Mated By The Demon Collections: Paranormal Romance Page 4

  Ameera was fast. Her nails clawed at Demelza’s skin, tearing away a large chunk of her cheek before she even realized that Ameera had moved. Demelza put her sword up, her eyes darting around to find where the fiendish coven master had gone. Ameera cackled from her right but when Demelza slashed her sword in that direction she got a nasty kick from her left.

  “You’re pitiful,” Ameera jeered, “I can see why He let you fall. What good are you to anybody?” Ameera dove in for a blow but was knocked off her feet midflight.

  Dorian stood between Ameera and Demelza, his hands curled in to fists. He was breathing heavily and Demelza could tell the effort it had taken to defy his Creator. She knew that feeling well.

  “You can do it,” she whispered, “I know it’s hard but you have something to defy them for.”

  “Oh stop wasting your breath,” Ameera said stepping forward confidently. “Dorian can’t do anything to me. He’s too timid and I have too strong a hold on him, don’t I baby?” she had her hands on Dorian’s tense shoulders now, “You lose again Demelza, Dorian will always be my spineless, pathetic pet.”

  Ameera’s scream was choked back by the blood that was flowing out of her neck where Dorian had bitten a big chunk out of her throat. She stared at her bloody hands, staggered back and stared at Dorian, bewildered and perplexed.

  Demelza stepped forward and brought her sword forward.

  “You never learn do you?” Demelza said and slashed her sword severing Ameera’s head from her lifeless body. She stepped back and watched the corpse turn to ash and Dorian ease as the little control Ameera’s spirit had departed with the last specks of her burnt soul.

  ~*~

  Demelza breathed in the salt laden sea air and smiled broadly. Dorian was studiously ignoring her. Demelza puffed up her lips and made smacking noises, and then she began to hum off key. Dorian refused to acknowledge her presence.

  “I’m hungry,” Demelza finally whined.

  “For the love you owe me!” Dorian cursed abandoning his fishing pole and rowing them back to shore. “I mean your stomach’s growls were loud enough to scare all the fish away, so what’s the point!”

  “I can’t help it if I get hungry,” Demelza said, “You should have packed more snacks!”

  “I did,” Dorian exclaimed, “I packed enough for four people. You ate it all! I haven’t eaten in days, do you see me complaining?”

  “You’re not delicate like I am,” Demelza mumbled and Dorian snorted trying hard not to laugh. “I am delicate!”

  “You look delicate, my love,” Dorian said, “but you will never be that,” he pecked her nose with a tiny kiss then kissed her lips tenderly.

  They rowed to shore where a small hut with a small vegetable garden and surrounding mountains awaited them. After fighting evil and enduring the heart of it for centuries they both believed they had earned the respite, a chance to explore each other, a prospect that had been denied to them all those years; a chance to satisfy all curiosities, to share all their tales, some funny, some heartwarming but mostly heartbreaking; for who in this wide world would understand a fallen soul except another?

  THE END.

  Desired By Two Alphas

  By: Riley Moreno

  Chapter 1

  “The myth of the dragon is found in almost every culture around the world. The Chinese dragon representing power and good fortune. The Indian dragon, sometimes called the Naga, persecutors with great strength and prowess. But I’m going to tell you about the dragons of Celtic lore. The Celts believed that dragons lived in a world parallel to our physical world. Druids taught that a dragon’s powers affected the very balance of the land itself, the great creatures could imbue areas with their vast power…” Beatrice King slowed in her walk back to the giant tasseled tent that housed the den of iniquity simply known as The Tavern, as the deep, masculine voice rolled over her, almost hypnotizing in its musical cadence.

  In the three years that Beatrice had worked at the Whitebridge Renaissance Faire she had heard Finn Macmillan’s stories of dragons countless times. Yet, she never tired of listening to the magical lilt of his thick, Irish accent as he told of St. George and the Dragon, or Merlin being outwitted by the dragon chained under Uther Pendragon’s castle. Although Finn liked to tell the stories from the dragon’s point of view, enchanting his listeners with his charming, witty, and sometimes scandalous renditions.

