Phoenix Rising I (8 page)
Authors: Morgana de Winter,Marie Harte,Michelle M. Pillow,Sherrill Quinn,Alicia Sparks
Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica
“I am Marcus Raventhorne … And I have come to claim what is mine.”
Stunned silence greeted the bold announcement for several moments before Sir Fitzhugh broke it with a bark of a laugh that held no humor at all. “I hold these lands in the name of the king, for the Lady of Raventhorne,” he growled finally. “You expect to besiege this keep with no more than a handful of men?”
“Nay. I expect to
take
this keep and its lady,” the knight retorted, lifting his arm into the air and bringing it down again in a sharp chopping motion. “Now!”
Still completely stunned by the man’s audacity, expecting an attack from the men beyond the walls, it took many moments for the defenders to assimilate the fact that the sudden burst of action all along the walls was an attack and by that time the battle was all but lost.
Too frozen with fear and shock to flee, Bronwyn merely stared in complete incomprehension as the castle’s defenders seemed to turn upon each other all along the wall. By the time she grasped that the castle had somehow been infiltrated by the stranger’s army and whirled to flee, the portcullis was rising and the drawbridge falling to admit their attackers.
Whirling the moment her mind finally assimilated the threat, Bronwyn darted between the knots of battling men and rushed down the stairs. Even as she reached the courtyard, however, men mounted upon war horses had begun to spill through the gates. Uttering a gasp of fright, she gathered her skirts higher and ran faster, too panicked to realize she had no hope of outrunning mounted men.
A mailed arm snagged her around the waist, snatching her off her feet and crushing the air from her lungs as she was jerked against an armor plated chest. Fear not common sense inspired her to fight for her freedom, but she quickly discovered that she had neither the strength nor the leverage to offer much in the way of resistance.
“Be still, little rose,” he growled as he locked his arm tightly around her. “I mean you no harm.”
His words penetrated her fear and Bronwyn glanced up at him sharply, trying to see the face of the man who held her. Her heart skipped several beats as her gaze met his for there was something hauntingly familiar about those eyes.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Something flickered in his eyes. “Am I so different now that you do not know me?”
Bronwyn felt the color drain from her face, but she could not accept that what she believed was truth. It couldn’t be. It must be no more than her imagination, spawned by the hope that had never died, but the desire that had never been far from her thoughts. She ceased to struggle though, as much from hope as from the realization that fighting was useless.
The battle, she saw when she turned to look around them, was all but finished. He’d planned well, whoever he was, though she still could not understand how he had breached the walls of the keep without being detected.
The castle’s defenders, seeing their cause lost, began to throw down their weapons and cry for quarter.
When the man who called himself Raventhorne had ordered his men to round up the weapons and secure the enemy soldiers, he lowered her carefully to the ground and dismounted. It occurred to her to run the moment he released her. The urge was strong, but she knew even if she managed to escape she had no where to run to. She might barricade herself in her chambers, but that was not likely to hinder the conqueror and might well anger him enough to beat her for her impudence.
Instead, she stood docilely as he dismounted, shivering with both fear and the cold. He grasped her arm when he had handed the reins of his horse off to a squire and led her inside. Releasing her once they had reached the great fire at one end of the great hall, he removed his gauntlets and finally his helmet.
Bronwyn stared at him with a mixture of emotions, her mind chaotic. “You are … you are.”
“Marcus Raventhorne,” he finished for her, amusement gleaming in his eyes.
Bronwyn blinked, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “I thought … you look....”
He caught her face, forcing her to look up at him. “You do not know me?”
His expression was harsh with some emotion she had difficulty interpreting and Bronwyn felt again an upsurge of hopefulness. “Do I?” she asked a little breathlessly.
His gaze flickered over her face and he swallowed thickly. “You told me you loved me,” he said in a low, husky voice as he stepped closer.
Tears sprang into Bronwyn’s eyes. “Nightshade?” she whispered, torn by the fear that she was wrong. “But … I don’t understand.”
His lips twisted wryly. “I will be vastly disappointed, lady, if you tell me this face is less to your liking than the beast I once was,” he murmured, dipping his head to cover her mouth with his own.
Bronwyn flinched, but the moment she felt the heat of his mouth, the moment his taste and scent enveloped her, all doubts fled. She swayed against him, kissing him back with all the longing and passion she had felt for him from the first moment he had touched her.
She was disappointed when he ended the kiss until he pulled her snuggly against his length, holding her tightly. “I hope this means that I was not precipitate in bringing a priest with me,” he murmured against her hair.
Bronwyn pulled away enough to look up at him. “We’re to be married?” she asked a little dazedly.
He smiled wryly. “By your leave, little rose--or without if needs be. I’ll be damned if I will let another have you.”
She smiled up at him. “You will not find me unwilling, my lord.”
