deserved the hours ahead of him.

He stood waiting for her to answer his declaration. Her sister’s fiancé wanted her to bring them back immediately if not sooner.

“I can’t undo the spell, Campbell. And I’m not sorry about it. Not even a little bit.”

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IMPERIAL HAVEN by Anne Kane

IMPERIAL HAVEN by Anne Kane

Mating Season Book Three

Caitlin is a high-class data thief. She knows how to get in and out of a mark's house without detection, but this time something went wrong. Kyran not only caught her red-handed, tapping into his computer system, he also seems to think they have some kind of bond-mate thing going.

What's a girl to do when the bounty hunter you were stealing from turns out to be an Imperial Were-Panther with the hots for you?

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Mating Season: Imperial Haven
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Anne Kane

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Caitlyn peered around the edge of the railing and studied the ship in dock slip number eighty-seven. A long-range scouting vehicle, it belonged to a bounty hunter named Kyran. What kind of name was that anyway? Kyran? Sounded like a small parasite that the fish on her home planet feasted on.

Satisfied that the docking corridor was empty, she scurried over to the ship and held the sonar lock pick over the security box. It hummed for a few seconds before a soft click let her know the lock was now disarmed. Pocketing the small device, she slid open the heavy outer hatch and entered the spaceship.

Inside, the layout looked exactly as her research had led her to expect. The Mark IV was a popular vehicle, noted for its reliability and low energy consumption. Corridors branched off in two directions from where she stood. The one on the right should lead to the crew quarters and galley, the left to the bridge and all of the computer equipment.

Caitlyn headed left. Talk about a sweet deal. She just needed to locate Mr. Bounty Hunter's main files and download a copy of the new engine specs he'd been bragging about in the Spaceport tavern last nightfall. Her client was offering big bucks for them, and she could use a fat commission right about now. What with the government lackeys declaring a galaxy-wide crackdown on smuggling, the data theft business hadn't been so good lately.

She'd been stealing data almost as long as she'd been breathing the rarified oxygen that passed for an atmosphere on the mining droids. She'd discovered early on that her small stature and innocent face were assets she could exploit. The space enforcers had never even come close to catching her. Once she'd started working data dumps on a regular basis, she'd set up a double blind drop system to make sure even the clients didn't see who she was.

When she turned the corner, the corridor widened out to the bridge. She stopped, staring around in admiration. The walls were sheets of polished titanium, glowing richly in the low light of the ship's systems. A state-of-the-art pilot's chair sat dead center of the room, overlooking the navigation and communication station. A complicated array of computer banks lined the walls to the left, and she headed toward them. The info she needed would be stored somewhere in their hard drives.

An unfamiliar chill slithered down her back, and she turned to study the room carefully. Nothing but empty space greeted her, and she shrugged, turning back to the task at hand. She needed to take a break, maybe after this job. Her nerves were shot. The heist last month had gone badly, leaving a sour taste in her mouth, and now she was sensing things that weren't there. Not good. In this job, you needed nerves of steel.

Spying an access terminal, she glided across the room and pulled her mane of golden hair aside to expose the input jack just behind her ear. Plugging one end of the download cable into it, she slid the receiver into the data port. Images immediately flooded through the link, blinding her with their sheer volume, and she closed her eyes to concentrate. It took a few minutes to bring the flow under control so she could sort through it, looking for the plans that she wanted. This was the mind-numbingly boring part.

The bounty hunter was organized, she'd give him that. The data banks were neatly arranged, information stacked by subject. She skimmed past star charts and weapons schematics, financial data and the ship's supply logs. The man kept records of everything! She found the technical data stored in the back corner of the drive, and began the tedious job of scanning each string of code. It had to be in here somewhere, and when she found it her money troubles would be over. At least for now.

The bounty hunter came out of nowhere, grasping her wrists and snapping on the magnetic cuffs before she had time to react and pull her consciousness out of the computer banks. He pulled her arms up over her head, and the magnetic cuffs snapped into position against the metal frame of the ship, leaving her standing spread-eagled in front of him. With a sardonic grin, he reached up to pull the download cable out of the jack in her head.

She felt so incredibly helpless, not something she had a lot of experience with. She looked up the long muscular length of her captor's sculpted body. In person, he looked a whole lot more intimidating than he had in the vid pic she'd dug up on the station's news feed. At least six and a half feet tall, his skintight uni-suit did nothing to hide the sleek ropes of muscle that rippled across his massive chest. Dark hair hung to his shoulders and framed a face more rugged than handsome.

His eyes, though, were what held her attention. Dark as a Zargonian night sky and with swirling hazel streaks, they sent shivers of lust dancing up her spine.

She should be terrified, but all her treacherous mind could think of was how good his hands would feel on her naked body.

"Looking for something?" His voice was deep and husky, the kind of voice that could make the meteor report sound sexy.

