Surrender

By Clair Conway

Marlene Peterson is content and satisfied as a wife and mother until she meets Edric, and he turns her life completely upside down. She is forced to embrace her true heritage, and believe in the impossible.

Lord Kenway is a centuries old immortal who has pledged his loyalty to a beautiful but evil sorceress. He is honor bound t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scriptor House
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886920932

Clair Conway

Clair Conway graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in Secondary Education. She lives in Denver, Colorado where she spends her time writing and enjoying the back country of the Rocky Mountains. Surrender is the first book in the Anderiker series. Her other titles include Reclaim, Capture, and Forbidden.Capture Anderiker Book III, ". . . the story is tightly plotted, fluidly written, and filled with action and adventure. It is wildly ambitious and outrageously erotic-the illegitimate lovechild of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles and Pauline Réage's The Story of O." -Blue Ink Review

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© ٢٠٢3 Clair Conway. All rights reserved.

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Published by Scriptor House LLC

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-88692-092-5

eBook ISBN: 979-8-88692-093-2

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

DEDICATION

Can you dedicate a book to a Chinese restaurant? Hot and sour soup and an endless supply of egg rolls had given us sustenance during hours of exhaustive research and months of toiling with the written word. Nothing could have been more rewarding!

Most of all, I want to dedicate this labor of love to Phil. This book would never have come to fruition if not for his tireless support. Thank you so much for your faith in me and your daily question How’s the book coming along? If you didn’t push and tell me I could do it, I wouldn’t have tried.

Prologue

614 A.D.

Braiden’s time was nearing the end. He knew Chyndrea had descended deeply into the dark arts, but he would still try to save her, to save himself.

He strolled through his house, checking on each of his sleeping children, and marveled at how blessed he’d been. Mixed unions in Anderiker rarely resulted in progeny, but his nymph wife had given him nine adoring daughters: Fiona, Nanette, Bridgette, Lizette, Natalie, Jezabelle, Elizabet, Darnella, Esmeralda. Tiptoeing from room to room, Braiden gently kissed each one on the forehead so as not to disturb their sleep.

In his study, Braiden wrote a letter to each of his children. Each envelope had a dollop of wax on the flap, sealed with his signet ring. He’d written the letters to quell the anger they would undoubtedly feel, but there was another more practical reason Braiden took the time to communicate with the girls.

The words, so painstakingly penned on foolscap, were meant to help them avoid the legion of deadly beings they would undoubtedly face if they chose to avenge his death.

Satisfied with his messages, Braiden walked down the slippery steps into what had once been a dungeon. He’d meticulously transformed the torture chamber and cells into a laboratory and classroom for young witches and sorcerers.

Born 722 years ago, Braiden was the most revered Druid priest ever to walk on the Earth realm. He was a proficient warrior who battled against the blasphemous Christians and was a reverent, tireless voice that kept the gods forever in the minds of their followers.

For his devotion, Odin bestowed immortality upon Braiden’s twenty-first birthday. He became a sorcerer extraordinaire, teacher, advisor, and for the last seven years, an alchemist searching for life beyond death.

Braiden leaned pensively on the long stone table in his laboratory and looked around. Shelves of roughly hewn wooden planks lined the rocky walls. Hundreds of ancient scrolls and books of spells, philosophy, and alchemy filled the ledges. Scattered among the books were pots, jugs, urns, and wooden boxes, anything that might house his herbs and concocted potions. Everything had its place.

Braiden scanned his workplace, satisfied. He was nothing if not meticulous in everything he did.

A weak chirp brought his attention to the slab of polished stone that occupied a central position in the dungeon. Eons ago, its main function was that of a sacrificial altar, and Braiden had taken a perverse pride from taking an instrument of death and transforming it into his worktable—a place not for taking life but giving it.

Braiden’s vision last night revealed a disturbing truth: his life would end before he found the secret to returning life after death. A journey that began seven years ago was about to end in a way he hadn’t foreseen, and the lack of a satisfactory conclusion to his efforts saddened him. To be sure, he was close—but not close enough.

His beloved wife Jasmine would not be returning from the grave to stand by his side for eternity.

Braiden consoled himself with the knowledge that he would still be with his Jasmine again. It would be his death that would allow him to stand by her side infinitely.

Chyndrea stood quietly in the doorway of Braiden’s laboratory. This was not like the learned man she remembered who was acutely aware of all that happened around him; Braiden seemed unaware of her presence.

Chyndrea had enrolled in Braiden’s school at the age of twelve. He was entrusted by her sorceri parents to train and impart the skills needed for their eldest daughter to wield her magic as a true and powerful sorceress. She’d spent ten years under his tutelage, ultimately developing into his prize student.

Fiona and Bridgette, two of Braiden’s most talented children, had been in her class. And despite having parents of incredible mystical powers who’d passed those abilities on to their children, the girls struggled daily to equal their classmates’ seemingly innate talents.

The lifespan of the sorceri is decades longer than that of any human—most live well into their second century. Braiden had been alongside Chyndrea for every monumental event in her life; and when she turned twenty, reached her maturity, he looked upon his protégé and told her how proud he was of her, how beautiful she had become, how well prepared she would be for the next two hundred years of her life.

Braiden was everything to Chyndrea—mentor, teacher, friend, trainer, guide, idol. That day, she realized she was deeply, passionately, in love with him.

Gazing upon the man for several more minutes, Chyndrea contemplated how to make her presence known to him. Her goal was clear, and nothing would change the outcome, but being here with Braiden in her old classroom opened a floodgate of memories.

They were pleasant memories, thoughts of the ten years spent within these walls. Braiden’s wealth of knowledge, gentle temperament, and superb teaching skills gained him the respect of his students. Learning her craft, Chyndrea’s dream was to become a sorceress second only to him—a Druid priestess personifying the love and grace of Freya.

Her dream ended when she sought to warm his bed and ease the pain he suffered over the loss of his wife. Chyndrea sought to be the woman he ached for, a companion of like mind and spirit, but Braiden turned on her. That rejection and humiliation was to be what led her to his laboratory this day.

