Fate's Kiss: Daughters of Saria, #2

By Elysabeth Grace

When it comes to Holland's League, all is not as it seems.

Shapeshifter Anne Willoughby takes pride in Holland's League's exclusivity, and that the brothel is a perfect sanctuary for witches escaping demonic enslavement. When a series of murders threatens the brothel's existence, Anne turns to a man she can trust, "Demon" Gabriel Elstone, and a bargain is set.

Gabriel finds Anne's request an offer he can't refuse, especially since it is a chance to attend Holland's League's infamous courtesan auction –and the promise of a night in the elusive Anne's bed. And if he rids the world of a few demons along the way, it will be a bargain well met.

Sparks (and a dagger or two) fly between Anne and Gabriel when they discover they're destined to be life mates. Fate, however, is not above meddling to ensure a necessary happily ever after to move a prophecy along.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Midsommer Publishing
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781733356312

Elysabeth Grace

Elysabeth Grace (pen name) writes paranormal, contemporary, and historical romances where love and HEAs accept no impediments. Her stories and characters are diverse, sensual, and occasionally wicked. A native Californian and Professor emerita of English literature, Elysabeth currently resides in Nevada where she remains an unrepentant commentator on Shakespeare and other things.

Book preview

Prologue

Barbados, March 1678

---

It’s far too quiet. What are they doing?

Anne Willoughby gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Had the loss of blood made her careless? She knew better than to use her voice while she moved through the thick forest. Was it her pride that made her less vigilant? Her successes, the enslaved freed, the demons killed, her ability to escape detection? Had it all led to a lapse in judgement?

She didn’t want to think it might be true but a niggling part of her awareness wouldn’t let her deny any of the possibilities. Nor did the sound of the hunters who pursued her. The relentless white men who thought it their God-given right to enslave others hadn’t given up, which surprised her. She shouldn’t be fleeing from a threat easily handled, which meant something about this night was different, as if Fate wanted to remind her of the lengths her enemy would go to possess her.

The moonless night did add a layer of protection as she snaked her way through the forest. Without the dogs, the men would have to beat the bushes to try and drive her out and the noise instantly would betray their position. Something definitely was wrong.

Anne’s bottom lip tingled as her teeth scraped it. Things were definitely not going as planned and she sighed before tilting her head in the direction of Bridgetown. The quiet was unnerving and she shivered. The soft chirps and hums of insects and nocturnal birds comforted her each time she left Willoughby planation on a rescue mission. On her return home, the night sounds were reassurances of her success. That she would live another day to thwart enslavers. That her brother wouldn’t have to witness her hanging or see her sold as a slave to some planation on Jamaica or as far away as Virginia.

Where are you?

The sound of her brother’s voice inside her head, despite its clipped tone, was reassuring. Nearing the grove at the southwest corner of our land. I should be home soon.

The beacons are lit and I heard the dogs. What happened? Can you shift?

Anne glanced behind her and gasped. The bright flames of search beacons dotted the forest. The searchers were getting closer and she had very little time before they released the dogs. As Fate would have it, the baying of mastiffs broke the silence. At least the noise betrayed the trackers’ position.

When I returned to Bridgetown searchers were gathering near the warehouse. I thought I had more time.

Your excuses can wait until you get home. Can you shift?

Kit’s exasperation rankled but she understood his feelings. They were the only family each of them had on the island. She inhaled and released the air. Not easily. I need to heal an injury first. I’m almost to the grove. I’ll be home soon, don’t worry.

Anne reached up and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her injury occurred when she had shifted into a dog and one of the hunting dogs attacked, slamming her into the side of a building. Before the dog’s teeth had closed around her throat, the sharp whistle of its master ended the attack. For once, she had been grateful for a tracker’s interference. She’d watched the dog trot back to the pack and the group of men head towards the forest.

Biting her lower lip to silence her pain, she’d slipped away from Bridgetown and headed toward Willoughby plantation. Once it was safe, she’d shifted back to her human form and moved as rapidly as her damaged hip permitted. The exertion had left her clothes sticky with perspiration and they clung to her skin with every step. Silencing a groan, she stepped over a fallen log and wondered who had betrayed the runaways.