"No, just passing by and thought I'd take a look at your system." She ignored the sinking feeling in her gut and pasted a cheerful smile on her face. "I've never been aboard a ship like this before. It's very impressive."

"Well, it's your lucky day then." His lopsided grin didn't do much to reassure her, especially with those eyes boring into her very soul. "You'll be getting a free ride on her."

"Oh, that's nice of you, but I'm afraid I won't be able to take you up on that. I have a commitment elsewhere tonight. Lovely as they are, I'm going to have to ask you to remove the bracelets."

Kyran shook his head, his eyes darkening even more. "I'm afraid that's out of the question. You'll have to send your regrets." He took one step forward, placing a hand on either side of her head and trapping her between the wall and his considerable bulk.

Warm breath feathered teasingly along her cheek as he brought his face close to sear a kiss across her lips. He slid his tongue across the seam of her lips, his mouth hard and demanding.

Caitlyn's body reacted immediately, insatiable lust flooding through every cell. She opened her mouth, something in her unable to resist his combination of domination and seduction. Kyran lifted his head for a second, and disappointment shivered through her. None of the news vids had mentioned what an amazing kisser he was.

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CHRISTMAS GLOW by Megan Slayer

CHRISTMAS GLOW by Megan Slayer

Glow Band Book 6 - Glow Kids

Pixie Elf's days of designing punk teddy bears just aren't cutting it. She wants more, including the sexy radio jockey she met at a Glow concert. That is, if he's up for grabs.

Nitro Hicks loves playing the latest rock tunes, but he can't get a certain elf off his mind. Does he have what it takes to rock her world for the long haul?

Magic happens in the Christmas Glow.

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Santa's Helper: Christmas Glow
Megan Slayer
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Megan Slayer

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Santa waved his hand. "Okay. The reason you're here is your Christmas list. You've been original, yet invaluable on the stuffed animal production floor." He sighed. "I see you'd like two concert tickets.
Glow? Seems like I do something involving them every year."

"Yes. There's someone very special I want to invite." Pixie narrowed her eyes. If she didn't just ask, she'd never get the courage to go through with her plan. "That's where being your helper on the sleigh this year would help out."

His brows rose. "I knew it wasn't something as simple as going on Stub Hub. Lay it out for me."

Pixie sank down into the nearest chair. She'd gotten past the first hurdle, getting into the office and asking. Next obstacle. "My birthday present to myself was the ticket to see Glow in Montreal. That and a plane ticket. Anyway, I met this person there. We clicked and started talking. I had to head home and so did he, but we continued chatting online. I'm putting my heart out there, but I think this is our chance to have the magic from Montreal once more."

She picked at the white fuzz lining the edge of her skirt. He hadn't replied and barely moved. Santa lowered his gaze to the desk. He still didn't say anything. Her heart sank. The longer he stayed quiet, the worse her chances of the wish coming true.

Santa pressed a button on his desk. "Mrs. Claus, I'm in need of your perspective on something." He folded his thick arms and leaned back in his seat. "I'm over my head."

Moments later, his wife strolled into the office. "Hi, Pix. More bears?"

Pixie groaned. Damn bears, anyway.

"What's up?" Mrs. Claus perched on Santa's knee. "This has got to be relationship stuff. You never ask me for help with the production floor."

"Later. I've got some ideas I want to... send your way." He wriggled his brows.

Pixie groaned again. If she didn't think gagging would jeopardize her wish, she might have done that, too.

"We're embarrassing Pix." Mrs. Claus giggled. "Male or female?"

"A man, I believe." Santa tapped the keys on his computer. "Looks like a Nitro Hicks. What a name... Nitro? You've got a thing for a guy named Nitro?"

"Why don't you check on the run of tricycles?" Mrs. Claus stood. "They've been a little slow down there."

Santa's shoulders dropped. "Fine." He climbed out of his chair. "But I'll remember this later."

"You'd better." Mrs. Claus took his vacated seat and waited until he left the room to speak. "You and Nitro, aka Nolan Hicks. Hot and heavy? Spit it out with all the details."

Pixie always had liked Mrs. Claus's no-nonsense style. "It's like this. We met at the concert, but I'm shy. He spoke first and made me feel like I belonged there. We talked, laughed and shared some secrets. I mentioned I might want something more than what I have here in the North Pole. He drove me to the airport. We kissed, talked and had to go our separate ways. Thrilling."

"He's easy on the eyes, I'll agree, and if he kisses the way he looks then, yes, it was probably thrilling. What did he say when he found out about the elf thing?"

"Cleveland was cold like the North Pole. He could dig the chill."

"Cute on all accounts."

"We've chatted and Skyped since the concert. Lots of times." She wasn't about to admit to how hot the chat sessions got. "I'm scared I'm really putting myself out there, but I have to give it a chance."

