The Siren Series 2

Volume Two of The Siren Series

by Marata Eros

Volume Two of The Siren Series

Copyright
©
2012-2013 Marata
Eros

http://marataeroseroticaauthor.blogspot.com/

Smashwords
Edition

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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
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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.

Edited by Hazel Novak

For:

All the girls that dig “bad boys” in
fantasy... or not.

The material in this document contains
explicit sexual material that is intended for mature audiences only
and is inappropriate for readers under eighteen years of age.

Constantine's normally slow and steady demeanor
lay scattered to the four corners of the earth, a likely occurrence
given who faced him.

The one he protected stood behind him.
Undeservedly so. Ember was an anchor at his side. She had the power
to call The Mother, the life force of the sea, but what good was
she this far inland, where trees were the scenescape instead of
waves?

He narrowed his obsidian gaze on the ten of the
Faction who stood before him. Honor-less vampires that he had
fought beside or, in some cases, had killed. They circled him now
as he infinitesimally mirrored their movements, blocking their view
of Ember.

“Constantine,” the one in the front said in
greeting.

“Aye,” Con answered with typical wariness, his
large hands hung loose at his sides. Ready.

“We seek an audience with you.”

Con was surprised despite being on his guard.
“You have a mighty fucked up way of showing you wish to chat.” His
eyes scanned the gloom easily; his mixed-blood aided his night
vision. Being of so many different ethnicities was no small
advantage to his physical prowess. It was the prejudice that Con
had faced from the other supernatural groups that had given him
such grief. He had floated like a bottle in the ocean, unprotected
as a renegade vampire of mixed-blood and former fighter of the
Faction as well.

He'd been vulnerable until Desmond of the Mer
had taken him into the inner circle of guards for the princess,
Ember. He'd fucked that six ways to Sunday when his Druid nature
had risen like a Phoenix. He had killed Desmond when Con learned of
his plans for the mass breeding of Ember and another female.

He was kicking himself for not letting destiny
take control. However, his Druid blood had a mind of its own, and
it led him to the protection of the female.

The female who even now was the focus of heated
gazes from every Faction member here.

To talk.

Right, and I can suck my own dick
, he
mused.
Not a bad talent
, he added mentally and chuckled.

Ember whacked him on his back. It felt like a
fly swatting him and she hissed, “What is funny, vampire? That we
have the Faction readying for our death?”

“They ready for nothing but a virginal fuck of
you, my sweet,” Constantine said casually and was satisfied to hear
her sudden intake of insulted breath.

Good, she might think twice, giving the
Faction more ideas than were necessary. Ideas they were decidedly
entertaining,
Con deliberated.

The one in the front cocked his brow. “You
acknowledge this female breeder as fair game?”

Hell no.
His Druid
blood roared to the surface of his consciousness like finely heated
oil in a cauldron of water.
“No, we mean to escape the bonds
of the sea.”

The Faction murmured amongst themselves and the
leader said, “I scent her as Mer and... I do not know what else,”
he said thoughtfully.

Constantine did not know the whole of her
bloodline and he did not care. She would be underneath him
eventually and no one else would have her. Con certainly knew she
was trouble; a high maintenance charge to be sure.

It was part of the fun for Con. He hated
easy.

Without challenge, where was the joy in life?
Speaking of which.... he looked at the Faction again.

“We know only of your reputation. That you
escaped the massacre of our kind in the heart of the city.”

His eyes speared Con as if it was his fault that
he'd survived the Reaper invasion from a couple of years ago.

Whatever, they could french kiss his asshole.
That's what Con excelled at: survival. He would not apologize for
the very impulses that had saved his hide.

“Russel knew what I was when he extricated me
from the tender mercies of that group,” Con said, his tone dripping
with the sarcasm of said
rescue
. “He was also fully aware of
my loyalties and who they were to.”

“Who?” the Faction asked, seemingly fascinated
for the moment.

“Me,” Con said as his talons slid from his
fingertips and the song of battle began to play a tune in his
head.

“We do not wish to war, Constantine of the
Faction,” the other said. He looked at Con, then with a subtle
signal of his jaw the others closed in. Their faces could not
contain the lust they had for the breeder at his back.

Fuck this noise,
Con thought. “Your
actions contradict your words,” he said with the certainty of
centuries of battles, the tell of their bodies prophesying the
aggression to come.

“Join us,” he breathed at Constantine in
invitation.

Constantine deliberated. They
could
be
stronger if they banded together. He ran from the remnants of the
retaliatory Mer; Madden in particular would never stop until he had
Con's head on a trident. Yet, as he felt the warmth of the female
at his back... what made Con as he was, buried under layers of
defense brought by survival, yearned for something more.

What... he did not know. Constantine supposed it
would not come to fruition if he were to bind himself to the
marauding Faction once again. No, he was better off taking his
chances with only himself as liege.

He gave a minute shake of his head as an
answer.