It was only a year ago when she’d run from Braiden and found a measure of solace in the company of the Dark Witch. Twelve months later, she no longer desired the priesthood, and Freya received no prayers or offerings. Today, the Morrigan owned her fealty.

A trinity of death and devastation, the Morrigan were three sisters who formed a single deity, tainting the innocent and corrupting the righteous. Due to the influence of the Morrigan, evil had found a welcome home within Chyndrea’s very soul—the soul that would soon be as immortal as Braiden’s.

Come closer, my child, he spoke without looking up, catching Chyndrea by surprise.

Forgive me for disturbing you, Master. The old words and phrases from her years of being a student spilled from Chyndrea’s mouth, surprising her, and she silently chastised herself. She had a purpose here that made it necessary to repress these feelings of subservience.

You haven’t disturbed me. Come, child. Look. Chyndrea advanced into the laboratory and peered over Braiden’s shoulder to see what enthralled him so. A small bird, barely clinging to life, rested on the altar.

What’s wrong with it?

It was dead.

Chyndrea gasped. You brought it back to life? You’ve succeeded, Master! For the briefest of moments, she was distracted by a joy she didn’t want to feel.

Yes, it seems I have. They watched the bird twitch and struggle to get up. My goal now is to keep it alive. The beak opened and closed, and Chyndrea could hear the faint sounds of chirping. Pinfeathers ruffled around the neck, and one wing stretched out before slowly returning to be tucked back against the bird’s body.

Braiden broke the silence. What brings you here, my child? Are you here to ask for my forgiveness?

I’m not a child anymore. Chyndrea voice sounded petulant. Remembering her objective vanquished whatever reverence of Braiden that may have remained within her heart. Forgiveness is not what I seek, but I would certainly accept an apology from you.

Braiden scowled. Then I humbly offer my apologies. He let out a heartfelt sigh. Never before had I taught anyone with your raw talent for the arts. My only goal was to make you aware of your special place in the order of things. You alone misinterpreted my intentions.

Chyndrea fumed. That was an apology? I misinterpreted? You whispered softly in my ear and touched me as man touches his mate. You embraced me in strong arms and rained kisses upon me with adoring lips. Chyndrea’s eyes flared, and a wave of pricking electricity danced over her flesh. I misinterpreted nothing. Your actions unmistakably demonstrated I was special to you as a woman instead of merely a student. It was you! Your lack of self-control has set us upon this aggrieved path!

I am truly sorry. Braiden’s eyes reflected the sadness he felt. You are quite right—’twas not your fault. Your memory serves truer than mine. I behaved with such vile lechery. He opened his arms, hoping she would let him comfort her. This was his doing, and he wished he could take back his actions. The blame for his demise lay on no one’s doorstep but his own.

Despite her mind imploring her to resist, Chyndrea went to Braiden and allowed him to wrap her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest and let him hold her.

My chi— Braiden caught himself. My darling, my Chyndrea, come back to me. Continue here as my apprentice for another year. Leave the dark arts behind. All can be forgiven. He stroked Chyndrea’s long blond hair, his lips mere inches from her ear.

Braiden’s touch and compelling whispers caused a resurgence of anger in Chyndrea’s heart. He was doing it again, soothing her fears, convincing her to abandon her dreams, changing her mind.

Warm, strong hands slid up and down Chyndrea’s back, and Braiden pressed his body against hers. Through the fabric of her robe, she felt his heartbeat quicken, and she waited for the hardness of his manhood to push between them like it had before.

On a rainy night, a year ago, Chyndrea had struggled with a spell as Braiden patiently assisted her through it time and again. In the end, she managed to overcome the difficulties, and he shared her triumph. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly, telling her that no one could match her talents, not even the older and more experienced witches.

Braiden had asked Chyndrea to stay with him after her final term. Be his apprentice and partner, his beloved companion.

When Chyndrea agreed, Braiden kissed her. When he kissed her a second time, she kissed him back. One kiss led to another—and another. Warm, gentle hands roamed over Chyndrea’s robe-covered body—arms, back, neck, hips, thighs, buttocks, breasts.

Chyndrea had dreamed about doing this with Braiden, fantasizing about belonging to him, raising his daughters, and giving him more children. She parted her lips when she felt his tongue against her lips, and it slipped into her wanting mouth. His hands traced the lines of her body, tugging at her robe. She let her hands wander over his chest and arms, feeling his muscles flex. Chyndrea let her robe fall to the floor and stood naked in Braiden’s arms with their lips still pressed together.

Heat and wetness pooled between her thighs, and she craved his touch in a place no one had touched before. When Chyndrea’s fingers brushed over his thick and ready length, Braiden dropped his arms and backed away. Her body felt cold not from nakedness but from the lack of his warm embrace.

Braiden grabbed her robe off the floor and thrust it at her. For gods’ sakes, child! His eyes avoided looking at Chyndrea’s nude body. What on earth are you thinking? My children are upstairs!

I was thinking you wanted me in your bed, Chyndrea stammered, confused by what had just taken place. Tears welled, but she squeezed her eyes to prevent them from dripping down her burning cheeks.

I could never disgrace the memory of my wife with the likes of any woman. Especially a loose strumpet who drops her robe with only a kiss. Put your clothes on and get out!

Until this night, those were the last words Braiden had designed to speak to Chyndrea. The dam of tears broke, and she had run. Utterly naked, Chyndrea had bolted from Braiden, his home, and his school.

The headlong rush through the surrounding forest didn’t end until her feet, cut and bleeding, could go no farther. Falling into a windswept pile of muddy leaves and twigs, Chyndrea continued to cry until exhaustion overtook her and she slept.

The memories of Braiden’s rejection galvanized Chyndrea, and she pushed away from his arms. I was untouched. You were the first to caress the flesh under my robes. I was no whore!

My apology was, and remains, sincere. Braiden inclined his head. Though I have no desire to diminish the blame upon myself, I would offer an explanation. A seething Chyndrea waited for him to continue.

I was caught unawares and nearly broke my vow of celibacy. Angry with myself, I took it out on you. You were not unclean. What happened that night was my fault. Braiden’s eyes were filled with emotion, and Chyndrea read the sincerity there.