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JORDAN'S WINGS by Dariel Raye

JORDAN'S WINGS by Dariel Raye

Jordan Taylor is a feisty, take charge, Rubinesque beauty with a tough façade, but after a string of lackluster relationships, her dream of a man who truly loves her and appreciates her strength seems impossible…Until she meets Canaan, the man her fiancé claims is his best friend! Instinctively, she knows her neat, if lackluster life is about to change.

Born more than 200 years ago, Canaan looks like an angel but he’s far from it. In his world, the ratio of men to women is 500 to 1, and although he’s a superior being, he’s willing to break the most sacred law of his brothers, even drink human blood, to have one of his own. To claim Jordan as his own, Canaan will have to betray his friend, humble himself enough to win her love, and risk his very life.

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          Suddenly, Jordan stilled. Canaan heard her soft intake of breath. The acceleration of her heartbeat assured him that she knew he was there.

Canaan leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, the top of his head a scant few inches from the top of the door. “Trouble sleeping?”

He was drawn in by her soft, liquid brown eyes as she stared at him, and he wondered if she realized her lips were parted. He didn’t want to frighten her, so he forced himself to remain still as her sweet scent of arousal sizzled along his spine. Desire for her nearly overwhelmed him, and he fought to maintain control. Her boyfriend, the man who thought he was his best friend was in the next room, for the One God’s sake. None of that mattered to him in the moment. His need for her was much more than physical. She was meant for him, and somehow she had always been his from the moment she was conceived. Now, he had to figure out how to claim her.

Just a taste. He took a step closer to her and leaned in, a latch flipping open inside him. Mmmm. A tiny wall-mounted mp3 player blared to life as he passed it, an energy storm building inside him, and his mind was consumed with Jordan .

Canaan caught the book as it slipped from her hand, and held it up to read the title. “The Heavens are Telling. Hmmm. Not exactly my idea of light reading.” He held out his hand, inviting her to come with him.

“Um, just a minute.” Jordan turned to grab her robe from the bottom of the bed.

Canaan smiled as she glanced to see whether Robert was still sleeping. He whispered, “we’ll be quiet.” He nodded in the direction of the sofa bed and led her from the room, pleasantly surprised by her easy acquiescence.

As soon as they left the room, Jordan removed her hand from his and reached for her book. She gave him that suspicious look again, pursing her lips before she spoke. She sat in a chair across from the sofa. “What is it about you that sets me on edge?”

He lifted one of his eyebrows. Charming. “Oh, I don’t know. Am I more your type?” He crossed his arms, taking special notice of the quickening of her heartbeat and imagined her luscious chocolate nipples tightening to taut buds just waiting for his tongue. He braced himself for the lie, her sweet scent of arousal even stronger now.

“No.” She placed the book on the table beside her and stood, her expression daring him to come closer. “I don’t think Robert…”

The air shifted with her movement, and Canaan closed his eyes briefly, basking in her scent. Just one taste. He opened them, moving toward her. “Robert. You’re not going to say anything to Robert. If I decided to take you for myself, Robert would be the least of my problems.”

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WHERE THERE'S SMOKE by Karen Kelley

WHERE THERE'S SMOKE by Karen Kelley

When sexy wannabe-demon, Destiny Carter, is kicked out of Hell, she lands in Ft. Worth, Texas with one week to corrupt a soul. Or else. She slips into a slinky red dress, and heads straight for the delicious, corruptible looking cowboy at the bar.

But Chance Bellew has his own agenda-saving souls. He's not your typical angel. He’s a nephilim, to be exact. Centuries ago, angels came down from Heaven and mated with mortal women. When the women bore children, a new race was created. Immortals with powers—demigods, nephilim.

But the children don’t live by the same rules as mortals, or that of the typical, robe-wearing, bright light-surrounding-them angels. Hell, most of the time the nephilim are breaking the rules, and making up new ones as they go. As long as they don’t cross over to the dark side, everyone pretty much stays out of their way.

But sometimes a demon-in-training, who looks like Destiny, comes along and all Hell breaks loose.

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

Destiny Carter was six years old when she had the first inkling that her life wouldn't be a fairy tale. That was the day her mother left her in a grocery store and never came back. Destiny was right, her life went downhill from there. Bad foster homes, bad boyfriends, and really, really bad choices.

Then she died and went to Hell.

Until she was kicked out.

Destiny landed on the sidewalk with a hard thump.

"Son of a bitch!" She grimaced as she came to her feet, rubbing her hands over her tender backside. She was probably the first person ever to get kicked out of Hell. Temporarily, that is.
Hysterical laughter bubbled inside her, but she quickly tamped it down. She was not going to lose what little bit of sanity she had left. She would get through this like she did everything else, by gritting her teeth and doing what she had to do.

All is not lost. Just take a deep breath.

She inhaled.

Ugh! Her nose twitched as a god-awful stench filled her space. She glanced down the deserted street. Faded army-green painted letters on a shabby storefront window proclaimed it as Ft. Worth's finest resale shop.

