Authors: Marata Eros
"....When I need a break from reality, Marata Eros never disappoints. Thank you for getting me hooked on another promising series!" -
"....I LOVE Marata Eros her descriptive prose and humorous wit, amazing storyline and sexy and original characters are to be admired and bragged about.
Constantine is back!!!!" -
"....This a spin off of another one of her series. All of her books I completely love. Story is fast paced, exciting, and full of passion. The relationships and the characters are wonderfully written. If you haven't read books by Marata Eros you really need to!" -
"....OMG!! I can not wait to see what happens next! I hope to see some tie ins from other series! I like this series as much as the druid series. I'd like to see more of the original crew in action." -
Nicole R Engelman
"....Finally Constantine finds his mate! Excellent outcome can't wait to find out more details about Ember and Constantine. Please tell me that they are truly each other's mate!!!!" -
"....Love everything by Marata Eros!!! Have read all in this series and it is totally AWESOME. If you haven't read all the others you need to!!!" -
Table of Contents
Brandon, a Druid male warrior, has sought the call of the Mother, the sea's endless summons something he can no longer ignore.
Leaving the Reaper vampire stronghold, he seeks a female who shares his blood and unique calling. Brandon enters a battle between the mixed-blood Constantine, Kane of demon descent, and Madden—a Mer who has the answers to the mystery of his lineage.
Left with more questions than answers, Brandon is shocked when he discovers Nova, a female as mixed as he.
Can Brandon find answers to the questions plaguing him? Or will his protection for the one female who calls to him circumvent the resolution he craves? When males from the opposing sects hunt him for what he possesses—can he call on his Druid counterparts to save everything he cares most about ....?
THE SIREN SERIES 3
A Siren Novel
Copyright © 2014 Marata Eros
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
Red Adept Publishing
You were more than you knew~
Adam Shane Terhune
September 26, 1975- September 14, 2014
Constantine was weary of the endless battles. He'd had a fine first rut with Ember, and now these scallywags were interrupting his fun.
No time to sulk
. He must teach a few lessons.
“Ember, call the Mother, my wet flower, and make this a mite easier on us all.”
He feels her heat at his back, smells his seed mixed with her virgin blood.
It makes Con's cock hard.
His fantastic erection withers when he also scents her reluctance. “We do not have time for pangs of conscience, my breeder. We need help in the
if you've noticed.”
Constantine fists the flat, whip-like handle of the Encourager, a lethal weapon of chain links with spiked and barbed ends. When uncoiled and flung with precision, it makes a handy skinner. It's a Constantine favorite.
The Encourager does not discern for race, creed, or religion—it is an equal opportunity torturing device.
Con smirks at his internal musings.
“Hand the breeder over,” the demonic says.
Con tenses, giving the demonic the full weight of his gaze. “I believe there are greater concerns with our mutual fate than you wishing a fuck with my breeder.”
“Oh? I am
Con rolls his eyes, not bothering to look behind him. “Yes, unless you would rather be with the raping Mer?”
“No,” Ember admits with a sulk in her voice.
His lips twitch at her sullen admittance as her small hands clutch the back of Con's tunic.
His eyes roam the contingent of Mer and the lone demonic. Con exhales in an angry rush. He sees a few Faction join the group.
It will get interesting soon.
Madden, the captain of the Mer warriors, steps forward. He spreads his hands away from his body, cocking his head to the side as though in question.
He can have no question worth Constantine answering.
“Faction, let us take the Mer princess,” Madden says. “She is a prime breeder, and royalty among our people. You cannot lay claim to her.”
Con looks at the scattered Faction who keep their distance from the Mer.
He knows exactly their motivation. They see supernaturals to kill and a fine breeder, who sports the rare pearl seed pods of her people as a clever weave in her hair, to snatch.
The Faction are present for the commerce. The Mer are here for the power over their once-princess.
The demon? Well perhaps he wants a good wet fuck. The cool cunt of a Mer princess will ease the fire of his prick.
Con snorts, letting the Encourager unravel. Nine feet of sharpened, skin-shredding love unfurls smoothly, a testament to Con's years of practice. Con feels satisfaction when Madden's eyes laser in on the weapon.
Constantine smirks at Mer’s expression. “That's splendid, fish fuck. If you think I be without claim, come and get her.” Con laughs, looking at each pale face, their dark eyes like obsidian coins in their faces. “Who wishes to be amongst the first to taste the Encourager?”
Five of the Mer retreat in uneasy alliance with one another. The Faction hold still—waiting for the others to be the first meat the Encourager finds. They have tasted such ancient methods and found it bitter on their palate.
Con's smirk becomes a grin. “Eh? No takers? Excellent.”
“Constantine,” Ember says from behind him.
His tunic pulls taut against his chest from the tightening of her grip. Con’s eyes sharpen in the gloom.
A Druid moves into the opening between the trees and sea, and Constantine whips the Encourager. Metal hisses a metallic whisper into the night. Warning and encouragement, both.
“Do not get any clever ideas about a rush, my Druid friend.”
Con takes in the Druid vampire, who is barely more than a youngling but well-muscled. The young male has a tightness about him that speaks of time in battle, though his age would belie it.
Constantine cracks the tip of the Encourager a second time, and it sings in the stillness, snapping upon the final second with a firecracker
The Mer flinch. The Faction remain like statues.
The Druid vampire's gaze narrows on the weapon.
The Mer are not near as cowed as Con would like, their knuckles bleeding to white around the grips of their tridents. So near the sea they are definitely a problem
Con's gaze shifts to the demonic.
“Do you be with us or against us?”