  She let his words sweep over her, not really listening to the story as much as the sound of his voice as she watched him. Finn was tall, towering over her five and half feet by at least another twelve inches. He was taller than most of the people standing in a loose half circle around him, as equally enraptured by his inexplicable charm as she was.

  Her dark brown gaze drank him in, starting at the thick, wavy, jet black hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck. His skin was pale, but flawless. Most women she knew would be envious. She glanced down at her forearms crossed in front of her chest, looking at her softly tanned skin bronzed by hours spent in the sun. She thought of the contrast of her golden skin against his pale and shivered, quickly casting her eyes back towards him while trying to banish the image of her and Finn, skin against skin.

  Beatrice thought his most startling feature was his eyes. She had never seen eyes that green, like cut emeralds ringed in thick black lashes that when they looked at you felt like they could see all of you. Every hidden thought, every sinful fantasy. When he looked at her, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, definitely couldn't think. At least, not of anything remotely decent.

  Not that he looked at her often, which she couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or curse. Since first laying eyes on him almost three years ago, it had been impossible for her not to fantasize. What it would be like to touch him, or be touched by him. And she wasn't the only one, she knew. He was like a pretty flame that drew women like moths. And then you get burnt to a black, ashy crisp, she thought, mentally shaking her head. She had seen that happen too. A lot.

  Oh, but how wonderful it would feel getting burned. She drew a relieved breath as he finished the end of his story with a flourish of bows, looking completely natural in his Renaissance Faire costume of tight black leather pants that were dulled with use, but clung to his body showing every flexing muscle as he now moved briefly among the small crowd, shaking a hand here and there, and thanking everyone for listening as they still stared at him raptly.

  His broad shoulders were covered with a soft looking green fabric that made his eyes seem somehow impossibly greener. She couldn't tell what the material was, but it draped like it was tailored for his tall but lithely muscled physique. In fact, it looked a lot nicer than the regular costumes with its subtle gold embroidery that looked hand sewn, and incredibly intricate, depicting two large dragons winding up each sleeve and a solitary creature clutching…something on the back. She was too far away to make out exactly what it was, but she was suddenly insanely curious, wanting to walk up, smooth her hand over the delicate stitches and sleek muscles underneath, and find out exactly what it was.

  She wondered which one of the seamstresses here had made his costume. Not Rosie, whose main job was bossing everyone else around, or Brinna, who was sweet, but completely scatterbrained. Bea thought of her own costume which she had picked up this morning, and had suddenly become about two sizes two small after asking for the cord holding the bust together to be fixed.

  Out of time as she had already been running late, she hadn’t had an extra minute to go get it replaced with the right size, and as such had been walking around all morning with her arms crossed in front of her chest trying to keep the inordinate amount of cleavage that the dress made of her already large breasts under control. Her normal size twelve was shoved and laced into a size eight, which resulted in a ridiculous amount of flesh rising out above the burgundy corset, barely covering her nipples, and about four inches of ankle peeking out what should have been a floor length brown skirt.

  The only thing that
seemed to fit was the waist, which actually fit better than her old costume had, hugging her waistline and emphasizing the flattering flair of her hips. She glanced down quickly just to make sure some of her chest was still covered, at least as much as possible with the minuscule fabric of the top. She sighed, knowing she wouldn’t have time to change until mid-afternoon, after the lunch rush died down. Well, maybe she would get more tips this way, she thought, sighing again as she looked back up, realizing that Finn had disappeared back into his own smaller, personal tent.

  He was one of the few people who lived on site. Most of the employees were locals like Beatrice, who drove in from surrounding towns. She had wondered more than once what the inside of his tent looked like. She steeled herself as she turned to continue on to the Tavern, the day had just started and it already felt like she had been wrung out and left to dry.