Oh hell, she'd landed close to the stockyards in Ft. Worth, Texas, but this wasn't Billy Bob's. No, skid-row bars and vacant buildings lined both sides of the street.

Could her day get any worse?

Not that she had anything against Texas, except it was hot as hell. The dry heat was not helping her mood.

"I couldn't manage to steal one more soul?" she grumbled.

Okay, so she wasn't the best salesperson in the underworld. Why didn't that lawyer just sign on the dotted line? He insisted on reading the fine print and before she knew it, poof, he was gone. One more soul and she would've been a full-fledged demon with all the rights and privileges of that position-like drinking, gambling, and lots of sex.

"Sex," she breathed on a sigh as she slowly combed her fingers through her long, black hair. Naked, straining bodies. Hands touching, caressing. She bit her bottom lip and forced the vision to go far, far away before she grabbed the grungy-looking bum leaning against the vacant store front and had her way with him.

She grimaced. Maybe she wasn't that hard up. But Destiny did really miss sex. Everything about her life might have been lousy, but never the sex. And right now she was so horny she figured she'd start sprouting a pair any time, except people at the trainee level couldn't grow a set of horns to save their lives.

Now she was one step farther from her goal. The ones in charge were really pissed, but at least they had given her another chance, and new orders: corrupt someone and drag the unwitting person back to Hell. She had one week to do it or else. Why the fuck had they tacked on "or else"? What were they going to do? Send her to Hell?

Okay, shake it off. Getting kicked out was only a minor glitch. She could take a soul in less than a week. A moment of panic sent a shiver down her spine and her bravado drained away. Who was she kidding? Only dying souls caught between Heaven and Hell were sent to the sorting station. Her job was to convince them Hell was their best choice. She didn't have to search them out. Nothing ever went right for her in life. Why did she think being dead would change things?

No, she could do this. She would survive.

A flashing neon sign suddenly caught her attention when one of the bulbs popped and blew out. THE STOMPIN' GROUND. A bar. Her mouth watered. Demons-in-training weren't allowed to drink, or do much of anything on the job, and they were always on the job. One drink wouldn't hurt, and a bar would be a good place to start looking for a corruptible soul. In fact, it was her duty to go inside and check the place out.

A slow smile curved her lips as she slid her hands slowly over her body and the plain, butt-ugly, black wool uniform shift became a tight-fitting, low-cut, fuck-me red dress that shimmered with each slow, seductive step she took. Yeah, she was bad. Life made her that way. That's why she went straight to Hell. You never saw a good girl in Hell.

The bum's mouth dropped open. He looked at his wrinkled brown paper sack that obviously held a bottle of booze, then back at her. She grinned and winked. He tipped the bottle to his mouth, guzzling down more alcohol.

"See you in Hell," she muttered.

Destiny made her way to the bar, then pushed on the door, stepping inside the cool, dimly lit interior. As soon as her eyes adjusted, she glanced around. A haze of cigarette smoke formed a gray cloud above the patrons.

Slim pickings. Only a handful of people sat at tables.

Two worn out hookers were strategically positioned close to the door. Too easy. They already had Hell stamped on their foreheads. Destiny wanted to impress the powers that be. Used-up hookers would not make an impact on them.

A couple of men sat at another table deep in conversation about a stupid football game. Not bad looking. Wedding rings glinted on their fingers. Married. Too much trouble.

Hmm... But the demons might be impressed.

Before she could take a step toward them the bathroom door opened, spilling a patch of light into the bar. Two laughing women joined the men at their table. Scratch that idea. Two was company, four was a crowd.

There was a lively group of barely legal college boys chugging pitchers of beer. Hmm, certainly corruptible. From the way they were dressed, they were definitely slumming. One guy glanced her way, eyes practically bugging out.

Oh hell, was that drool? No thanks!

Someone put money in the jukebox and a slow country song began to play. For a moment, she let the deep voice of the singer wash over her. She didn't even mind that he was crooning about his cheating wife and losing himself in a bottle of whiskey. Damn, she missed being alive.

Her gaze languidly drifted around the rest of the room, past dark walls with posters of country singers plastered all over them. The bartender wiped a damp cloth across one end of the bar.
Destiny's eyes narrowed as she sized him up. The potential was there.

He raised his head, saw her, then smiled. The kind of smile that made her feel good all over. He wasn't bad looking, in a good-old-boy sort of way.

Destiny drew in a deep breath as she readied herself for a full assault, but at the last minute a movement at the other end of the bar caught her eye.

A lone cowboy sat on one of the stools nursing a beer, his back to her. He wore a black T-shirt that deliciously hugged his broad shoulders. Her gaze dropped. The jeans weren't bad, either.
Nope, not bad at all. The guy had a great ass from this angle. Sweet! Cowboy had just enough muscles that he created a fantasy, but not enough that she would be in competition with his ego.

He turned and looked her way, his gaze sliding sensuously over her body. Tingles of excitement tickled her spine. She had such a fondness for cowboys. They knew how to ride 'em long and hard, and she was all for long and hard.