The ones who knew about tonight’s mission were she and Ruth, a soft-spoken but fierce opponent of enslavement. When she walked into the secret priest hole in Ruth’s cellar, Anne had worried that only seven of the eight people she was to aid sat huddled in a dark corner. The eighth runaway, a pregnant woman, failed to show. When safety of the three men and four women couldn’t be jeopardized any longer, Anne guided them through the forest and to the waiting sloop. She hoped the woman had decided against traveling until the child was born. Then she could help both mother and child seek their freedom.

She cursed silently and pressed her palm against her thigh when she tripped over an exposed tree root. Darkness was both a blessing and a curse even with her familiarity with the land. She needed to focus on reaching safety and the warmth of her bed. Despite her woolen trousers and thick jacket, she felt the cold bone deep. Barbados’ usual warm tropical air had given way to an icy wind rising from the Atlantic side of the island. Her lungs ached and her fingers were numb from the cold. She hadn’t thought to bring gloves. Another careless mistake.

The knotted vines dangling from tree limbs impeded her steps as she entered the grove that marked the southernmost boundary of her brother’s plantation. She glanced over her shoulder and saw torchlight growing brighter. Her footing already unsteady, she stumbled over a fallen log. Her body slammed into the ground and the jagged edge of a broken limb tore a deep cut across her right thigh. A sharp pain shot through her. She pinched her lips tightly to stifle her cry and her hand immediately went to the cut. Her ripped trousers were soaked. Blood. In a few minutes the dogs would pick up the scent and her chance to escape would be over. She pushed herself to her feet and forced her body into the thick grove of trees. As much as she hated the idea, she had to stop and heal. If left unattended the bleeding would weaken her.

She stiffened when the crackle of dry leaves echoed in the grove. She couldn’t run, not with her injuries. Tilting her head toward the sound, she listened and waited for the rush of footsteps and the hushed panting of dogs ordered to silence. Her dagger drawn, she slowed her racing heart and swore hers wasn’t the only blood to be shed that night.

Whoever tracked her realized his mistake and cloaked his movements in stillness. While she could sense his encroaching presence, his stealth had her nerves on edge. Only a supernatural could do so without revealing their presence. She dare not attempt to heal herself, especially if her pursuer was demonic. The moment she tried to repair the cut, he’d know what she was and where.

As quietly as she could, Anne dragged herself to the closest tree and leaned back against it. She switched her knife to her right hand and her left hand reached across her right shoulder. A cool heat tickled her palm and she closed her fingers around the hilt of a sword. She felt the power of the sword as she straightened her body as much as her pain allowed. She wouldn’t be taken without a fight.

I can smell your fear, Tamahaq.

Like a lost child whose mother abruptly appeared, Anne squealed her joy. She released the hilt of her sword and pushed herself away from the tree. Kit.

A pair of strong hands caught her as she pitched forward. Sometimes you’re more trouble now than you were at ten years.

But you love me anyway, she murmured before the black fog of unconsciousness descended.

Her fever has broken.

Anne’s dark eyelashes fluttered open at the unfamiliar voice. It was a woman’s but not one she recognized. Though the voice was gentle, it did nothing to ease the throbbing ache rippling across her forehead. She groaned and a cool calloused hand tenderly stroked her brow until the pain faded. Her eyelids lifted and she stared at her brother’s worried face.

Christopher Willoughby caressed his sister’s cheek and flashed her a smile. Welcome back, twin.

Kit, she said weakly. How long have I been ill? How did you find me?

It wasn’t difficult given the noise you were making, and you’ve been feverish for two days. How are you feeling?

The way I feel after a lesson with Master Abdullah or Raphael. Did the cargo get safely away?

Her brother hesitated, his gaze flicking to the woman on the other side of her. He shook his head. The sloop was attacked and deliberately sunk. No one survived.