The one who had made the invitation hung his
head. When his gaze rose to Con's he told the others of the
Faction, “Take the breeder, kill the renegade.”

“You touch this female and I will break off the
hand that dares and stuff it up your ass,” Con promised as he heard
Ember give a low whimper.

“So Druid of you... so weak,” the leader said
with a cruel smile.

Con understood cruel, he had been the bearer of
such many times over.

“Constantine,” Ember whispered his name in
fear.

“Do not worry my moist flower, you may thank me
later,” Con said to Ember. To the group at large his words were
meant as defiance; to Ember they were meant as reassurance.

The one in the front laughed. “They did not
understate your arrogance, Faction.”

“I am Faction no more, dolt. Or have you not
been listening these past minutes?”

They blurred to Con, sparing him nothing. Two
lost their heads in a scissoring cross swipe that had their bodies
falling, ash bursting in front of Con and Ember. She dropped to
avoid it and strong arms grabbed her hair, greedy fingers latching
into the weave of pearl-like seed pods.

“Constantine!” Ember yelped. “He takes our
healing!” Ember was not worried about her life, but for the
precious seed pods that were woven like fine pearlescent jewels
into her hair. Kept in plain sight. It was those special plants
that provided healing properties and also the main grazing plant
for the creatures of the sea that were the Mer's main source of
sustenance.

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” Con growled, ducking as
another Faction came for him.

He speared the offender that had dared to drag
Ember from his side.

Constantine was the only one allowed to cause
her pain. And it would not be during a beating, but a rutting.

“You are a slow learner, Faction,” Con murmured
as he buried his talon in the crotch of Ember's attacker. With a
comical look of pained surprise his hand fell away from her silky
platinum waves.

“Like that, eh?” Constantine inquired
solicitously, twisting the barbed end deeper and the Faction
howled.

“Con!” Ember yelled in warning and Constantine
felt that unique pressure at his back that preceded a strike. He
had always been sensitive to threatening movements and this was no
exception. He was already ducking as the talon sailed harmlessly
over his head. He kicked back powerfully; his hamstring muscles
bunching in readiness and releasing into whomever was behind.

With a grunt, the Faction slammed into a nearby
willow, the trunk breaking with the impact in an ear-splitting
crack that reverberated in the hollowness where the trees gathered
like stranded islands of wood and bark.

“Constantine of the Faction,” a voice like
gravel announced.

What the blue fuck was this new pest?
Con
grumbled to himself, casually wiping his blood and gore-soaked
talon on the nearest Faction's clothing. Full of ash, the clothes
held the husk of the vampire. Con stepped over the fallen Faction,
wiping ash off his boots as he moved toward the new arrival.

Constantine faced the threat and for the first
time since his former compatriots had arrived he had a hiccup of
trepidation.

A dark Druid Exotic male vampire stood next to
the female Con had attempted to rape and who had subsequently given
Con the first real lesson of his life that he'd deserved. He
shuddered at the memory of the device she'd inserted in her Druid
twat.

A most unpleasant device which Con liked to
think of as the dick shredder

Of course, Con healed... yet, that did not mean
that his cock had not felt every strip of skin taken as he had been
compelled to fuck this female.

Now Lucia of Exotic and Druid female lineage was
here with what had obviously become her mate, Tarrin. He of the
deep Shaman magick of the plains of Africa.

Constantine looked at the two, she of the gold
spiraling curls, and eyes a vibrant green, shot by gold lightning.
Lucia's mixed-blood wrapped a finely chiseled female warrior's
body, kissed by mocha skin.

However, for how hard she appeared, Lucia had
shown him mercy. A mercy that Con was introspective enough to
recognize he'd not deserved.

There was no mercy in the huge warrior Exotic's
eyes: only resolve.

He meant Con's death. Constantine did not
believe in second chances.

“Who are they?” Ember asked from behind him.

“Old friends,” Con said in a falsely jovial
tone. Ember came to stand beside him and looked from him to the
Exotic pair. “I think not,” she said with quiet certainty.

“You presume correctly,” he conceded.

“We have been sent to execute Constantine,
former member of the Faction.”

Ember said nothing, the leader of the Faction
snorted and Tarrin turned his merciless face to him and he backed
away.

Con thought this worked well for Ember. They
would take the mermaid breeder (who was more than she knew), and
kill him. She would be free and so would he.

Unfortunately for them, Constantine did not wish
to be freed by way of death. He saw a pinhole of light that bled
through the murk of his existence and it would not be taken from
him in the eleventh hour for erroneous reasons.

He stepped forward toward the Exotic, with whom
he shared a genetic tie; they possessed precognitive and telepathic
abilities and were arbitrators of justice. They were rare, hailing
from the Orient or Africa. Exotics were almost unheard of in the
Americas. Yet, here the three stood.

He had been spared two years ago only because of
that blood coursing in his veins, there were too few to ignore his
rarity.

Constantine knew his worth; he had suffered for
it.