She devoured him with one long lazy look. His black Stetson was pulled down low on his forehead as though he didn't give a damn about anyone or anything. It didn't help that, for some insane reason, black cowboy hats turned her on.

Oh baby, she was about to make his wet dreams come true. Yee-haw, ride 'em cowboy.
The bartender was forgotten as she locked on target. Destiny slid her hands over her hips nice and slow before sauntering toward him, putting just a little bit of swing in her hips.

This time she would be the one calling the shots. The one in charge. No one would ever control her again like they had when she was alive. She would take what she wanted and to hell with the rest! Literally.

The cowboy watched her every step of the way. She was already wrapping him around her little finger and the poor guy didn't have a clue. She stopped beside him.

"Buy a lady a beer?" she asked. Her words held enough invitation that only an idiot wouldn't guess she wanted more than a beer, and this guy didn't look like an idiot. She slid onto the stool next to his, propping her elbow on the scarred wooden surface of the bar.

Over the haze of smoke, over the smell of alcohol, Destiny caught another scent that weaved its way around her, making her lean in a little closer. It was spicy and held a promise of nights filled with down-and-dirty sex. She could feel the waves of heat radiating off him, curling around her body and wrapping her in a sensual cloud of sexual awareness.

"A beer for the lady," he drawled, breaking into her fantasy and nodding toward the bartender.
His voice sent tingles down her spine. It was just a little raspy-low and sexy.

Cowboy swiveled his stool around to face her and tipped the brim of his hat with one finger so she got a better look at his face: the strong jaw, the slight stubble, and the most intense blue eyes she'd ever encountered.

Destiny had her first mini orgasm, and it felt so fucking great! This guy looked good enough to eat. She was going to enjoy corrupting him.

"What's a cowboy like you doing in a bar all alone?" Okay, that sounded pretty cheesy, but she was a little out of practice; she'd died in 1959.

"Waiting for a woman like you," he replied and again his words caressed her as his blue-eyed gaze drifted lazily down her body before returning to her face. Her nipples tightened.

The bartender set a beer in front of her. Cowboy dropped a few bills on the counter and the bartender left.

She grinned as she took the bottle, her tongue sliding nice and slow around the rim before she brought it the rest of the way to her lips. She tilted the bottle a little and ice-cold liquid slid down her throat. Nice. She'd missed the taste of alcohol.

"So, what's your handle, cowboy?" she asked after she lowered the bottle.

"Chance. Chance Bellew."

"Well, you've just met your destiny." She grinned. "Destiny Carter."

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SEDUCING THE SWORD by Dakota Trace

SEDUCING THE SWORD by Dakota Trace

Book 1 Darkest Submission Series: Camulos

While she wants no part of being a TrueMate, he has to have her or die.

Camulos, the God of War, lost his family when he couldn't give up what his wife, Ashlyn, called his war-like ways. After she leaves taking their twin sons, he secludes himself. He's unprepared when ten years later Cayleigh, Ashlyn's aunt, shows up with his now teen-aged sons.

With his wife dead, he's shocked to realize after waiting for centuries the Fates have finally given him the headstrong TrueMate he requires. Even as Cayleigh denies his claim, in the throes of the assero vel'abeo he has no choice. He has to have her submission. With less than twenty-four hours to insure it or die, whoever said the Fates were kind?

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Chapter One

"Kill him!" The clash of metal against metal rang out. "He doesn’t deserve to live! Remember Berwick!" A warrior wearing blue war paint and wielding a broadsword bellowed.

"I will, brother. We will have our revenge!" His brother in arms swung viciously at the British knight in front of him, lopping off his hand. The man screamed in agony.

Camulos, the former Celtic-Romano God of War, rolled his eyes at the corny lines being shouted on the television screen. These fools don’t even have a clue what actually happened at the Battle of Berwick. He pressed the pause button on his remote, stilling the bloody battle.

"Who the hell writes their dialogue? Like any warrior would stop in the middle of battle to talk about another bloody battle. It’s a damn fine way to lose your blessed head." After jotting down a few suggestions for the director, he thumbed the remote and the battle resumed.

By the end of the footage, he had a list of suggestions for the director and a half-assed headache. He often wondered why he ever thought consulting with this damn film company in New Zealand would alleviate the boredom brought on by his marriage. His family was gone. He was lonely once again and was still bored.

If only I’d known. But then again they say hindsight is twenty-twenty.

He rubbed his temples in frustration. "Damn her! Why couldn’t she have understood? I was the freakin’ God of War!" Even though, he’d known Ashlyn might have issues with his nature, and that she wasn’t his TrueMate, he’d wanted the Serenity Faerie.

And to have her, I tried to give up my warrior ways. I was so tired of being alone, that I gave her my oath. I quit practicing with Invincible because she said there was no reason to keep my sword skills honed. I cancelled all the tourneys that were to be held in my honor because even as a sport she saw them as violent.