Anne squeezed her eyelids to stop the pain and the tears. This was the first time she had failed. What had she done wrong?

You did nothing wrong, Kit said, reading her thoughts. You were betrayed. I promise I’ll discover who is responsible and they will pay.

She nodded before opening her eyes and looking at the woman seated next to her bed. Who are you?

Someone you’ve saved, the woman said. The enslaved name given to me is Bella. My mother named me Fatimah. You are free to use either one since I owe my life to you and your brother.

Heal yourself, sister. You and Fatimah can become friends later, Kit interrupted. I need to get both of you on a ship leaving tonight.

Anne closed her eyes. You failed to ask, brother. Your arrogance is remarkably like your guardian.

Laughter made her head ache as he teased, It’s matched only by your obstinance. Heal yourself please so I can get you to safety.

I need to tell you something but please don’t think me mad, she said, grabbing his hand. I was there.

Kit peered at her. It was the first time he’d heard such terror in his twin’s voice. He laid a hand on her forehead. She brushed it aside. I was there, with Lilith when she died.

You suffered from fever, Anne. You know the mind plays tricks when we’re ill. You haven’t left this bed since I brought you home two nights ago. Fatimah cared for you, never leaving your side. He stared at her. What you claim is impossible. Lilith died hundreds of years ago. Besides, I would know if you shifted and left Barbados.

Anne attempted to sit up and failed. Tears pooled in her eyes. Listen to me, Christopher Sebastian Willoughby. What I witnessed was not born of a fever. I shared the Tamahaq’s mind, saw what she saw, heard every word . . . I saw Satan end Lilith’s life.

Kit stared at his twin and Anne knew he searched for lucidity. My reason is fine. It’s my body that is weak, Kit.

Tell me what happened.

I was no longer on the island, or in the forest. She looked at her brother. Lilith spoke to me, insisted I become a cheetah. She guided me to the oasis where she and Satan stood. She bound my mind and body so I couldn’t interfere, said I was there to witness, nothing else.

Anne pulled her bottom lip between her teeth then released it. He was so angry, Kit. Enraged that she was consort to Lucifer, that she accepted what Fate decreed. He refused to acknowledge her human body, refused her human name. To Satan she was Lilith. She tried to reason with him but he wouldn’t listen. He was so full of rage, and in so much pain.

The memory gripped Anne and her face became wet with tears. There was so much anguish, so much heartbreak. He demanded she betray Lucifer. She refused, despite the agony Satan caused her. I shared it, Kit. When the pain became unbearable, she made Satan’s fist the instrument of her death. I felt it all, the moment the bones fractured and his fingers clenched her heart.

Her broken sobs filled the room and Kit’s hand closed around hers. He started to speak but she waved him to silence.

Lilith forced my mind from hers seconds before her death, Anne said. I watched her body die, his fist deep in her chest. Saw the blood drip from his fingers to the sand when he pulled his hand from her body. I shall never forget the sound of his torment. He lost everything in that moment.

He is to blame, Anne, Kit stated flatly. He rebelled. He began the civil war among angels and brought that war to humankind. Do not pity Satan.

Yet I do, she argued. Lilith was his life mate and chose loyalty over love. He rebelled because he lost the only heart he had. She was his life as he was hers. Her death broke him and I pitied him. Despite everything he has done to Lilith’s line, I watched him and I pitied him.

Her fingers fisted beneath Kit’s hand. How could I after all he’s done to our family, Kit? His creatures hunt me, hunt our kind and I pity him. Why?

Kit eased his arms around her and gently pulled her against his chest. I have no answers, Tamahaq. Only Fate does.

1

London, 1681

---

The auction, Anne.

Bella’s impatient voice intruded on Anne Holland’s distracted thoughts and Anne tilted her head to look at her friend.

Everything is in readiness, she said. Emile will surpass himself this year with food and drink as he has done since we introduced the auction. What more must be attended to?

Requests for invitations only you can refuse, Bella declared. Lord Pellen seeks one for himself and a guest. This is the first year he’s asked. He’s not secret about wanting to bring the brothel under his control.

