Love Charms (78 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

A Revelation

I roped Jack’s arms around my
neck as we hobbled out the back door of InK. The bodies were starting to smell,
but I steeled myself. They were gone and Sia’s death brought a bit of justice.

Once we hit the night air,
Jack pulled away.

“Before we go any further,
let me explain. About my wife Isabel.” He winced as he touched his wrists,
still raw from the silver. “I don’t want you to think that we…that I-”

I held my fingers to his
lips. “We don’t have to do this. Not tonight.” A flicker of pain went through
me. “Not right now.”

After I settled him in his
car, I swiped my phone and punched in B’s number.

“Shouldn’t you be ten sheets
to the wind or screwing your vampire’s brains out?” B said grumpily once he
picked up the other end.

I smiled in spite of myself.
“Thank you for trying to speak up for me, B.”

“Don’t mention it.” He
cleared his throat. “Really.”

I nodded. “Duly noted.”

“So what can I do for you?
Ready to come back to work?”

I told him about Sia and the
major issue we had with the tattoo shop of horrors. If they were worried about
exposure with me, they’d have a conniption if they saw the carnage Sia left
behind.

I hung up and leaned over,
planting a kiss on Jack’s cheek. “B is sending over some cleaners. You should
sleep it off at my place. I’ve got a couple of gallons of blood in the fridge.”
I flashed him a look. “Or if you want to run back in…”

“Not funny,” but he laughed,
then clutched his stomach like even that brought him pain.

I thanked my lucky stars that
my apartment was only a few blocks away. Everything was hitting me – the
murders, the trial, Sia – I just wanted Jack to hold me until dawn.

We shuffled through the
lobby, ignoring the interested look the security guard shot us. A drunk
businessman stumbled into the elevator after us and I tightened my grip on
Jack’s hand. I knew an injured vampires’ hunger was overwhelming, and some lit
guy stumbling about would be like dangling steak in front of a carnivore that
hasn’t eaten in days.

I let out a sigh of relief
when the drunk got off on the second floor. We got out of the elevator and Jack
slumped against the wall as I fumbled for my keys. Once we were inside, I made
a beeline for the fridge.

“Stretch out on the couch,
babe,” I said gently.

I pulled out a gallon of
blood and poured it into a ‘something wicca this way comes’ mug, then warmed it
up for twenty seconds before handing to him.

Jack downed it in one gulp.
“Dawn is near.”

I took the mug. “You should
go into the bedroom.”

“I want to explain,” he said
again, his eyes searching mine.

“Later,” I insisted. “You
need to-”

I heard a clatter in the
bedroom. Jack and I exchanged looks. This night just kept getting better and
better. Almost executed, then murdered, and now someone was trying to rob me.

Jack pushed off the couch and
bared his fangs as he threw open the door.

He lurched back into the
living room instantly, his pale face turning beet red. “I…uh-”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is
something wrong? Who is it?”

“It’s um…” He cleared his
throat. “It’s your mom.”

I made a face at him. “What?
Is she…naked or something?”

Jack shook his head. “Maybe
we should go for a walk. Get some air.” He walked over to me and steered me
toward the door.

I pulled away from him. “It’s
damn near dawn and I just want to go to bed. Why are you acting so weird?”

He gave me a look of
embarrassment. “Just don’t go back there.”

That settled it. I couldn’t
control a psycho fairy trying to frame me or being forced to stand a bloody
Trial in the Great House. I couldn’t control the feeling of worry that what
Jack and I had could be residual love he felt for his dead wife. But this was
my house and I’d be damned if I couldn’t go into my own bedroom.

I breezed toward the bedroom
door, but Jack blocked my way. I could see the top of my mother’s head and no
more.

“She’s indisposed, Jade.”

“Get out of my way!” I
screeched, pushing him aside.

I gasped and covered my eyes.
Too late. It was already branded on my brain. She was stark naked, tangled up
in my sheets. And she wasn’t alone.

The demon…The Watcher from
the Trial, stood beside her…in all his glory. I didn’t mean to gawk, but he was
packing down south.