He began to pace the theater room in agitation, unwilling to let the past go.

I should’ve realized after thousands of years being together, she’d freak out about me being a fight scene consultant. Even without me wielding the sword, she’d still find issues with violence portrayed on the screen. I should’ve never stolen her from the faerie realm. I should’ve realized she wouldn’t be able to handle the constant turmoil in the Mortal realm. The only good thing that came from our marriage is our sons.

A sharp pain filled his chest at the thought of them.

When he’d come home to find Ashyln gone, her desertion wasn’t a surprise, but it hurt like hell when he realized she taken their twin sons with her. He missed Kennet and Flannery, his little blond-haired tykes, like a drug addict yearned for his next high.

All the while he had no one to blame but himself. Ashlyn’s parting words made sure of it.

"I just knew you couldn’t change, Camulos. Once a God of War - always one. I was foolish to think you would keep your oath. We’re going back to Faerie realm, where your blood thirst won’t rub off on my sons."

He’d pled with her to not take his children, their precious miracles who were finally conceived after thousands of years of marriage, but in end it hadn’t mattered. His boys were whisked away to the Faerie realm and out of his reach until they came of age.

His broken oath had sealed his fate.

Across the room the phone rang, jerking him out of his torturous memories. He considered ignoring it just as he had the last six times it’d rung. When it continued ringing unabated, he finally snatched the receiver from the cradle.

"Yeah?" His snarl seemed lost on the person on the other end.

"Don’t you take that tone with me, Camulos! Open the gate! If it hasn’t escaped your notice it’s raining out here."

The feminine voice was both sensual and tart. It had him pausing even as his body reacted violently. His cock, which had refused to respond to another’s touch, was now primed as if he’d indulged in hours of foreplay. A tingle at the back of his neck and the urge to mate—no to dominate the woman—consumed him. He nearly dropped the phone in surprise.

This can only mean one thing!

While he hadn’t been interested in any female, let alone reacted to one since his wife left him, his body was now telling him his TrueMate was at his front gate.

He cleared his throat before forcing himself to speak. "Who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare unless you open this god damned gate!"

Even through his daze from his body’s unexpected reaction, he could hear a young male in the background. The need to kill the male boiled over. He reached for a sword that was no longer there.

"Now he went and did it. Only a fool pisses off Auntie."

"I’m going to show you who the fool is if you call me that detested title again, Flannery. Quit laughing, Kennet, before I kick your ass up between your shoulder blades!"

The shock of hearing his sons’ names calmed his need for blood. She has my sons!

With no recollection of the woman presenting him such temptation, he surged out of his chair. He had to find out who she was and why she was with his sons.

"I’ll be right there." His voice was gruff as he dropped the phone on the floor, uncaring about the muffled protests coming from it. He left the room at a dead run.

* * * * *

Standing outside the gate, Cayleigh grumbled as she pushed her damp hair off her forehead. The rain continued to fall. It was late autumn in Colchester, England and, as usual, the weather just sucked. Cold and rainy did not agree with her demoness side at all. She liked hot and dry – not cold and damp places. Behind her the cabbie looked at her hopefully from inside the warm taxi. Probably waiting to be paid. Jerking her head at Flannery, he nodded before ambling over to pay the man.

Moments later the car was gone and Kennet’s continued laughter had her considering the idea of knocking the teen on his ass. Despite the fact at sixteen he towered over her did little to deter her. Of the two, he was the practical joker. While both boys supposedly had the bodies of their father – the God of War – she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him or his twin, Flannery. They may have had a good fifty pounds on her and ten inches in height, but she was just plain meaner and nastier. After my stay in the Underworld, how could anyone expect me to turn out differently? Her niece had accused her more than once of being down right vicious.

Cayleigh made no apologies or excuses for her nature. She was a bitch partially because of her father. As a minor demon under Bilé - the ruler of Underworld, her father, Alastir, whisked her at a young age to the world of eternal damnation when her mother had died.

As a Serenity Faerie few things other than misguided love could kill them. Her own mother’s continual denial of her love for Alastir had caused her to slowly waste away as if being eaten from inside. Not unlike humans with their deadly cancers.

Raising a young girl, even a half-demoness, in Hell had taken serious balls. Under Alastir’s patient guidance, she grew up every inch a true demoness despite her slightly pointed ears and the delicate frame she’d inherited from her mother. In fact most considered her a full-blooded demon because of her vicious reputation.

It was quite the surprise, when her peace-loving niece called her for help five years ago. Her great-nephews were beginning to mature and were running roughshod over Ashlyn.

Remembering the situation she’d walked into, her niece’s pleas made perfect sense. At eleven, the twins towered over Ashlyn and were capable of being more than their already weakening mother could handle. It’d pained Cayleigh to watch her niece wither away from the same calamity as her mother. Only a foolish faerie woman gives her heart to an unacceptable man. Cayleigh had decided then and there she would never allow it to happen to her.