It was late into the night as Bronwyn lay curled contentedly next to her new husband before the questions that had gathered in her mind finally made it to her lips.
“Tell me,” she murmured as she traced circles along his broad chest and followed the path with her lips, “everything.”
“I would far rather make love to my wife than talk.”
Bronwyn was instantly torn, because that sounded a good deal more appealing to her, also, now that he’d brought it up, but she was still curious. “Tell me first.”
Uttering a long suffering sigh, he tucked her more tightly against his body. “How I came to be a man? Or how I managed to sack Raventhorne so easily when it is reputedly a nearly impregnable keep?”
“Both.”
He rolled, pushing her onto her back. “I am Marcus Raventhorne--
the
Raventhorne who built this keep, the man cursed to guard it for eternity--unless I found a woman who could love me as I was.
You
broke the curse. What I had never considered since the possibility seemed remote, to say the least, that any woman would love me as I was, was that it would still be nigh impossible for me to win the lady I loved.
“Gaelzeroth had miscalculated, however. I not only knew where he kept his wealth hidden. I knew about the secret passages beneath the castle, because I had them built. And thus, without any intention of helping me whatsoever, he gave me the means to hire mercenaries to take back what he had stolen from me.”
Bronwyn sighed pleasurably as he nuzzled her neck and then traced a path to one pert nipple to tease it. “The king …?” she questioned hesitantly.
“Will be pleased enough when I pay him a handsome fine and swear fealty to him,” he said dismissively.
He sounded certain. She could not help but think he was right, and yet she was still afraid her happiness would be snatched away from her. Lifting a hand, she stroked it lovingly through his hair. “The curse was broken because I fell in love with you?” she asked tentatively.
Marcus lifted his head. “The curse was broken because the woman I loved fell in love with me,” he corrected her.
The End
Marie Harte
Chapter One
Detective Summer Amora Michaels had never considered herself a prude. She lived every aspect of her exciting, dangerous and energetic life with a spark that naturally drew people, or so her abuela, her grandmother, liked to tell her. But one rainy Thursday night during a humid, hopelessly tedious stakeout, she opened the crooked bathroom door of their safe house and was more than shocked to see her lieutenant naked and dripping wet in a curtainless shower stall that should have been vacant.
He stood under a spray, which due to the rain, blended soundlessly into the bleak atmosphere of “watch and wait.” All six feet, three inches of prime Lieutenant Drake Nichols stared at her intrusion in astonishment, his dark brown hair slicked back off a face too rough to be called handsome but too dramatic to be ignored. Bright gray eyes blazed with shock as water ran greedy fingers over his superbly conditioned body.
She swallowed loudly, unable to tear her gaze from the source of so many speculations and rumors. Hell’s trinkets, but his shoe size did correspond healthily to his--
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snarled but made no attempt to cover himself.
Breathing through what felt like a mouth full of cotton, she had to cough to regain her voice. After a short, hopefully unnoticed struggle, she tugged her gaze back up his body to his face, noting the incredulity in his bright, silvery glare.
“Richards asked me to relieve him early.” She casually nodded to the now-empty living room, hoping she looked a lot calmer than she felt. Was it possible to orgasm through sight alone? Oh shit! It’s growing! Focus on his face, on his face. Puhlease, Nichols, cover it up before I forget myself and jump you.
He must have sensed her internal plea for he flushed and half-turned toward the wall of the shower, giving her a mouthwatering view of his amazing, smoothly toned ass.
“For God’s sake, Michaels, put your tongue back in your mouth and throw me a towel.”
Scowling over her blush, she quickly turned around and grabbed the towel hanging off the nearest semi-clean towel bar. Facing the wall, she held the towel toward him with a straight arm.
“Why don’t I wait out there?” she took a step toward the doorway after he’d grabbed the cloth but froze when his large hand settled over her shoulder.
“Not one step,” he growled in a low voice. “You can turn around now, newbie. I won’t bite.”
Well I might if you don’t shelve that attitude, she wanted to say. Instead she turned to face him and kept her mouth shut as tightly as possible, knowing her internal voice had a tendency to outweigh her sense of self-preservation. Newbie, my ass.
“Your shift isn’t until two, and you’re not supposed to be alone.” He spoke in that hard, raspy voice that had every woman under the age of ninety hot for him, except for her, of course. Summer made it a practice never to mix business with pleasure. Looking at him couldn’t hurt though, and she took another subtle once-over.
“My eyes are up here, Michaels.” He smacked his forehead. “Christ, I can’t believe I just said that. What a day.”
She grinned, glad at least she wasn’t the only one aggravated. At his scowl she quickly blanked her expression.
“Richards left early, eh?” He stared thoughtfully at the doorway, then settled hot eyes on her. “Where’s your partner?”