She shuddered and reached up to rub her furrowed forehead. It worries me how much power he wields and that he has the king’s ear. A too deep investigation may prove our undoing.

Alan Mountjoy will never set foot in Holland’s League and not just because he tried to kidnap Celeste as she left the apothecary, Anne stated. I’m not worried about his plans. I will notify Pellen his request is refused. I’ll also send a message to my cousin. The second request?

Demon Gabriel.

A shiver went through Anne. Demon Gabriel Elstone, Marquis of Alenesby had never sought the services of a woman at Holland’s League, or any brothel in London to her knowledge. Gossip about the efforts to reel the man in kept her amused. His rare visits to Holland’s League were limited to the Hazard and Vingt-un tables because of the brothel’s reputation for honesty. Once or twice, he had asked to meet with her but she always sent word she was unavailable. She had long accepted he excited and terrified her. Avoidance had kept him at bay, which meant Demon’s unexpected request probably didn’t bode well for her peace of mind.

A slight tap on her forearm had Anne looking at the woman seated to her right. Every morning the courtesans gathered in one of two private salons of Holland’s League. This morning Eleanor was instructing the newest member of the brothel in the ways of the courtesan. What is it, Celeste?

Do you agree, Anne? With what Ellie just said?

Anne’s cheeks pinked. She hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation among the women. Ignoring Bella’s knowing chuckle, she focused her attention on the young courtesan. What should I agree to, Celeste?

What Aretino says in his book. That a whore will discover a veritable treasure in her hands and between her thighs. Jewels of all kind can be hers. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Ellie insists he writes the truth.

What have you earned while at Holland’s League, Celeste?

Anne’s mouth curved into a grin as the courtesan’s face gently contorted while she performed the calculations. One of the things Anne had insisted on was everyone employed by Holland’s League learn to read, write, and grasp arithmetic. That way no man or woman could ever take advantage of them.

Nearly three hundred pounds, Celeste answered.

How much of that wealth is jewelry?

If the goldsmith’s appraisal is accurate, nearly one hundred fifty pounds.

I believe you have your answer, Anne said. In which case, we should all take Aretino and Eleanor’s instructions to heart.

Eleanor caught Celeste’s eye and flashed her a smug smile. Shall I continue with Betsy’s lessons?

Celeste rolled her eyes. Do go on.

There are two things you must always bear in mind, Betsy, Eleanor began. First, the smaller a man’s prick the more you will have to resort to trickery and guile. Flatter him, praise his skills with absolute sincerity, but never let him see your amusement or boredom.

Second, never believe a man who pays to be fucked, especially if he is married. Oh, if you chance to wed, never marry a man whose erection grows no longer than your middle finger.

Ellie, that’s unkind. What if he has a very skilled tongue? Might that not offset the size of his penis?

Eleanor glanced at the speaker. Angelica, you know a tongue is an inadequate replacement for a goodly sized cock. On occasion you will want to feel his rod against your womb. Tell me, can a tiny worm bury itself so?

Laughter filled the chamber before Eleanor waved a negligent hand. Holland’s League is a brothel and we’re courtesans. Shouldn’t we be honest about what to seek out or what to avoid? Or what to do if a man’s purse is greater in size than his tool?

As Eleanor and Angel debated the question, Anne’s gaze swept the finely appointed salon where the courtesans lounged. The room was a place of serenity and security. The walls were plastered the color of pale roses while thick woolen carpets muffled sound. The color also gave the room a warmth the outside world denied the women of Holland’s League. Chaises and cushions offered comfortable seating while small tables kept drinks and food in reach. The courtesans claimed the salon was their favorite in all of Holland’s League because it was one of the few rooms their clients were not permitted to enter.