I forced my gaze on Mom.
“What the hell is going on here?! And why are you naked and hooking up with a
demon?”

“Jade,” she said hoarsely,
clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “I need to tell you something.”

I took a step forward,
glancing back and forth between them.

Mom exchanged glances with
the demon. “We were supposed to do this together. When she was older.”

The demon rolled his wide
black eyes. “Good lord. I’ll do it.” He took a step forward, his demonic glory
swaying side to side. “You’re my kid.”

My eyes went round. I
couldn’t have heard that right. “W-what?”

“Jade,” he said, giving me a
cold smile that made me shudder. “I’m your father.”

###

About the Author

Charisma Cole is a
reader, a writer, and a devourer of Lifetime movies. Connect with her online at
[email protected]
and follow her Scandal obsessed ramblings and book updates/releases at
charismam.tumblr.com
.

J.E. AND M. KEEP

This
book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only. It contains sexually
explicit scenes and graphic language. All sexually active characters in this
work are of legal age. Over 43,000 words.

If you
require
content warnings:
this particular story contains dubious
consent, pregnancy, cock worship, and dark fantasy elements.

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as a thank you!

To our friends who didn’t judge, readers of
The Keep
back when we were first starting out,
and
Darknest Fantasy Erotica
who encouraged us to keep going.

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Mirella
often wonders what her life would’ve been like had she been born a princess,
rather than the property of one.

When a
dark warlord from the north conquers her princess’ kingdom, however, he has
plans for the dainty young future-queen. It makes the question all the more
poignant, because now, more is at stake than just her rough treatment, but love
and lust as well.

The
Warlord’s Concubine is the tale of two women and the dark warlord that dictates
their fate.

As an
indentured servant and handmaiden to the princess for much of her life, the
middle-aged Mirella sees the conquest of the land as an opportunity to elevate
herself. Though as she earns the trust of their conquerors, she finds her own
nature challenged as well. A life of callous disregard has made her hard, but
as she battles the princess’ will for the first time and finds new allies and
friends, does she have what it takes to win the love and favour of the brutal
warlord? Will love and friendship be her downfall? Or will her station in life
yet again be her undoing?

Caution:
The Warlord’s Concubine is a dark fantasy novel that contains explicit scenes,
and a twisted romance between a handmaiden and a God.

Chapter 1

Never had
the two women seen the city so lit up at night. Not even during the harvest
festival when the alchemists set off their fireworks would the great spires and
steeples of Ariste City be so illuminated in the pitch black of night.

The
city of Ariste was like a semi-circle at the base of a mountain. The grace and
majesty of the capital was unsurpassed, even in the southern empire that
stretched so far and wide. The buildings were made from great white stones
harvested from the northern desert, marble from the Quelan Empire and rich wood
from the forests of the Ariste mountains southern slopes. Each tall spire was a
stunning monument to decadence and ingenuity.

The
natural topography made it a rich and moist land on the other side, but there
in the city itself it tended to be dry and temperate. That fact, the princess
feared, would mean the fires that consumed her glorious city-state below would
not be quenched any time soon.

Worse
still, the tall elegant princess Anabelle Flair thought as she clutched her
handmaiden’s hands, were the sounds of destruction coming from her mighty
palace below. When news of the city walls breach reached her, she was already
at the height of the palace, which sat up the slope of Ariste Mountain,
overlooking the city. It was so easy to ignore the rabble from the cold,
northern steppes on her high perch, but now they were not only in her city, she
could hear them in her home.

The
crash of priceless pottery and the smashing of antique wood doors, carved from
ancient timber continued, and it made the pale, slender Anabelle shake.
“Mirella,” the gold-haired princess’ voice trembled, “where will we go?”

The
answer was obvious. Nowhere. High atop that central tower of the palace, there
were only two options. Surrender to the hairy savages of the northern steppes,
whom the state of Ariste had kept at bay for millennium with its great walls
and cunning.