“Going over some forms with Richards in the car,” she answered as succinctly as possible. He’s your boss, get a grip. “Didn’t realize you were in here, sir. With the rain, it’s hard to hear--”
“Never mind.” He ran a hand over his wet hair, his bicep bulging at the motion. She forced herself not to lick her lips hungrily. “I’m going to get dressed and we’re going to pretend this never happened. I’m not giving Richards the satisfaction, got it?”
She nodded vehemently, gratified by the easing of his frown. Quickly exiting the room, she closed the uneven door behind her, aware it never completely shut, temptation temptation, and stood anxiously in the living room.
He met her in less than five minutes, his hair still wet, his clothes stuck to his body in spots. How was it she’d never noticed the breadth of his chest, the extreme strength in his massive arms? Though seeing her boss in jeans and a t-shirt helped square the picture. At work, his drab, dark suits didn’t do the man justice.
She was about to apologize again when a buzzing in her head froze her to the floor. The volume of noise increased until words filtered through the static, and when he would have spoken, she held a hand up to stop him.
Just grab the shit and let’s go. Word has it Spec is out tonight.
Whose word?
I dunno. But I got a bad feeling about it. Like someone’s walking over my grave
Dumbass. We’ll go when I’m good and ready. Where’s the kid?
“Michaels?” Nichols asked quietly.
She shook her head. There was more, she could feel it. And it wasn’t good.
The kid? I thought you said she was okay as long as I kept her blindfolded in the closet?
I changed my mind. She heard my voice. Do her, now.
“They’re going to kill a child.” She tensed, readying herself to jump.
“Not yet.” Nichols did the oddest thing. He touched her forehead and a wave of electricity shot through her body. “Shit.” His voice was husky, filled with power. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was nearly blinding. “Let’s go.”
* * * *
“Not bad, chica. A collar with Lt. Hotbod. I’m impressed.” Detective Lorie Tannon, her partner, tapped the neck of her bottle against Summer’s with a leering grin. “So how was he?”
Summer nearly choked on her beer. Had Richards talked? But how could he have known anything when Nichols and she had remained mute on the embarrassing details of the “shower incident?”
“Come on, Summer. Tell me, what was it like jumping with the boss?”
Jumping, slang for teleporting, was one of Specter Squad’s many claims-to-fame. The very act of separating time and space in a thought made for an interesting experience in itself. But jumping with another caused all sorts of odd reactions, details the doc would no doubt want to dissect. She groaned.
“That good, eh?” Lorie laughed.
“You know Doc Fisk is going to be all over me about this. I hate debriefings.”
“So lie, I do all the time.”
“No shit, Sherlock. But I can’t lie with Lt. Hotbod as my ‘partner.’ You, on the other hand, are an easy alibi.”
Lorie shrugged. “Good point.” She downed the rest of her bottle and ordered another. “So how was he anyway?”
Summer paused, oddly aware she was loathe to share the experience with her partner, her best friend. That in itself told her to open up and to put as much distance between her feelings and Nichols as possible. “Honestly?” She leaned closer, aware she and Lorie were earning unwelcome attention from some nearby fellow officers. “Like running your hands through lightning, but the heat goes straight to your groin.”
Lorie froze as the bottle hit her lips. “Like real electricity, hmm?”
“Better.” She sighed. “Like timeless sex.”
Lorie shook her head. “You have the damnedest luck. Not only do you have me as a partner, you’re the only eavesdropper in the squad, and now you’ve done the cerebral two-step with Hotbod. Unfreaking believable.” She took another swallow. “I am so jealous.”
Laughing a little uncomfortably, Summer tried to shrug her off. “It wasn’t that intimate--”
“Bullshit. Lie to Richards, lie to Doc, but don’t lie to me. I know you, Summer.”
Summer rubbed her eyes. “Crap. Look, can we discuss this at my place? Too many ears listening.” She nodded toward Thomas and Deklin staring holes into their table.
“Good point.” Lorie pushed her beer away and stood none too steadily. “You’re driving.”
As they walked past the two nosy detectives, Lorie grinned. “You two make the cutest couple. Everyone says so.”
“Fuck you.” Thomas flipped her off.
“Kiss my ass,” Deklin muttered, red-faced, and turned back to his partner.
Summer and Lorie left the bar chuckling.
“I really hate those guys.” Lorie tossed her the keys and climbed in the passenger side of her car.
As they drove toward Summer’s home, Lorie continued to ride her about Nichols. “You still haven’t given me what I want to hear. What did you and Hotbod talk about while I was with Richards during turnover? It was pretty obvious that Richards wanted you to go into the apartment alone. He all but danced to entertain me.”
Summer flushed. “Ah, look. You have to swear not to tell a soul about this.”
Lorie turned to her, the hazy stupor of a good buzz all but vanished. Her bright brown eyes positively beamed. “I swear.”
“I accidentally saw him in the shower.”
Lorie’s mouth gaped.
“Naked.”
Lorie sputtered.