Looking at him now, she realized he was sorry for what he’d done, but it didn’t matter in the end. Braiden had ripped her pride to shreds, impugned her virtuous nature, and destroyed her innocence. She was a different woman now, on a mission of life.

Chyndrea looked at the stone table. The bird has passed to the other side. Her voice was devoid of emotion, and her eyes fixated on Braiden with cruel intent.

He glanced down, and Chyndrea took advantage of that brief moment of distraction to blow a small quantity of Drosnent concealed in her palm into Braiden’s face.

Supplies of Drosnent were rare and difficult to come by. The Dark Witch had unlawfully procured the paralyzing powder for Chyndrea to use this one time. Outlawed in Anderiker eons ago, Drosnent was a malicious and sadistic drug, devoid of any beneficial effects. Possession resulted in an immediate death sentence.

Caught unaware, Braiden inhaled it through nose and gaping mouth. The powder took effect quickly, and he collapsed. Not dead—yet.

Chyndrea dragged his body to the middle of the pentagram carved into the stone floor. Chanting a few words, she locked Braiden in the center, trapping him and rendering his magic useless.

Taking her time, Chyndrea gathered what she would need: a chalice and five black candles. She arranged them upon the altar and unsheathed the knife on her thigh, placing it next to the other items. Dropping her robe, she turned to face Braiden.

He was alert and sitting upright, captured in the center of the pentagram. Braiden’s expression exhibited only serene calm, showing no signs of his impending doom.

Braiden stared at Chyndrea’s alluring naked body. He felt no yearning for her in a sexual manner, but he was a man and could appreciate that which she had to offer. He carefully read the cryptic symbols she painted on her body. Fate had shown Braiden his death, but not the why or how. The symbols gave him the answers he needed. Now, he knew Chyndrea’s ultimate intentions and who’d given her the spells.

He knew she was going to fail.

Chyndrea picked up the dagger and, holding it over her head, asked the Morrigan to bless the sacraments she was about to use. Kneeling in front of Braiden, she held a bottle to his lips.

Do not make me force you.

Braiden gave her a small smile and drank. His head spun for a moment as if he were drunk, and he felt his muscles relax.

Chyndrea started her incantation, the distinctive voice holding Braiden captive. This sweet flower, once his best student, was now a fledgling in the world of the black arts. He could see through her and into her soul. The life force that swirled within his former pupil was a black and murky essence, the light of her spirit barely flickering.

Chyndrea used the dagger to cut the burlap tunic from Braiden’s body and slice a cross over his heart. As blood flowed from the two slashes, her words changed and came more rapidly. She pressed her hand against his chest, and with a flash of light, it disappeared inside his body. She clasped Braiden’s beating heart.

Braiden grabbed her wrist and held it in place within his chest. Listen to me, child, he pleaded.

Chyndrea gasped. The Dark Witch had assured her the potion would make her mentor malleable, unable to comprehend the events happening to him. She had underestimated Braiden’s true power—and so too had the Dark Witch. Chyndrea forced herself to remain calm. After all, she did hold his heart, his life, in her hand.

You will not have what you have come for Chyndrea. Braiden’s voice was calm, albeit forceful. My immortality is not for the taking. You may only take my heart, my life. The Dark Witch is not all-knowing and has sent you down the wrong path. In the end, all you will find is the curse your witch has brought upon you.

"I am taking your immortality. It will be mine, Master. Braiden’s words had visibly shaken Chyndrea. It’s too late to change what has already begun. You cannot change your fate." She struggled to concentrate on her ultimate goal.

Braiden was not to be deterred. My death is imminent, this I know. I had hoped to change your mind earlier, and I hope to change your mind now. Together, we can find the immortality you seek.

This—Braiden’s eyes traveled from the altar to her hand within his ribcage— is not the way. Fate warned me of my demise on this day. What you seek is not what you will find. If you don’t listen to me now, you have no future. You will join me in Hel in a matter of months. He sounded sorrowful. The Dark Witch has sentenced you to death.

Why would you help me when my hand is ready to rip your heart away? Chyndrea spat.

Believe or not, but this is your only chance to listen! Braiden’s grip on her wrist became painful. Chyndrea tried to pull his heart out, but his strength was overpowering. "Your Dark Witch failed you, or perhaps merely tricked you.

Look at the evidence, child. See what I see. Her potion has not incapacitated me. I have stopped the ritual, and you are powerless to continue. Braiden’s eyes burned with the intensity he felt. In order to manipulate the senses, the blood of a wild boar must be the key ingredient. You cannot deny the fact that I taste the rank blood of domesticated swine. Unconsciously, Braiden had assumed the tone and attitude of a learned scholar and teacher.

And your mantra, Chyndrea, you speak ancient Gaelic as though it was your first language. How did the Dark Witch fool you so? Do you not hear the words you speak? You have asked the gods to reward you with harmony from my demise, instead of the immortality you crave. ’Tis not the Morrigan to whom you direct your entreaties, but to the Dryad, the tree nymphs.

Braiden’s arm reached beyond the lines of the pentagram, something that should be impossible, and a finger traced the blue marks over Chyndrea’s heart. "The symbols drawn here represent the Dryad. I know them well, for my wife was one of their order. You will not have the immortality you want. You will fall weak. You will age! You will die!"

Braiden’s tone changed to one of compassion and consideration. To live beyond this night, you must change, but I have not the time left in this body to guide and teach you. Alone, you will have to search for the symbols and words of the Morrigan. If she hears your pleas for life, she will lead you to the special beings.

Lies, you are telling me lies. Chyndrea sounded scared and tried to cover her fear with a bold face. Unhand me and let me finish! If not, your pain will only increase!

I do not wish for your death. I want you to find your inner peace. I want the light in you to return. Listen to me, child— Braiden gasped as if he finally felt the pain of Chyndrea’s crushing hold on his heart.

These beings you must seek, they defy nature. Humans unaware of their own immortality. If you take one within you, it will sustain you. Give you more time to find your way back unto the priesthood.

Let me go! Chyndrea cried. Stop this nonsense. And. Let. Me. Go!