  Finn Macmillan poked his head out of the opening flap of the tent, casting his green-eyed gaze around the group of Ren Fair goers that were still milling around, some were dressed up in period garb, obviously home-made, while others just wore jeans and a t-shirt or shorts. The Whitebridge Faire drew a wide range of people. Some coming to enjoy the novelty of watching knights on horseback, or being served a tankard of ale by a scantily clad Wench at The Tavern, the only bar on the premises.

  Others came to disappear. They could put on their costume, show up, and be whoever they wanted to be. A king, a knight, a maiden. It didn't matter as long as they didn’t have to be themselves for a little while.

  He heaved a sigh of relief when he finished scanning the crowd and didn’t see a short, deliciously curvy minx with long brown hair and dark chocolate eyes a dragon could happily drown in. Not to mention about a mile of sweetly curved cleavage on view for anyone to ogle that almost made him swallow his tongue in the middle of his story.

  What was she thinking walking around like that! He knew there were several security guards patrolling the fair dressed up in brown leather pants and matching vest, not to mention a baton, handcuffs, and a Taser if necessary. Still, he thought that maybe he should go over and tell her himself that she needed to cover up before she drove some sex-crazed man crazy with her delicious looking body so obviously on display.

  Right, that’s why I want to go over there and find her. To protect her. That’s all. He shook his head. Nothing at all to do with the fact that I was so hard when I saw her standing there watching me, it was all I could do not to grab her, pull her into the tent, and see what little she was hiding under the rest of that dress.

  Finn had no problem with women. His natural charisma, and something else, something only he and his friend Sebastian understood, drew women like a starving man to a buffet. But Finn had rules, and he made sure the women he chose knew those rules. In all his almost five hundred years, he had never lacked for a bedmate, although recently he begun to lose interest in the women that flocked around him. They seemed all the same to him. Flat, one-dimensional people that left him bored and filled with discontent the moment after his release. Except Beatrice. He couldn’t help but notice the spark every time he saw her.

  That’s why he relished his arrangement with Sebastian, the only other shape shifter employed at Whitebridge. Finn had discovered Bastian’s secret almost eight years ago, when he had first joined the company. To Finn, it seemed like yesterday when he had seen the large, dark haired man with the haggard, desolate expression walk onto the fair grounds. To him, it had seemed like seeing two images, one layered directly over the other. One of the men, and one of a large brown bear with tan markings like a sunburst over its chest.

  It was one of his many talents as a dragon shifter that he could see others of his kind. Could see their secrets, their other, hidden selves. He could see inside of them. It was one of the reasons that dragon’s lived solitary existences. Other shifters resented and mistrusted them, sometimes even hunting them or driving them away. Finn understood. When you were raised from birth that secrecy is a virtue, it was hard to countenance inviting someone in that destroyed all that.

  He had lived for so many lonely years, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have a true friend, someone you could trust. Surprisingly, he had found that in the bear shifter. They were compatible in other ways. Both had been forced to repress their alpha tendencies, and as a result were extremely dominant when it came to sexual interactions.

  Finn thought again of the luscious Beatrice King. He had watched her for years, since she had first joined the fair, but almost immediately rejected her despite his body’s intense reaction to her. She had been incredibly timid, almost painfully shy at first. Too timid to accept what he and Sebastian had to offer. Over time, she grew more confident, and more often, especially over the past year, he had caught her looking at him with desire swirling like a whirlpool in her dark eyes. But as soon as his gaze met hers, she would turn away, although less quickly of late.

  He felt his body tense at the thought of her stretched out and ready for him. Or kneeling in front of him, her dark eyes alight with want and surrender, waiting for his command. Maybe it was finally time to talk to little miss King after all.