Thankfully it only took me a couple of weeks to get them under control and bring some sort of semblance of order to their house. The last thing Ashlyn needed was more stress in her life as she grew worse. Now all I have left to do is honor her last request.

Feeling an unfamiliar pang in her chest at her reason for bringing her nephews to Colchester unsettled her. Not wanting her unease to show, she faked a lunge at Kennet. She grinned when he scrambled backwards.

Despite the rain and the cold breeze, they were on the verge of a full-blown wrestling match when Camulos rushed through the gate. His long blond hair blew in the wind and rain dampening his dark sweater and faded jeans.

"What the hell are you doing? Unhand my son!"

Cayleigh froze at the god-like boom, and the effect it had over her senses. Even though she ignored the faerie side of her nature on most days, she couldn’t help but pause. It was a well known fact that faeries love sound, especially the deep timber of a virile man.

Narrowing her eyes at her grinning nephew, she promised him retribution for his little taunt. She shook her head when Kennet burst out in laughter. "Insufferable brat."

She stiffened when a large masculine hand landed on her shoulder.

"Remove it or lose it." Her breath left her in a rush when she was spun around by the hand. Looking up, she smirked at the thunderous expression on the man’s face. "Ew - is that your scary face, Cami-baby?" The knowledge the man in front of her was a real but ancient Celtic god didn’t scare her. Let him try to strike me down, I’ll be waiting for him in Hell. She laughed when utter disbelief crossed his roughly honed features.

"What did you just call me?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kennet double over in laughter. Flannery took a step forward, as if he wanted to protect her. When will that boy learn? I don’t need protecting? She shook her head.

"Cami-baby, you need to get over your bad self. I come bearing gifts." She nodded to the two boys. "Meet Kennet, the fool, and Flannery, the protector. Your sons."

He gave her a not-so-gentle shake. "I know who they are, but what I don’t know is why my wife’s rabid demoness aunt has them!" He kept his hands on her shoulders.

Biting her lip, she tried to control her need to deck the tall, yummy-looking god in front of her. "I see my reputation has preceded me. You’re going to get a first hand demonstration, if you don’t let go of me. Right now!" Keeping her tone soft and even, she could still feel the press of her horns begging to be released. During her time in this realm of normalcy, she’d been tempted many times to allow her true nature to show, but until this very moment she always managed to keep herself in check.

When he tossed his head back and laughed, a low warning hiss escaped her. She noticed that Kennet had stopped laughing to watch the unfolding drama.

"Father, I wouldn’t…" Flannery’s warning barely penetrated the standoff the two adults were having.

"Ah, shut it, Flan! I want to see Auntie kick Dad’s ass!"

Of course the little shit does, he’s almost as bloodthirsty as his brother.

Camulos laughed even harder, but didn’t take his eyes off her, even as he spoke to the boys. "Like there was ever a chance she could take me. You wound me with your lack of faith, Sons."

She let an evil smile cross her face. "Just remember you can’t say you weren’t warned, Cami-baby." Loosening her control, she let the strange ripple that accompanied her glamour dropping away flow over her to reveal her true form.

**END EXCERPT**

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PROVOKED LOVER by Zenobia Renquist

PROVOKED LOVER - Caveat Emptor Book Three by Zenobia Renquist

After an attack leaves Theron's allies scattered, Sicily finds herself in the care of Lamon, a vampire who looks like he would rather kill her than protect her.

The unlikely pair must become very close -- sexual energy is necessary to disrupt the spell the mages are using to track Sicily.

Emotions become confused as their bodies entwine. Sicily finds herself falling for a man she can't have... or can she?

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Caveat Emptor: Provoked Lover
Zenobia Renquist
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Zenobia Renquist

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.


Sicily stared at her phone in disbelief, not believing the number displayed on the caller ID.

Ryver.

She hadn't heard from Ryver in over a week. That was a big deal for Sicily because of the reports of vampires breaking free of their docility charms and then massacring their human masters. Ryver had purchased a vampire, despite Sicily's efforts to talk her best friend out of the purchase.

Sicily had never liked the idea of owning a vampire. It was too much like playing with matches while living in a house soaked with gasoline. She didn't care how safe the mages proclaimed the vampires to be once under the control of the docility charm. Some part of Sicily had always felt the charms would fail. Her worst fears had come true, and her first worry had been Ryver, who had staunchly refused to return her vampire. Only the promise of a daily phone call to assure Ryver's continued health had kept Sicily from dragging the vampire back to the mages herself.

Then one day, Ryver didn't call. Sicily could only keep her paranoia at bay twenty-four hours before she was on the phone with the cops. No trace of Ryver could be found, not even foul play. The cops said she had merely left and forgot to call. After a week of Sicily's incessant phone calls, the cops elevated Ryver's case to a missing person. Ryver was a vampire owner, so the cops and mages assumed she was dead and her body stuffed in an unmarked grave between here and the vampire territories.