“In the shower.”
“And you didn’t tell me this before now?” Lorie’s voice rose. “What kind of a friend are you?”
“I was going to tell you about it,” Summer answered defensively. “I just had to wrap my mind around it first.”
“Don’t stop there.” Lorie glared.
“All I’m going to say is that he has big feet. Really big feet.” Summer shot her a knowing look, and Lorie swallowed audibly.
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. And his skin is a golden brown, all over.”
“All over?” Lorie sounded faint and cleared her throat. “So how did he take you seeing him … naked?”
Summer frowned. “Well, he wasn’t overcome with lust, that’s for sure. He ordered me not to say a word about it. He thinks, like I do, Richards set him up.”
“Of course he did. Richards hates Nichols. And having to partner with the Lt. when we’re shorthanded really sticks in his craw, if you know what I mean. Hell, I’d volunteer to partner Lt. Hotbod anytime, but he’s got a thing against women.”
“I don’t think so.” Summer recalled how professional he’d been during their raid and arrest on the dirtbags going after the little girl. “I just think he steers clear of the female attention at the precinct.”
Lorie shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve never seen him talk to one of us long enough to make an impression. Unless....”
“Unless?”
“Is he an empath?”
Summer blinked as she pulled into her driveway and turned off the car. “I’ve never heard that about him.”
“It’s not in his records.” Lorie flushed as Summer shot her an accusatory stare. “So I looked. I’m human. My point is that it’s easy to hide your abilities if you really want to.” She stared back at Summer knowingly. “We all have secrets we don’t want to share, even with our best friends. Our partners. Our sister succubi.”
Chapter Two
With tired eyes, Drake Nichols perused the last of the night’s reports and called it a day--a Friday not to be repeated anytime soon.
“I’m going home for some shut-eye, Miranda,” he called to his secretary cheerily typing away. “And before you ask, no, I don’t want any company.”
She chuckled, her gnarled fingers as fast now as they’d probably been forty years ago at the beginning of her career. Like the revered bronzed policeman who saluted all who entered the precinct’s lobby, Miranda was a solid fixture in the ancient house of justice.
Drake tipped an imaginary hat in respect and grinned when she blushed and shooed him toward the exit. He left the squad’s floor and descended another four before finally leaving the bustling center of never-ending activity.
“L.T.”
He nodded to one of his sergeants, waved at two of his corporals and did his best not to respond to the overt stares of the platoon’s newest female trainees gathered before the building. Damn, but he hated the newbies, especially the women.
It was bad enough the women at work ogled him when they thought he wasn’t looking. Because Spec Squad needed to be accepted among their peers, the powers that be had decreed the squad would reside with the rest of the 54th in the building. Drake had no problem making his people more accessible and thus accepted. But having to share his floor with Training was turning into a major pain in the ass.
After two weeks of harassment, he’d had to instruct the trainers to steer the female recruits away from him in particular. Hell, if he didn’t, they swarmed him constantly with questions about “orders and protocols and possible tutoring.” Obvious bullshit.
Cursing, he straddled his motorcycle and his thoughts took an unexpected turn toward Detective Summer Michaels. Without thinking about it, he clearly envisioned the doe-eyed woman as if she stood next to him under a spotlight. Of medium height and build, her dark, satiny black hair and perfect, smooth skin made him think of licorice and melted caramels. Sweet and undeniably delectable. Certainly, her stare liquefied his bones, had since the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
Shifting uncomfortably on his seat, he revved the motor and took off for home. But along the way, he pondered the mystery of his attraction to Detective Michaels, or Summer, as he tried his best not to think of her.
Her name suited her to a ‘T.’ Everything about the woman was fresh, unspoiled. She thrived in the hotbed of cops and criminals at the precinct, did her job with a professionalism he found hard to fault and always with a damned smile on her face. Seeing her in action and up close last night had proved beyond a doubt she belonged in Spec Squad, no matter she’d been transferred in only a few months ago.
A woman who looked like that, however, could have made a fortune as a model--or a stripper or, God forbid, a prostitute. Thoughts of her luscious mouth had him hard and aching in a heartbeat.
What he wouldn’t give for a shot at that mouth. He caught a red light and throttled the engine as thoughts of her throttled his libido. Since he trained regularly with his crew, he’d had ample opportunity to watch her physically train. He knew from her file she was an eavesdropper and a jumper--hence her move into Spec. But her file said nothing about the tantalizing fullness of her breasts, of the perfect notch of her waist, of the firm, round ass that practically begged to be bent over his desk while he--
A horn blared and he roared through the green light in frustration. He needed to get laid. Hell, he needed to stop thinking sexually about one of his people. He’d made a decent career, an excellent one, he admitted to himself honestly, out of following the rules and always getting the job done. He adhered strictly to the mission, worked on a very tight budget and made the brass look like gold.