Devil Take Me (20 page)

“But we weren’t officially joined by the ceremony of the Goddess then.”

“I’ve been officially joined to you since that day in my aunt’s house.” She pulled him to her for a kiss, pushing her tongue through his teeth. Namtar opened for her eagerly, humming his pleasure against her lips. She tasted of the wine they had drunk during the ceremony and Annie, pure delicious Annie.

“In my heart as well.” Namtar continued to thrust slowly in and out of Annie’s pulsing sheath, nearly hard again even before his first orgasm had worked through his body, a side effect of her excess magic.

The darklings were only allowed to feed on her surplus power twice a week these days, just in case the queen was to conceive a child and need the extra energy. It was a precaution Namtar never would have considered in the old Underworld, but in the new world ushered in by the death of Ereshkigal and Nergal, anything seemed possible. The sun had returned and the fertile soil and rivers days after, followed closely by the reappearance of the wandering herds that had left their dimension so long ago. The sheep were lambing and the crops already growing in the valley beneath the castle, a testimony to the power of the new couple of the throne.

Namtar and Annie were good for the Sumerian world. Not one of the people doubted that fact, especially after not one or two, but seven females of the generation born here beneath the Earth had already become pregnant in the past month. Namtar hoped his queen would not be far behind, though she was only half Annunaki and he himself nearly a thousand years older than any of the young men who had impregnated their wives. He knew how greatly Annie wanted a child, and had been gladly doing his part to assure she was round with his babe before the first harvest.

“You want to fuck me again, don’t you?” Annie’s eyes were dark and her smile decidedly naughty as she looped her arms around his neck and hooked her ankles together behind his hips.

Namtar thrusts became deeper, more deliberate. “You make me an offer I can’t refuse, dear wife.”

“That wasn’t an offer, it was a question.” But she made no move to push him away, only lifted her hips, finding an angle that allowed him to slide smoothly in and out of her tight heat.

“You say tomayto, I say tomahto.”

She giggled, and her inner muscles rippled around his cock, making his balls draw tight once more. “You don’t even know what a tomato is.”

“Lies. I had a slice of the red fruit on my cheeseburger the day we fled the parking lot of the Target.” Namtar captured her lips, grateful to feel her gasp of breath puffing into his mouth. She was close, thank the Goddess.

“I’m going to miss Target.” She bucked into him, taking everything he could give her and demanding more, taking him once more to that pinnacle of pleasure he’d never dreamed possible before he’d had her in his arms.

“Will you?” He slowed for a moment, allowing her to urge him onto his back. “Will you miss many things from Earth? We have not discussed this as much as I would like, there have been so many things to—”

“I was kidding, babe. I won’t miss anything.” She rode him, faster and faster, until he felt he would die from the bliss of it.

“I will give you anything that is in my power to give. Anything you need.”

“I don’t need anything but you.”

She came seconds later, head thrown back, dark curls streaming across her shoulders. Namtar joined her, knowing the same was true for him. He had more than he ever wanted, but the only thing he truly needed was in his arms, the woman who had captured his heart from the moment she begged this devil to take her.

About the Author

To learn more about Anna J. Evans please visit http://annajevans.com. Send an email to [email protected] or join her Yahoo! Newsletter group for monthly updates on all things Anna! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/anna_j_evans_newsletter/

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Captured

In the beginning there is always darkness…

Divinity in Chains

© 2008 Danielle Devon

Aramon’s blood runs hot for the ravishingly beautiful Eliyn, the mysterious young woman who seemed to appear like magic out of the woods, lost and alone. But as Garde Lumia of the kingdom of Kinra, he is bound by duty to his country and the divine family he has sworn to protect. Aramon must marry according to his high station, the laws of the kingdom have no care for the desires of his heart.

Eliyn lost the only family she has ever known to the barbaric Viscans, and is grateful to the royal family for taking in. She knows Aramon would willingly defy his king to bond with her if she would only say the word, but she is mindful of her low-born status. All she can ever have of him are nights of forbidden passion.

Then a dark ship appears on the horizon, a ship bearing Araqael, the Night Lord cast from the heavens by the goddess herself. The centerpiece of his plot for revenge is his intended bride—Eliyn. The world would be hers to command if only she would take her place at his side. She must choose between the demon who could offer her everything and the man who could offer her nothing but his heart.

But Divinity has other plans…

Enjoy the following excerpt for Divinity in Chains:

The curtains billowed in the soft night breeze, drawing away from the window for a moment so that he could see into the room beyond. She sat at the vanity, her back to him, her long dark hair dripping down her back in soft waves.

The curtains fell against the window again, blocking his view.

Aramon pressed forward, daring to take the fabric in his hand and gently pull it aside. He could see her reaching out for a dagger, her fingertips slipping over the hilt of the blade. She took hold of the weapon, drawing it up so that it stood on its tip while she twirled it in circles. He didn’t know what her intentions were with the dagger, but he could almost feel the despair rippling through her like a bitter mountain stream… Cold and calculated, wearing at the edges of her soul as the water wears upon the rocks.

He leaned against the framing, his arms crossed about his chest as the curtain stirred in the breeze behind him. “It is a curse to take ones life before one has truly lived,” he said.

Her fingers released the dagger so that it fell with a heavy clang against the vanity. She turned slowly, casting a long, breathless glance over her shoulder at him. She pressed her palm to her heart as though she were pinning it down beneath her chest. She said nothing as she turned slowly back around, her fingers working over the blade again, drawing it up so that the handle rested solidly in her palm.

She rose then and Aramon took a moment to let his gaze drip down her body. Her gown slipped off one shoulder and marble-like skin glowed under the lamplight, the fire sending a soft orangish hue to flush across her body.