Or she
could throw herself from the great glass windows to crash lifelessly upon the
burning city below.

How
could the handmaiden get that through the mind of the pampered princess staring
at her with wide, saucer-like blue eyes?

Mirella’s
hands went to her princess’ jaw, holding her and staring at her with those
intense, green eyes. The handmaiden’s skin was darker than most people of
Ariste, an exotic olive tone. Her glossy, black hair was pinned back off of her
face in a careful, almost regal manner, though her clothes easily classified
her status within the walls.

Still,
with that calm ease that had endeared her to the royal family, her voice was
stern, “I will stay with you. We will speak with them—reason with them.
They won’t hurt you, my loving princess, provided you obey. Do what they ask of
you and you’ll live to fight again. Do not struggle or fuss, and I will stay at
your side. I promise, I’ll find a way for you to get out of this.”

It was
all so even handed, with not a lick of fear tingeing her voice. Even though
Ariste was secluded, Mirella had dealt with many different people from many
different walks of life in her youth. She knew that the best thing to do was to
succumb, to get through the moment and plan for the next day’s success. She had
seen over thirty five hard years, of toil and hard work, and though her flesh
was still smooth, she was wiser than the young woman before her.

The
frail little princess steadied her nerves at those reassuring words and nodded.
Dressed in only her nightgown, it was still an extravagant garment, white and
gossamer, studded with pearls as it clung to her slender waist before
ballooning out in courtly fashion.

“We
shall per—” The words couldn’t leave her delicate little peach lips fast
enough before the door at the end of the hall burst open. The lock had been set
by Mirella, but the wood was now splintered and destroyed. A chunk of the
formerly elegant door knocked over a corner table and sent a priceless vase
from the far south to shatter on the floor.

With a
great shriek the princess once again pulled away, still holding Mirella’s hands
and trying to put the handmaid between the barbarians and herself.

The
barbarians of the northern steppes were never seen in the courts of Ariste.
Though they had traded continually with the city state over the millennia, they
were considered savages, and rarely allowed even within the city walls.

The two
that pushed through were typical of their kind. Tall and broad, they were a mix
of pale white and a wind-blasted ruddy hue. The steppes were cold and cloudy in
the north, and they saw little sun despite their crude dress of furs and
leather. They were renowned for their hairiness. Their barrel chests, arms,
legs and faces were covered in it, and those two with their clubs were prime
examples.

Mirella
stood in front of the princess. At their entrance, she let go of the woman’s
hand and dropped to her knees. Her face tilted down demurely, but her voice
rang through loud and far prouder than a handmaiden’s voice should be. “Sirs,
we request to see your leader. He will not wish for the princess to be harmed.”

Her
voice managed to carry above the sounds of destruction from out of the now open
door, but it didn’t quell the two savages as they advanced on the two women.

Anabelle
shrieked again, curling up in the corner against the window and white stone
wall and covered herself. They grabbed both women by their hair, and the stench
of their sweaty musk was pungent as they were dragged across the marble
flooring several feet.

“Quiet,
Princess! Please!” Mirella begged the woman, even as her face contorted in pain
as her feet scrambled to keep her aloft and relieve the tension on her scalp.
“It will be all right!”

The
only thing to bring the sight to a halt was the sound of a booming voice that
seemed to emanate from beyond their world. “He does not wish it indeed,” came
the commanding tone, and as quickly as the two brutes had resorted to savagery
they released the women's hair and collapsed to their knees in obeisance and
fear.

Mirella
grunted as she fell, but instantly she moved to her ward, her slender arm
slipping around the Princess’ shoulders. Her dressing gown was far drabber and
less elaborate, but it was still of fine quality and kept her wholly covered,
for which she was at least modestly grateful for as she stared towards the
strange voice. She kneeled, and guided the princess to do the same, following
suite of their two, cruel captors.

The
princess was stubborn however. A life of ruling made her resist bowing before
anyone even then, and so she was sat up as the source of that husky voice came
through the door.