“I am with anyone who would save a breeder,” the Druid replies thoughtfully. His eyes never cease their restless movement, keeping their mutual enemy in sight.
The demonic's anger tightens his expression. “Aye, I am with you, mixed-blood.”
Constantine grunts at the demonic's clear distaste of Con’s former Faction ties.
A dark chuckle escapes Con.
Madden says, “It is three against five—you shall not have Ember. You cannot defeat us with the Mother this near.”
“What of the Faction who mill about?” Constantine asks Madden.
Madden gestures toward the tumbling waves at their back. His face says
Like Hades I will.
The three opportunistic Faction, mixed-blood all, inch closer to the Mer.
Perfect, keep the Mer occupied.
Ember steps around Con, and Con sees Madden's nostrils flare. Hard.
“You have fucked the Faction,” Madden accuses her.
Constantine sighs. Grabbing Ember's elbow, he jerks her closer to him. “You imbecile, I am no longer Faction. Do you see yonder Faction present? Them, oaf, not I.”
Madden's brows dump, his eyes narrowing to slits. “A mongrel is what I see,” he says, dismissing the Faction who used to battle alongside Con.
Not that the other Faction’s stance as current potential enemy ruffled Con’s feathers. Con has found independence, and it suits him quite well.
Con doesn’t have time for usurpation. “Well, bravo, my fishy enemy. But this
will end you.”
The Mer open their mouths to call the Mother.
Constantine would like to bitch about their methods. However, he has always been a dirty fighter, and he approves of using everything at his disposal.
On that note.
Con whips Ember around, gripping her arms. Her blood-red eyes and blond hair contrast in the strangled moonlight seeping through the trees like pale blood.
“Derail their siren's call, Ember.”
Her eyes grow round. “I do not know if I am able.”
He gives her a teeth-rattling shake. “Try—before I inspire you to do so. You can take the Faction out of the male, but the violence remains.”
Constantine draws her close as the Mer call the aid of the sea.
He feels the Mother as his lips take Ember's in a brutal press of flesh that leaves her gasping.
He bites her lip just hard enough to draw blood, and it fills their mouths.
He pulls away. “Do it. Do it now!”
Ember's tongue swipes at the wound. He watches her pupils dilate, the black eating the red. When her eyes are glossy ink marbles in the ivory of her face, her mouth opens, and Ember's song fills the stillness.
The demonic and Druid cover their ears against it.
But Con does not. He has enough blood of the Mer to tolerate her high-toned wail, though it causes as much pain as it does pleasure.
A common theme for what Constantine enjoys best.
A wall of seawater rises like a hand from a watery grave. It hovers over Ember and Constantine.
The Druid's arms drop to his sides, an expression of wonder filling his face as he approaches them.
Ember's wailing isn’t interrupted when she gives a cautionary shake of her head. Con doesn’t shred the cock and balls off the young male, as his impulse would normally be, because w
hen the Druid sets his hands on both their shoulders, Ember’s song rises in pitch—strengthening the call. The water that threatens them swings around and crashes into the five Mer and Faction who sidle closer to gain the advantage of proximity.
Fierce satisfaction fills Con when the Mers’ siren call is cut short, water stealing the sound.
Ember's final note carries on the now-still air. Her trembling music crushes the silence as it ends.
Their breathing is all Constantine hears.
He gazes first at Ember, then the Druid vampire, then the demonic. “Let's leave before they rise from the water's grip.”
The Druid says, “I am Brandon. There will be more of my kind if we do not make haste.”
“I am Kane,” the demonic says.
Con plants powerful legs far apart and folds his arms. “Well, wonderful. I am Constantine.” His brows come together in a glare. “Let's get the fuck out of here, shall we?” Con sweeps a palm in front of him, just where he likes males to be—Where he can see them.
Ember encourages them to move. “The water pulls away.”
Constantine catches sight of the water's retreat.
“Hurry, my breeder.” He offers a hand to her.
Oh, for the love of the Goddess
. “Or suffer more discipline,” Con says with a smile, his hand moving in a circle.
“They will be asleep in the arms of the Mother for a time, then they'll come after me yet again. Constantine”—she levels a look at him—“shall be ever-vigilant of the approach of our enemy.”
Brandon laughs, and Con frowns. Con doesn’t see anything of comedic value.
“This mongrel?” Brandon says. “He is dangerous and treats females badly—obviously.”
Kane's gaze shifts to Con. “Be that as it may, he is a clever adversary.”
Constantine's eyes search the heavens. “Really? Let us leave. The three of you can discuss me on the way. In the meantime, I wish to seek shelter and remove myself from the Mother.” He turns, giving the sea a mock-bow. “She is a fickle she-devil.”
Kane opens his mouth, and Constantine raises a palm. “Do not split hairs over my word choice, red skin.”
Two may play the judgment game.
“Constantine speaks true. Let's go,” Brandon says.
Con shrugs. “We be friends for the now, enemies at some point in the future.”
Brandon's lips quirk, and Con folds his arms again, agitated. “What be so funny, youngling?”
“It's called 'frenemies,' Faction.”
“I am no longer Faction.”
Brandon's dark eyes hold his. “And I no longer be a youngling.”
Constantine's eyes rake over the young male. He is hard-knit. Every plane of Brandon’s body screams Druid, from his height to the breadth of his shoulders.
Yet his eyes are the coal-black, seemingly pupil-less look of the Mer.
His conjecture will have to be put on hold. Escaping is the only goal at hand.
Constantine nods at Brandon and sweeps Ember's palm into his own before he sprints—hauling her along.
The demon and Druid follow.
They move away from the sea, toward relative safety.