Every one hundred years! Sweat formed across Braiden’s brow. Hear me, child. Every one hundred years, you will have to steal the soul of such a special being until the day you—

Until what? But no answer would come. Braiden’s fingers fell limply from her wrist, and Chyndrea’s fist emerged from his chest clutching his warm beating heart. She stared hungrily at the life in her hand. Braiden’s blood coated her fingers and arm as his heart continued futilely to pump. Chyndrea rose to her feet and filled the chalice with the blood draining from the vital organ.

Lifting the silver cup, she felt the blood flow down her throat and through her veins. Chyndrea’s body glowed with Braiden’s life force.

Lies, all lies!

Chyndrea screamed a summons to the Dark Witch. Three months after Braiden’s death, all his predictions came to pass. Her magic was weakening, she was aging, and Chyndrea could feel the first icy fingers of death reaching out to take her away.

The hag was only known as the Dark Witch now. After thirteen thousand years, her original given name was long since forgotten. Chyndrea howled until the black-hooded woman stood in front of her, a mass of sagging and wrinkled skin covering unnaturally twisted bones. Though she resembled an old decrepit woman, the Dark Witch radiated an aura of unmistakable power.

The stories told alleged that she was the first of the Sorceri, born not of a sexual union between man and woman, but formed out of mud and clay from the sacred earth by a mother the Dark Witch knew only as a pair of disembodied hands and a sepulchral voice; she was instructed to gain control of the elements and use them to thwart all that was righteous and good, then find others, impart her knowledge, and gain a following.

Straightening her bowed back, the Dark Witch glared at Chyndrea. What is this childish tantrum? Her voice was graveled and grated on Chyndrea’s ears.

Your sorcery is useless. You lied. You cursed me! Chyndrea seethed with helpless anger. Braiden told me. Warned me. What am I to do?

Don’t make demands of me, witch. My powers are grand, and I choose what to divulge. What do I care of your concerns? The Dark Witch paused and drew her eyes over Chyndrea. What is it that you need? She chuckled. I could help by granting you a face lift, dearie. You look so old. Ew, the wrinkles don’t become you.

Don’t mock me, hag, this is your doing! Chyndrea hissed. Tell me about the humans that defy nature. How do I find one?

Ahh, he told you of them? The Dark Witch’s face crinkled with uncertainty. I’m surprised, though I shouldn’t be. Braiden was such a virtuous man. The only man I could not corrupt.

Stop this digression! Chyndrea seethed, unable to control her wrath.

The Dark Witch ignored Chyndrea’s interruption. He not only let you kill him, but he also let you live and gave you the secrets to do so.

"What do you mean let me?"

Braiden could have stopped you at any time and taken your life, but he chose to die and help you live forever. He must have loved you. No sorcerer gives up that easily if not for love.

He didn’t love me. Gods, you’re insane, Chyndrea objected. He thought of me as a whore. He loved only his dead wife and those nine spoiled rotten little bitches. Now, answer me. Chyndrea’s bony hands were clenched in frustration. Those who defy nature. What does that mean?

I shall give you an answer only because of Braiden. Even after death, he opposes me through you, and I suppose I’d like to see how our newest battle will end. The Dark Witch motioned to a fallen tree to act as a seat for her irrational follower. Now, calm yourself and hearken unto my words. I intend to explain this but once. Chyndrea cocked her head, listening, but refused the offer to sit down.

Those you seek are humans with the soul of an immortal. They ought not to exist at all for a human cannot be immortal.

But— Chyndrea interrupted.

There was a flash of light, and Chyndrea found herself seated unceremoniously on the gnarled log. Do not interrupt! I can be as unpredictable as the gods. After a glaring pause, the Dark Witch continued.

Gods and immortals are impetuous creatures. In moments of heated lust, humans are oft used to ease their hunger. The Dark Witch chortled. "If the timing is right, that coupling produces offspring ignorant of the inherited ability to live forever.

Without the proper guidance, such humans cannot embrace and draw upon their unending life force. They live and die as a mortal. The Dark Witch shrugged as if this were all common knowledge.

How do I find one?

The hag cackled. Search.

I do not have time. Anger stirred like a living creature within Chyndrea. Thanks to you!

Make time. The Dark Witch laughed again. I gave you what you asked for.

Chyndrea choked down her irritation. For Braiden then. A name, and I will do the rest. Just give me a name.

The Dark Witch eyed her inquisitively for several long moments. Edric. Yellow and gray misshapen teeth appeared. There, a name.

Chyndrea shuddered at the sight of the old woman leering. Think of my visit today as a gift you shall never receive again, you foolish imp. A bony finger wagged in Chyndrea’s face. Next time, you will summon me with proper respect. Furthermore, any information you request will require a sacrifice of great proportions. The cackle that rolled up from the depths of the Dark Witch’s belly echoed and clattered deafeningly on and on.

There will be no next time! Chyndrea swung her sword so fast, so hard that the Dark Witch had no time to prepare. The razor-sharp blade sliced through the deformed neck. Her head toppled to the woodland floor, and the hag’s body dropped like a rock.

Reaching out a hand, Chyndrea gathered a thick roiling black mist into her palm. She smiled haughtily and wiped spattered drops of blood from her face, licking them off her fingers. No one laughs at me. Lips compressed into a thin scowl.

No one that lives, anyway.

1

Present time

The springs in the mattress creaked, and the woman’s head fell back over her shoulders, firm breasts pushed upward while the first rainbow-hued ribbons of her soul leached from her pores. His hands trailed up her flat stomach, feeling the tendrils of her essence dance upon his skin. Her climax was mere seconds away, and the Beast was emerging, ready, hungry . . .

I need you! Kindra flung the door open to his bedroom, stopping just inside the entryway. Now! A wicked smirk spread across her face at the sight of the naked girl bouncing across his leg, frantically pulling the bed covers over her body, leaving him utterly exposed.

Kindra’s eyes took in his nakedness. His cock was stiff and twitching against his stomach, wet from the woman’s sex. Kindra’s tongue lingered across her lips, remembering the feel of his hard body, the firmness of his lips, the bold masculinity of his scent, their passion.