As if
from out of the shadow, the tall, dark figure strode silently down the marble
lined hall. The light from the inflamed city below was the only thing giving
sight to the man, for unlike the other savages, he was dark in every manner.

Easily
bigger and taller than either of the two brutes that had busted down the door,
the monumental charcoal-coloured man looked nothing like the other savages
aside from his size.

Where
they were pale, he was a pure and unearthly dark. Where they were hairy, he was
smooth. Where they wore ragged armour, he wore little more than a fine uneven
cloak that draped from one shoulder down across to another hip, leaving half of
his torso exposed and nude. His garb, especially those high boots of his, were
strange and exotic. They were not the crude assemblage of animal hide like the
other savages, but they were neither of Ariste nor the southern Empire that
Mirella could tell.

The two
women could feel the odd man’s intense gaze upon them even as his eyes were
hidden by the shadows. The brutes that were hauling them away but moments
before dared not move or utter a thing. The brazen princess—too
privileged to know when to shut her mouth—spoke up in a haughty,
quavering voice, “I am the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Ariste, and you are
tres—”

Reaching
out in a flash of speed that belied his large size, he wrapped his black gloved
fingers about the Princess’s slender stalk of a neck, choking all words and air
from her. So close, the two women could see the smooth, outline of his muscular
flesh, the bulge of pecs, abs and below that of his startlingly large groin
beneath black leather.

Mirella
gasped at the strange sight before her. Her hair was mussed up from her rough
handling, but she didn’t care much at the sight of what was surely a god. Her
lips dropped open and it quickly made sense to her why they would attack, and
she couldn’t help that a gasp of awe and reverence passed her lips, or the fact
that her eyes wouldn’t stop working over his body again and again.

The
charcoal coloured giant had obsidian hair like the savages, but instead of
being frazzled and wiry like theirs, it was sleek and glossy like Mirella’s. It
flowed long down over his shoulders like a lion's mane, framing his broad,
ethereally handsome face, though some of it was put together in the back in a
silver ring.

Releasing
the Princess’s throat at last, leaving the reddened woman to cough and sputter
for breath on her hands and knees, he methodically brought his gaze from the
blonde royalty to the handmaiden. When he spoke once more it was with an eerily
gravely tone, so full of masculinity and virility, but seeming totally inhuman.
“The princess is to be my newest concubine,” he stated firmly, though his eyes
were locked on Mirella’s, as if boring through her to her soul.

Her
breathing caught, which was something quite unexpected for the in-control
handmaiden. Her lips quirked just a tiny bit as her head bowed, but she
couldn’t draw her eyes away from his, no matter how much she wanted to. “Your
will is not to be debated,” she finally managed out, and the breathy manner
that she said it was filled with awe.

Loose
tendrils of hair lay against her face, the heavy strands returning to their
normal position with a brief primping, and Mirella couldn’t help but do so. The
last thing she wanted was this god to see her looking less than her best. “I am
certain my envy knows no bounds.”

The
savages beside her twitched, and the handmaiden got the impression that she had
committed some taboo merely by speaking directly to the giant. Neither budged
to reprimand her, as if held in place by something stronger still than
reverence for their lord; fear.

It was
hard for Mirella to tell in the dark, but she could swear she made out a
half-smile in the shadows of his face. The princess coughed through her
choking, and gasped in air, “Concubine?! I’ll never—” and she received a
backhanding. Mirella knew it intimately. It wasn’t intended to hurt the
princess, it was intended to humiliate and quiet her. It was the act of a
master to his slave, and it did its job, for the princess—so unaccustomed
to anything but absolute submission—squealed and toppled to the marble
floor from the strike.

Without
word the dark man turned, and the two savages scrambled away as if their lives
depended on it—and perhaps did—leaving the chamber. The dark prince
announced in his booming voice, “Hold the two of them for my concubines to
claim.”

Her own
lips curled but she wiped away the grin, instead tending to her Princess,
though the motions had somehow shifted. She remained dutiful, but something
lurked behind her eyes that the Princess would never know to suspect in her
older handmaiden.