She turned slowly, dagger clutched dangerously beneath an iron fist even as it hung limply at her side. She met his gaze, pupils as black as the night drowning in a cerulean sea flashed with an intoxicating mix of hatred and desire. Her tongue darted out from between her lips, trailing across the plump flesh so that it glimmered with moisture beneath the flicker of the lamp. She did not press forward but did not back away. She stood her ground, her gaze locked on his. She lifted her chin defiantly. “You are mistaken about my intentions.”

“Death is not to be played with.”

“I am not toying with death, merely with the choice.”

“The choice?”

“To take one’s own life…” Her words trailed off as through she were pondering the thought. “I may not have a choice in the life I am given, but I have a choice in whether I wish to live it.”

Aramon took a step forward, daring to close the distance between them despite the dagger in her hand. He was compelled, drawn to her like the stars are drawn to the heavens. He couldn’t have said why, he was simply drawn. Silently she spoke to him, her heart calling out to him though her lips hadn’t uttered such a word. It was foolishness he knew, his mind was tired, his body weak, his nerves tinged with a strange desire. Still, he could not deny it anymore than he could deny himself breath. “You would choose death over this life?”

Her grip tightened on the dagger as he approached, his steps slow, methodical. She stood her ground, her chin lifting higher as if to signal her strength even as tears welled in her vivid eyes. “No,” she said simply. “I merely choose to debate the choice. What would you choose if you were me?”

Her question had him pausing midstep, his dark brow cocking as he considered her. “Pardon?”

“Would you choose to be a slave with no control over your own life? Or would you choose freedom, even if freedom was offered only in death?” Her hand trembled, her voice raising half an octave so that it poured over him like a bird’s song.

A smile curled on Aramon’s lips, and again he dared to take a step forward. Closing the distance between them, he stopped just a breath away. He towered above her so that he had to bow his head and tilt his gaze downward just to meet her upturned face.

She was small, delicately framed, and he remembered how easily she had settled against him as he had escorted her into the garden. Her body fitting into his as though they were cut from the same mold, fitting together as two perfect pieces. It was her small stature, as much as her expressive beauty and bold tongue that excited him.

He felt her breath, heavy and quick as it was expelled and drawn in with the frantic beat of her heart. It was warm against his skin, teasing him, daring him to capture her lips with his and draw into him that very breath. So sweet she smelled, like chamomile, the scent not perfumed but natural, wafting up from her hair, from the very surface of her skin. Her scent was drawn with rapture, the soft, small curves of her body etched for a man’s delight. “You are not a slave, Eliyn.” His voice came out ragged and strained, surprising even him. “You are free to make your own choices as we all are. You are free to live, free to die.”

She tapped her finger against the polished blade of the dagger. The click, click, click of her nail against the steel echoed in the silence that drew out before them. “I am in the service the divine family, same as you are.”

“Ah,” he said, his gaze drawing away from her lips to her eyes. Aramon sucked in a breath of his own as his hand rose up to touched the back of her hand that held the blade. At his touch, she drew in a sharp breath, her hand jumping beneath his touch. He pressed his fingers into her skin, stilling her hand between their bodies. “We choose to live in the service of others,” he said at length drawing out his words. “Because we are afraid to embrace life alone.”

He took hold of the blade, his fingers tracing across hers as he pulled it from her grip. He was surprised when she let him take it away, her fingers trembling beneath his brief touch. He drew up the blade, let it come up between them, tip pointed to the heavens. Her gaze flickered over the dagger, drawing up the dull steel then jumping to rest upon his face. “I am not afraid,” she whispered her voice wrought with conviction even as she spoke softly.

Aramon turned the blade about in his hand, the hilt jutting out at her. He nodded in a silent offering and she in turn retrieved the blade, letting it if fall lifelessly, unassumingly between them. “We’re all afraid.”

Despite his earlier intentions, Aramon found himself stepping back, putting purposeful distance between them. He said nothing further, the breath caught within his throat as he turned and descended the wall from which he had come. He crossed to his waiting mount, daring to steal one last look at her over his shoulder.

She stood in the balcony, her hair lit with the ethereal glow from the full moon above, stirring about her body in gentle shifting waves. She’d clasped her hands over the railing, watching him with unblinking, desperate eyes. Her gaze no longer tearful but longing, contemplative instead.

He paused, gave a half a thought to turning about, scaling the wall and taking her into his arms. He would not ravage her, but take her softly, tenderly. The thought was so absurd to his mind that it had him turning back and taking mount of his horse.

He yanked on the reins, drawing Ulrich away from the manor and away from the woman who stood on the balcony and silently summoned him.

His heart belongs to one trusting woman. But his soul belongs to Satan.

Dark Sentinel

© 2008 Melissa Lopez

Yanked from his tortured existence in Netherworld and dumped naked in the Louisiana Bayou, Lash could swear he’s died and gone to heaven. Except for the fact that a millennium ago he died a condemned soul, forever barred from Paradise. His new life feels like the next best thing, full of small miracles. Like silence. And ice water. And the company of a beautiful, compassionate woman.

Teva is a woman with a taste for heavy-metal music, an inherited talent for magic, and a trusting heart. She knows nothing about the mysterious stranger she’s taken in, only that he needs her help. And the fact that he’s gorgeous hasn’t escaped her attention. She can’t see Lash as anything other than a sexy, gentle man who soothes her nightmares away.

Then Lash learns the real reason for his reprieve from Netherworld—he’s been sent to corrupt Teva’s soul with sinful pleasures. Starved for tenderness and aching with desire, Lash yearns to accept the loving embrace Teva offers. But he can’t give in to passion without tainting her, condemning her to the horrors of Netherworld.