Sicily refused to believe that. She couldn't believe that. Ryver had to be alive. The fact that her number was appearing on Sicily's cell proved it.

Sicily pushed the talk button. "Ryver?"

"Sissy!"

"Oh, God, Ryver. It's good to hear from you." Sicily felt happy tears spring to her eyes. Ryver was alive. Nothing else mattered except for that.

"I'm sorry, Sissy. I'm sorry. I should have called sooner and let you know I'm safe."

"Safe where? Where are you?"

There was a pause so long that Sicily thought the call had dropped. She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the call status. It was still connected. "Ryver, are you still there?"

"I'm here. I'm with Theron in vampire territory."

All of Sicily's happy feelings stopped. She asked in a deadpan voice, "What?"

"Don't worry. I'm safe."

If Ryver had been standing in front of her, Sicily would have shaken the woman until some sense fell out. "Ryver, are you crazy? How can you think you're safe?" Sicily didn't mean to yell, but that was the only volume that would come out of her mouth.

"I am. Theron is with me."

"So what?"

"Sissy, there's something I didn't tell you before." Ryver sighed into the phone. "When the charms started failing, Theron's did too."

"I knew it. I knew it." Being right didn't make Sicily feel better. "What did he do to you?"

Again there was a long silence. Ryver made a surprised squeak before Sicily could think the call might have cut off. Sicily couldn't interpret the sound or guess what had caused it. "Ryver?"

"Anyway, I'm safe with Theron. I need your help, though."

"You want me to call the cops?" Sicily already had her hand on her landline phone. She had the detective assigned to Ryver's case on speed dial.

"No. Nothing like that. I need some way to remove Theron's charm."

The urge to shake Ryver returned. Sicily settled on squeezing the phone. "Why in the hell would you want to remove the docility charm? If it's still working, make him bring you home."

Sicily would have said more but the sudden appearance of five robe-clad men in her living room gave her pause. She looked at each of the men in turn. She tried to ask them what they were doing in her house but no sound left her lips. Several attempts ended with similar results.

The men's sudden appearance, and her inability to make any sound to alert Ryver or anyone else of this intrusion, panicked Sicily. She tried to scream. That didn't work, so she stopped after the first few seconds of nothing.

On the phone, Ryver said in a rush, "Sissy, I know this is all weird to you, and you probably don't believe me, but I'm perfectly safe with Theron. I want to set him free. I was hoping you could help. Didn't you say you dated a mage back in college?"

Sicily tried to tell Ryver that she had more pressing problems than Theron and his stupid docility charm. When her mouth still refused to make sound, she tried to end the call. Sicily thought Ryver was crazy for willingly consorting with a vampire -- and Sicily still had doubts about the willing part -- but Sicily wouldn't let the mages get her. Her fingers refused to move, which meant she couldn't push the end button or toss away the phone.

Ryver asked, "Sissy?"

Sicily found her mouth moving of its own accord. "I'm still here. Yes, I dated a mage in college, but I haven't talked to him since we broke up."

Those weren't her words. Sicily couldn't stop the words from being spoken or say more to warn Ryver that Sicily wasn't the one talking.

"Oh."

"I am friends with another mage, however. You're in luck, since he happens to be a vampire sympathizer."

"You never mentioned him before."

"You never mentioned your vampire was loose." Sicily wanted to snort at that flippant response. It was something she would actually say, and might have said if she had control of her mouth.

Ryver gave a dry laugh. "That's true."

"I'll give him a call, ask him about the charm and then call you back. Okay? You're going to stay by the phone, right?"

"Yes. I'll be right here. Thanks, Sissy."

"No problem. Bye." Sicily pushed the end button, again moving against her will.

Obviously the mages surrounding her were the culprits. She glared at the man standing directly in front of her.

He nodded to her and said, "I am Mage Lord Quincy. These other fellows are my associates. Your mention of removing the docility charm alerted us to you."

Sicily had heard rumors that the mages monitored the phones. Now she had proof. If she lived past this encounter, she would blast the Internet with the news.

Quincy said, "Your friend has been led astray by vampiric suggestion. We can help her."

"How?" Sicily gasped in surprise at being able to talk again. "I can talk."

One of the other mages said, "We had to command your voice and body for a short time. It was necessary to keep you from alerting your friend to our presence. The puppet spell is now ended."

Sicily snapped, "You shouldn't have done it at all."

Quincy said, "That is in the past. We plan to help your friend by rescuing her from the vampires." He twirled his hand, making a round jewel appear on his palm, and held it out to her. "This is what your friend requires to remove the docility charm. Once it is removed, it will transport you and your friend back here."

She didn't want to take it. No one had ever accused Sicily of being naÔve or gullible. She didn't believe for a second that these five mages had entered her house without permission, after spying on her conversation, just to help out Ryver and her vampire.

She stepped back while shaking her head. "Not going to happen."

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