  Chapter 2

  For the thousandth time that morning, Beatrice tugged up the top edge of the deep red corset barely covering her ample curves. The color was so deep it was almost black, and made her tan skin look delicately golden next to it, although the skin now exposed by the over-revealing top was several shades paler than the rest of her chest and arms.

  As a serving maiden at The Tavern, it was her job to bring pints of ale in oversized wooden mugs and giant platers of various roasted meats and vegetables to guests. She usually loved her job, loved working with the wonderful people at the fair, the happy visitors, and getting to play dress up and forget about her normal, empty life back in the small Midwest town she called home. But all day she had felt off, and today her job at the fair felt like just that, a job, and she was already dreaming of going back to her small apartment, taking a hot bath with her new lavender oil, and curling up in bed with a nice book.

  Just before the crowds started filing in for lunch or an afternoon beer, they had run out of the wooden trays they used to serve the food, and Bea had been sent on a scavenger hunt, looking for replacements. She had checked the back supply tent, the offices, and the Blacksmith’s tent, all with no luck.

  She was headed over to the field where they put on the daily tournament shows in the hopes of finding some extra wooden practice shields to use as makeshift platters she could abscond with for the day. As Beatrice neared the big, open area she was met with the metallic clangs and occasional oofs that meant the ‘knights’ were practicing, warming up for the jousting, sword fighting, and other various manly events that took place during the Whitebridge Faire Tournament. It was the main attraction of the fair, and most of the customers would willingly pay the extra forty five dollars to get a good seat watching the men in armor batter each other with fake swords.

  Beatrice caught sight of them as she rounded a stack of wooden boxes with a dirty beige canvas tarp haphazardly thrown over it. She paused a moment, struck by the grace of their movements as they struck, parried, and ducked all in the shiny metal armor that was the classic knight costume.

  She knew it wasn’t real armor, but it made a very convincing show as they danced around one another, the chainmail swaying with every movement as the shoulder plates caught and threw back a burst of light reflected from the brightening mid-morning sun.

  Beatrice knew it was an antiquated thought, but she couldn't help the primal shiver at the sight of all those big, sweaty men acting so….manly. One in particular held her eye. He was bigger than the others. Not taller, at just over six feet, but broader and more heavily muscled.

  He moved with a slow, sensual grace that was deadly. No wasted movements, and a patience that made Beatrice shiver again. She had known Sebastian for three years, and he was the other Whitebridge employee, besides Finn, that frequently made appearances in her f
antasies.

  Sometimes, when she couldn’t decide who to choose, she imagined what it would be like to have both. She didn’t have to stretch her imagination that far, having had a real-life encounter with just how incredible that could be.

  She burned with a hot blush as the memory came unbidden. The incident, as she called it to herself, had happened just over a year ago. She had been working late after a party, finishing up cleaning the big tent after working a twelve hour day understaffed and overrun with drunken fair goers.

  Beatrice had been taking the last of the garbage bags out to the dumpster behind the tent, when she heard a squeal quickly followed by a soft growl and rustling of the underbrush maybe twenty feet away. She cautiously walked to the edge of the small thicket of trees that ran along the backs of the tents, worried that someone might need help. At least, the squeal had sounded human, and distinctly female.

  Just as she was about to open her mouth to ask if anyone needed help, she came upon an opening in the thick brush, the moon like a spotlight as her gaze fell on the scene unfolding in front of her.

  There was in fact a woman, and she looked anything but distressed as she had been surrounded by both Finn and Sebastian. Both men giving her their undivided attention. Beatrice felt frozen, her feet stuck as she voyeuristically watched them, unable to look away.

  Beatrice shook her head, dispelling the arousing image and finding herself staring at the tarp covered boxes, probably drooling like an idiot. She quickly swiped her finger along her lower lip just to make sure.

  “Uh, do you need something?” The soft, deep voice made Beatrice jump, and she flipped around to meet…a chest. A very nice chest, covered now in a loose linen colored shirt with the laces dangling instead of the armored costume she had been admiring him in earlier.