You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that. Edric knew that wasn’t what she meant. Come. He patted the bed and held out a hand. Join us.

She scowled at him. Not like that.

Well then, this really isn’t the best time for me, Kindra. Edric’s voice was so smooth and deep, his sarcasm could almost be missed. How about, hmmm, next month? No? He angled his head innocently at her obvious anger.

Edric, you’re so damned irritating. Getting nowhere with him, Kindra shifted her focus to the girl who was perceptibly quivering. Such a dreadful little thing. Then again, Edric had always gone for that type—mousy brown hair, large breasts, slim build, and overall unremarkable. However, she had to admit—compared to Edric, most beings were less than noteworthy.

He was magnificent with his soft jet-black hair worn too long to be called respectable. With a face chiseled like that of Adonis and searing crystal-blue eyes, Edric was six feet six inches of walking and talking glorious sex. Kindra blinked to regain her focus. She hated that he could distract her so easily.

Following her eyes, Edric noticed when Kindra directed her attention to the girl, and he too turned to look at her. Nothing but fear in her wide eyes, and her body trembled. Immediately, he drew himself up in order to shield her with his body, and he put his large hand on her thigh for comfort.

Purposely, he didn’t try to conceal his nakedness because he simply didn’t care. Modesty was for humans. Second, he hoped to distract Kindra. The poor girl didn’t deserve the witch’s wrath just because of bad timing. She was visibly scared already, and Kindra was as evil and wicked as any ever created in Anderiker.

Looking at Kindra, Edric waited for her to speak her piece so he could return to his. His lips curled in a quick smirk at the bad pun.

Edric watched intently as Kindra walked to his dressing table and ran her finger across the fine antique as if she were trying to seduce it. She focused on her own reflection in the mirror. He sighed heavily, resolutely, revealing his aggravation at her interruption.

We must talk, Kindra said so calmly it was more frightening than her anger. She admired Edric’s reflection in the mirror. Muscles rippled in his arm as he stroked the girl’s thigh, continuing to reassure her.

Kindra found it hard to look away from his nakedness, especially with him still erect even after her intrusion into the bedroom. I’ve created a monster, haven’t I? She recalled that Edric had never been modest, but then why should he be? He had the body and stamina of a god, and he knew it. Kindra felt the pull of her attraction to him building, and she struggled to keep herself in control. She could never let him know her weaknesses. Edric was deadly, and if he ever thought he had any leverage in this union, he would ruin her. She had to remain strong even though her body yearned for his.

Kindra turned quickly, lust draining from her face. Her eyes reflected flames as she focused on the girl. The scent of evil wafted through the room.

"Now!" she shouted, and Kindra stretched her hands toward Edric. Illusions of fire crawled across the floor, and an unseen hand stripped the bed covers and tossed them into the flames. The girl screamed and flung herself from the rumpled sheets. Landing on shaky legs, she ran into the bathroom at the far end of Edric’s room, away from Kindra and away from the fire. An invisible force slammed the door shut behind her.

Kindra’s face was creased with an arrogant smirk. She smoothed the wrinkles from her low-cut and skintight scarlet dress and ran splayed fingers through her long blond hair, but when she noticed that Edric remained apathetically lounging on the bed, she glared.

You have dreadful timing. I needed her. Edric held her eyes for a moment, but her eyes moved to watch his hand as he fisted his erection and began stroking himself. But since you’re here, would you mind finishing me off?

Finish it yourself!

As you wish, Edric responded with another long stroke, squeezing the head of his cock, hissing at the erotic feel.

Kindra licked her lips, and her mouth watered at the sight of his flawless body. She turned sharply to leave, disgusted more with herself than with Edric. You’ve got fifteen minutes, she barked over her shoulder before slamming the door shut.

Edric waited on the bed until her stomping faded to a whisper of sound then laughed to himself as he eased off the bed. He lived to make Kindra squirm. Some days, it was the only satisfaction he derived from their one-sided relationship.

One day he would free himself from both her and his curse. He closed his eyes and, for the thousandth time, replayed the scenes from that fateful encounter fifteen centuries ago.

Kindra straddled his waist, sheathing Edric’s shaft deep inside her core, speaking of endless love, and asked, What would you give to be with me forever?

Anything, Edric replied through gritted teeth as he came hard, spilling into her. Kindra cackled with delight, and Edric opened his eyes to see a dagger poised to plunge into his chest. Stunned and still in the throes of climax, there was no time to react. The knife plunged down, and Edric was even more stunned to see the blade bounce harmlessly off his flesh.

Twisting the knife from Kindra’s hand, Edric pushed her off his body into a fumbling heap on the floor. What the bloody hell? He grabbed a handful of her golden locks. Trying to kill me, were you?

I, uh—how? Kindra’s body shuddered; her mind unable to comprehend what was happening. Edric dragged her body up to the bed and held the knife to her throat.

Explain or die.

I, I need your soul to live! Tears fell from her eyes. It didn’t work— How did it not work? Kindra seemed to be looking through Edric. I don’t understand.

He shook her with the hand entwined in her hair. "Focus, Chyndrea. What didn’t work?"

She said to ‘find Edric.’ Edric wasn’t sure if Kindra was talking to him or to herself. He is the ‘one who shouldn’t be.’

What? Edric fingers clenched, and Kindra’s head twisted in his hand. He waited until her eyes met his. Who told you? Edric demanded. What are you talking about?

The witch, the Dark Witch—she said to find Edric. If I wanted to live, I must find you. Kindra seemed unfazed by the knife Edric angrily held at her throat. She raised a hand to his cheek. I love you, but I needed your soul more.

By the son of Odin! Edric cursed and flung Kindra across the bed. You talk in circles, woman! He pointed the knife at her. No one has ever lived after an attempt on my life, and I’ve not decided your fate. Edric saw a spark in her eye and thought she was about to explain.

Instead, she confused him further. Gods be damned—free will! she whispered. What was I thinking?

Need I remind you that your time is limited to sway me? Edric clenched a hand around her ankle and yanked her body toward him. Once again, the knife was poised to slit her throat. Explain yourself!