Anne marveled at the success of the brothel. In just three years, she and Bella had achieved a miracle. No one had an inkling that a supernatural and a witch controlled one of the most exclusive brothels in all of London. Without question, the women seated in the salon were the true source for the wealth and reputation of Holland’s League. Beautiful, witty, and smart, they were well trained in the erotic arts under Bella’s tutelage. From the mahogany-hued Bella to the alabaster-skinned Celeste, the courtesans were the reason the yearly auction commanded the attention of England’s wealthiest men and women. The competitive spirit between the courtesans was matched by their true affection for each other, although Bella, Eleanor, and Celeste tended to command the highest prices.

When she discovered the secret game the three had created, Anne had laughingly put a stop to it. If word got out that Holland’s League’s courtesans wagered among themselves to see who could make a man ejaculate in the shortest amount of time, she didn’t want to think about the enormous bribes she’d have to pay to forestall an inquiry. Holland’s League’s existence was too important. The establishment of the brothel was more than just a way for unwanted women to earn a living. It secretly served as a sanctuary for witches and for nearly two years, they lived in relative peace. The only magic the women performed was in the bedroom and in the secret chamber designed to contain the effluence of their spells when they practiced.

A frown creased Anne’s forehead when her gaze shifted to one of the women in the room. Betsy was the most recent addition to Holland’s League. The remaining women in the salon were there from the inception of the brothel. Until Betsy’s arrival two months previously, no witch had sought sanctuary. A witch with modest powers, Betsy was soft-spoken and unflinchingly did all that was asked of her yet several of the servants were made uneasy by her presence. Increasingly, Anne felt the same unease. She glanced at Bella before her gaze returned to Betsy. She caught the girl’s inquisitive look before Betsy averted her eyes. Not for the first time did Anne wonder if the young witch was more than she seemed.

I think honesty is important, Betsy said quietly. As to a man’s worm, since I’ve not seen one I don’t think it wise to pass judgment.

A judicious reply, Eleanor said with a chuckle. Now, no more distractions, Angelica. I need to complete today’s lesson. Fetch me the reddish book from the cabinet, if you will, Bets.

When Betsy stood and limped over to the cabinet, a shiver went down Anne’s back. Trouble was about to visit Holland’s League. She nervously rubbed her fingers along the hidden knife on her thigh as she watched the girl retrieve a book and hold it out.

Is this the one, Miss Ellie?

Yes, that’s it. Bring it here. Once she had the book in her hand, Eleanor patted the space next to her on the chaise. Sit down. It is time to share with you the wisdom every courtesan should drink from her mother’s breast as a babe.

Betsy’s confusion earned Anne’s sympathy. Leave her be, Ellie. She is too new to the trade, and for Aretino’s instruction. In time she’ll be eager to learn what he has to teach.

A girl is never too young, Mistress Holland, Celeste interjected. Besides, she’s already caught the eye of several well-pursed gentlemen.

Eleanor took Betsy’s chin in one hand and with the other removed her cap. Celeste speaks the truth. Despite its shortness, Betsy’s hair rivals Angelica’s for blackness. And those eyes. See how they change colors. One minute pale blue and then a soft gray.

She gently sucked her bottom lip. Don’t be fooled. Betsy is a beauty masking as homeliness. With her dark coloring she easily could pass for a white Moor. A few baubles and silk and she’d rival Bella or Maggie for those foolish men seeking a pleasure they consider exotic.

Betsy blushed at Eleanor’s words of praise, squirming nervously on the chaise. Celeste chuckled. Aye, I think our sweet Bets is eager to see her first lesson.

Eleanor opened the book, turning pages until she came to the ones she sought. With a wicked grin, she reversed the book so the pages were visible to Celeste and Betsy. Betsy’s startled gasp sent the two older courtesans into peals of laughter. Anne rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Betsy.

Eleanor.

She doesn’t require innocence if she is to live among us, Anne. Study these three positions well, Bets. They can bring you riches untold. Return this book once you’ve committed each position to memory. Now, the second and most important lesson for today is to put little faith in a man’s promise, especially if he swears on his mother’s life.

Is there no way to know if you can trust a man? Betsy inquired.

Cynical snorts of amusement fed her embarrassment. Then Bella’s low sensual voice intruded. You can trust a man by the size of his prick.

So true, Bella, Eleanor agreed