I couldn’t take your soul because of free will. Kindra put her hand over his dagger fist. We can still love one another. Her voice softened to a loving whisper. Let me give you life. Be with me from this day forward.

What? Edric questioned. The knife slowly dropped away, and he listened to Kindra explain immortality and Anderiker. Could it be true? To live forever . . . strength beyond measure . . . a world unknown . . . Yes, Edric blurted out.

Before he could add to that statement, Kindra’s hand flashed.

Searing pain coursed through Edric’s body, taking him to his knees, and the dagger fell from his hand.

Despite the agony, Edric managed to mutter a prayer to Odin requesting safe passage into Asgard. Even though I betrayed you in the end, I’ve devoted every other day of my life to you. Smile upon my accomplished deeds, Odin. The burning intensified on his left hip, taking Edric’s body to the floor. Writhing in agony, his hoarse cries fell on deaf ears.

Edric woke from what seemed like hours of sleep, his head in Kindra’s lap. I live? His voice was raw from his earlier screams.

Yes, my lovely male. Forever. With me, my Edric, she responded, a smile of pure delight across her face.

Edric uncurled his muscular body, stretching and feeling the power within himself. He moved around the room, familiarizing himself with his improved self. He truly felt stronger, his body bigger, his mind clearer.

After all was said and done, Kindra began to enlighten Edric on the finer details of exactly what immortality meant for him, his life force tied to hers; for as long as she lived, so would Edric—her mark of the raven, the symbol of the Morrigan, on his hip.

Edric glared at Kindra when she clarified her need for souls from special beings and his role in procuring these souls for her. Unless Kindra sacrificed an innocent each century, she would perish. And since he was inexorably linked to her, her death would mean the end for him too.

You lying bitch! Edric railed, cursing his own foolishness as much as her.

Kindra recoiled. I gave you life everlasting out of love. My love for you.

"Killing innocents is not what I do, he seethed. You force me to do something I cannot."

’Tis not daily, Edric. Once a century, Kindra pleaded. Our love can overcome a naughty deed once every hundred years, can it not?

You love a false man, he scoffed. Would you still love me if I revealed that I’m not the honored Edric Kenway, you believe me to be?

What! Now it was Kindra who raised her voice. What are you saying?

I am not Edric Kenway. I am simply Iram Vaughn, a lowly soldier in service to Lord Kenway and the last surviving member of the Cruithne.

Gods! Kindra gasped. How could you?

It was nothing more than a misidentification I failed to correct, Edric admitted. What say you now of your love for me? Edric plucked the glistening dagger off the floor and handed it to her. Take back what you have given me. He knelt before her and tilted his head, exposing his neck.

Oh no. No! You’ll not take the easy way out. Kindra slapped him once, twice. You are naught but my slave now. Tears rolled off her cheeks.

Edric snatched the knife from Kindra’s hand. A moment later, it was poised over his heart, and Edric prepared to take his own life. I refuse to take the life of an innocent being. Ever.

A bolt of lightning shot from Kindra’s palm, the knife flying from Edric’s grip and knocking him flat on his back. His vision blurred, and he fought to remain conscious from the blistering blast. Gaelic phrases flowed smoothly from Kindra’s lips as though she were singing, and a black cloud of mist swirled over Edric’s body.

Blinking rapidly and thinking he was losing his eyesight, Edric watched the mist envelop him, caressing his flesh with cold, evil fingers. He tried to fend off the cloud as it slipped through his pores, but there was nothing solid for him to push against. Unwillingly, he absorbed every bit of the mysterious vapor.

Incubus. Demon—alive within you. Your punishment for the lie to me. The tears had vanished, leaving nothing for Edric to see but the cold and implacable look on Kindra’s once beautiful face. It will never allow your death by your own hand. It is loyal to me! It lives with you—two minds, two beings, one body. Kindra stared down at Edric. You will serve me as I wish on my terms and forever. Kindra fastened a robe around her body and left Edric lying on the floor.

Hours later, after dragging his devastated body from the floor, he sought out the same Druids who helped him avoid death so many months ago. From them, Edric learned he was not just Edric the Warrior and Strategist—he was now Edric the Warrior, Strategist, and Incubus.

From these scholarly men, Edric learned how he would be impacted for eternity—schooled on demonarchy, an incubus, a demon who takes nourishment from the soul of another during the sexual act of giving and receiving pleasure. Sex would keep him strong in both mind and body, and Edric would prevail over the monster. If he were to abstain for too long, he would weaken; and the incubus, the Beast, would take control of his body with a single-minded focus, nourishing itself and taking what it needed regardless of the harm it caused.

Failing to feed the Beast would cause the part known as Edric to vanish, becoming little more than a desultory appendage residing within an unused corner of the Beast’s dominant mind.

Bad news turned worse as the Druids explained the way of the incubus. Edric would need a constant influx of new partners to sate the Beast because if he wasn’t careful, Edric would inadvertently be the means whereby women would die. A life-form possesses a finite quantity of essence, and there’s only so much an entity can afford to have stolen, one of the priests said.

Edric learned from their wisdom, the thing about souls: Remove a small amount, no real damage sustained. Take too much, and insanity descends, leading to complete annihilation of the body and mind, as well as the soul. Devour it all at once, and a lifeless mass lies at your feet or on your bed.

A shrewd witch Kindra is. I do her bidding and kill for her or risk killing hundreds . . . quite possibly thousands from my own insanity.

Edric dressed and went to check on the condition of his guest. He found her huddled in the corner of the bathroom, weeping silently and shaking. He held out his hand, but she pulled away with fear in her eyes. Edric knelt down and let her absorb his presence before speaking to her.

Because of the incubus Kindra had blessed him with, he had the ability to influence others. The gift allowed Edric to direct the thoughts and behaviors of mortals and weak-minded immortals. And right now, he needed this girl calm and rational. He needed her dressed and, on her way, out of his house.

Don’t be afraid, he said. I won’t let anyone hurt you. He held his hand out to help her up. This time she took it.

What was that? she asked in a barely audible voice.

A very vicious witch, was Edric’s stoic reply. That she was. Kindra was descended from a lengthy line of sorceri. Her mother, Helena, had been a witch of no small renown in her time; her husband Agar was the progenitor of the lost art of levitation.

As a girl, Kindra was a fiercely dedicated student of the craft. The immensely learned and widely regarded Braiden called her one of my finest students. However, Kindra soon discovered that black magic was more to her liking.

Rumors abounded that Kindra had not only taken Braiden’s life but was brazenly responsible for the Dark Witch’s demise as well. Kindra was lethal and true evil wrapped in a disguise of lush curves topped with a generous mane of luxurious blond hair.

She’s gone now. Get dressed, and Henri will see you home. Edric put his lips to her forehead and kissed her gently. He hated this part of himself. If he were any other male, he’d have been acting with care, concern, affection. Instead, he’d done it out of habit.

Edric stood in the doorway to his library. Kindra sat at his desk, a snifter of his finest brandy at her elbow. Feeling his presence, she sipped the Courvoisier and glanced at the clock.

Only seven minutes. Hmmm, you used to be so much better than that. Poor girl. Maybe next time. Her sigh was somewhere between blasé and snide. I remember a time when you rocked my world for hours. Pity to think you’ve lost your touch in bed.

Any comment he made would only serve to encourage Kindra’s rudeness, so he ignored her. Edric poured himself a glass of Glenfiddich and approached the desk. Emptying the glass in one gulp, he met her eyes with his.

What’s so important you couldn’t have called first? He made no attempt to disguise the irritation he felt.

I found him, Kindra replied, not at all put off by Edric’s demeanor. He must be mine.

So? Go get him. Why bother me with this, All-So-Powerful-One?

Kindra replied with her own condescending tone. First, I didn’t think I’d be interrupting anything of consequence. Her smile was mocking, and she raised her brows. "Which still seems true.

Second, it’s what you do. It’s taken too long to find this one, and my time is short. This human’s bond with his wife is strong, and I need that bond broken. She gritted her teeth. We both know he must offer himself of his own free will.

If this human is so difficult to get, choose another. Edric poured and swallowed another draught of scotch. William, Spencer, and I are busy.

Kindra jumped out of the chair and circled the desk, stopping with her face inches from Edric’s. He could feel her warm breath against his skin, and his body reacted against his mind’s wishes.

He’s the one I want. You’ll get that woman away from him! She stroked her hand down his chest. You’ll do this for me?

The feel of Kindra’s body so close to his was wreaking havoc on Edric. The incubus craved the nourishment he’d been unable to attain earlier. He backed up to give himself some distance, but she moved with him. Answer me, Kindra whispered seductively.

Instead of answering, Edric tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled Kindra into him. His tongue penetrated her mouth savagely. He pressed his growing hardness against her, letting her feel what she’d created in more ways than one.

She met his kiss with her own. Taken by his unleashed masculinity, Kindra didn’t fight Edric. Her body melted into his as he crushed her against him. The feel of his pulsing erection against her stomach brought Kindra back to her senses, and she fought to loosen his grip and pull away from the entangling embrace. Edric let her go and smirked at the glare she gave him.

Your answer? she said furiously through clenched teeth.

Amused by her anger, he continued to smile. I’ll do what you ask because I must.

Kindra seemed unimpressed with Edric’s avowal of loyalty. Whatever. She pointed to a piece of paper on the desk. That’s the information for you to find him. Devise a plan. She started for the door but paused with her back still turned. Our lives depend on it. And Kindra was gone.

Pleased with himself at her expense, Edric poured a drink, knocked it back, and poured another. His gaze was thoughtful as he looked at the sheet of paper lying on his desk.

Dylan Peterson 32 Commercial Real estate

Mother Sonja Peterson Deceased

Father Unknown, believed to be Malfoy- demon ancestry

Married

Wife Marlene Peterson 30 Housewife

Parents unknown

Son David 15

Cambridge Rd Denver, Colorado

Typical Kindra. Not much to go on, but enough to get started. Why could it never be easy? At least this time the conniving bitch had given him a name. Two centuries back, she’d handed him a drawing of a human female whom she said was the One and the name of a city, albeit the wrong city, scrawled on the back of the parchment.

They’d found the woman, but the effort had taken its toll and ended with Edric being forced to imprison the only woman he’d ever cared about.

Shoving aside old memories, Edric focused on the two problems of immediate concern. There was a job to do, and he needed sex. The incubus was drained and needed sustenance following one arousal after another, and he simply couldn’t face the larger issue of life and death without dealing with the other first.

He was about to call Henri and have him return with the woman, but he stopped when he noticed his fingers drifting idly across the words: wife Marlene Peterson 30 housewife.

Edric felt a rush of heat through his body.

Shit, he said aloud. Kindra brought such stress into his life.

2

Dylan Peterson sat in his office and stared out the window contemplating what he’d learned about his newest clients. He investigated all clientele who requested his services. First and most importantly, he wanted to know what they could actually afford. Second, there was no better way to make a sale than to have a personal connection: be a Starsky to their Hutch.

After the call from one Mr. Edric Kenway, Dylan launched his background check. He learned that Edric Kenway lived in England and was made of money. A billionaire. Other than his financial status, there was no past. William and Spencer Darvin, except for a blip on the screen in relation to KDD Enterprises, they didn’t exist. Anywhere.

Dylan tapped a pen on his teeth, one of many unpleasant habits when he was nervous or in deep thought. He’d just finished the portfolio for them and none too soon. Their appointment was set for 10:00 a.m. A glance at the clock told him he had ten minutes. Never one to cut a deadline so close, it had taken him longer than usual because he’d been fighting exhaustion.

Dylan and his partner, Stan Brooks, sold commercial real estate and operated a side business that renovated commercial properties. Business was so good money was just rolling in. His personal goal had been profits above $500K a year. This was their seventh year together, and they’d exceeded that goal every year. Money made the world go round, and these days, their world was spinning like a tilt-a-whirl.

Alone in his office, Dylan had an ominous feeling that maybe this wasn’t a promising idea. What did these men want from him? Did people with no background really fly from London to Denver just to look at a couple of empty buildings? There had to be more to this. Something was brewing.

Shit! Dylan cursed. He’d seen the dollar signs in Kenway’s bank account but had ignored the complications of the man’s mysteriously empty background.

Why him? Why were these men knocking on his door? He didn’t owe anyone any money. These guys weren’t coming to break his legs over an unpaid debt. Revenge . . . possibly. A pissed-off husband . . . better possibility.

Dylan was well aware of his faults, and greed topped that list, followed closely by his selfishness and sexual deviance, any one of which could raise someone’s wrath enough to sic three dogs upon him. Dylan was also cunning and clever, vigilantly covering his tracks. So clearly, the question was, who’d gotten the drop on him, and what was he going to do about it?

A stretch Cadillac limousine pulled up outside his office. Taking a deep breath, Dylan waited and watched through his office window.

The driver, an odd older fellow dressed in old-fashioned livery, emerged from the driver’s side, walked around the gleaming car, and opened the curbside door to let three men out.

The investigation may have produced nothing but observing them directly gave Dylan some insight. The suits the men wore were finely tailored and custom-made. The material was exquisite. Dylan appreciated nice things, and even from this distance, he could tell these men spent a pretty penny on their attire.

Once they exited the car, the men stood together as if finishing the details of a meeting. Definitely large enough to be someone’s muscle, but they appeared too casual to be ready to inflict any type of harm. Their demeanor and actions were normal, businesslike. Dylan relaxed, deciding his fatigue had let his imagination run wild—there was no need for worry.

The three businessmen each stood well over six feet. The tallest looked to be in his early thirties and had jet-black hair that hung just below his shoulders. Dylan guessed him to be Edric Kenway.

He supposed William Darvin was the other man; he appeared to be the same age as Kenway. Standing six foot two, he had blond hair worn in a military cut—short and tight.

The youngest-looking man had to be William’s son, Spencer. He was taller than his father with the same blond hair worn much longer and tied back with a leather strap at the base of his neck.

Dylan’s phone rang, giving him a start and taking his focus off the men outside. Hello? It was Stan giving him the rundown on a sale he was making. Dylan let a smile drift across his face as he listened to the details. The sale of an abandoned corner strip mall had netted a nice twenty-five-thousand-dollar commission.

At precisely ten o’clock, the trio walked into his office. Dylan kept Stan on the line and motioned for the men to come in.

They stopped just inside the doorway. Edric stood in front, flanked by William on his left and Spencer on his right. The three of them were so large they filled the doorway and blocked most of the light coming from the reception area and side window.

A strange feeling came over Dylan when they entered, causing the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck to stand up and take notice. The eerie premonition he’d felt earlier returned.

Hanging up the phone, he forced a smile. Dylan Peterson. Glad you could make it. Pushing away his dreadful feelings, he came out from behind his desk with an outstretched hand, and introductions were made.

After exchanging pleasantries, Dylan went straight to the business at hand. Under normal circumstances, he’d have known if his clients preferred small talk or were all business. He wanted to go with his gut, but his nerves told him the small talk was done and to get this over with.

I found six properties that met your minimal requirements. Would you like to get started? He handed out portfolios containing the details of each property.

Nice work, Edric said in monotone as he flipped through the pages. I’d like to start with this one. He turned a folder toward Dylan. It was one of two downtown properties.

Good choice. We’ll start downtown and work our way out. My car is this way. He took two steps toward the rear of his office.

Henri will drive. You’ll go with us. It was obvious Edric would brook no discussion on the matter.

Nah, you guys give me the creeps. I’ll just take my own car, but thanks. Sure. Dylan reached for his tie and gave it a little tug as he swallowed hard. Go with them so they can kill me and dump my body anywhere, and no one would be the wiser. Pull it together, he scolded himself.

With Dylan surrounded by his clients, they emerged from the building to an open limousine door held by the aging chauffeur. Climbing in, Dylan felt as though he were entering a hearse instead of a luxurious stretch Cadillac. William and Spencer positioned themselves on either side of Dylan, heightening his sense of being trapped. The cushioned leather seats felt more like a padded casket.

Edric turned to his left as the car pulled away from the curb and began pouring three glasses of Chivas. Preference? he asked Dylan, handing drinks to William and Spencer.

Uh, no. Dylan waved his hand. Little early for me. Heavy drinkers, partiers, players maybe?

Suit yourself. The scotch slid smoothly down Edric’s throat. It wasn’t his usual, but Chivas would do in a pinch, and Henri would properly stock the limo’s minibar as soon as he had time. Edric’s nerves were on such an edge he wouldn’t have turned his nose up at scotch blended and bottled in London’s West End whorehouses.

Even though Edric was strong and focused, he was uncomfortable with the menacing vibe Dylan was throwing off. He’d fed his inner demon before leaving England and again on the plane. According to an amused Spencer, this made him part of some Mile-High Club.

Immortals and some beings of Anderiker were able to sense the presence of others, and a select few could discern the exact parentage just by the aura around a creature. Neither Edric nor his companions had that extra ability, so they were left wondering just what the hell Dylan was exactly.

Edric expected to feel the manifestation of an immortal when he walked into Dylan’s office, but instead of energy, he felt a distinctively malevolent presence. Edric couldn’t quite put his finger on it; but somehow, somewhere during his life, Dylan had been touched by evil, and that was making Edric weary—uneasy. No wonder Kindra wanted to have this One.

Edric switched on the intercom. Henri, the hotel is well within walking distance of the first two locations. We won’t need your services the rest of the afternoon.

Very good, sir, Henri’s voice replied. If it would please you, I could ready your accommodations and return at your convenience?

That would be fine, Edric answered after a nod of approval from his companions. He was more than ready to get some air and space. He was sure William and Spencer were as disturbed as he was confined in this enclosed space with Dylan.

The city has spent a lot of time and money reestablishing and cleaning up this part of the downtown area. Dylan led the way to the first site. They want people to feel comfortable browsing, shopping, and spending money. This is really a great building we’re going to in both location and functionality. Selling the town and selling the property, Dylan was in his domain.

Entering his code into a lockbox, he opened the heavy wooden door and led the