Kresley Cole - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

“You were right all along, Scot. I am high-maintenance.” She sounded remorseful, which wouldn’t do.

“Aye, but you’re high-output as well.” He gave her arse a possessive squeeze.

“Werewolf!” she cried, but her lips had briefly curled.

He took her in his arms. “The truth is that I’d rather march into hell with you than bask in heaven without you.” He curled his forefinger under her chin. “And lass, going to help Regin will be a little like hell for me.”

She knuckle-punched his arm. “You didn’t just say that!”

“I’m kidding,” he said, then added in all seriousness, “It happens that I owe Regin one. You said you wanted to live out your immortality with her next door? Well, as much as it grieves me to say this, we will no’ rest until the glowing one’s our neighbor on some seashore.” And until you’re my wife….

Her dark eyes widened. “You promise?”

“Aye, but that does no’ mean I canna tease.”

She gazed away. “Still, I’m taking you from this. Look at this place.” She waved over the misty grounds. “Deep down, you’ve got to be disappointed that my life is so complicated. I bet you wish things with me were easier.”

He clutched her to him, hugging her tight to his chest before he finally eased his grip. If only she knew the depth of his feelings for her. But then, she’d given him her eternity, so he planned to show her. “Lousha, you’re my lass. And I’m lovin’ you dearly.” When she gazed up at him with her silvery eyes glinting, he cupped her nape and brought her to him for a soft kiss. Against her lips he murmured, “Besides, nothing good ever came easy.”

One week earlier…

Volga Uplands, Russia

Target: the Vampire

On a windswept and craggy plain, a lone cabin endured, buffeted by a gale. Inside, Lothaire the Enemy of Old stood before a broken hanging mirror, staring at his fragmented reflection. Through cracks in the grimy windows, chill drafts sieved in, welcome after the heat of the jungle.

Retrieving the finger and ring from his pocket, he slipped the gold band free, tossing the mummified thumb to the ground. With utter awe, he gazed at the band, knowing what it meant, knowing the power he’d just seized.

Unspeakable power.

“With this,” he grated, “I will be invincible.” The winds howled, the cabin walls groaning. “I will be unstoppable .” He raised his shaking hand, lowering the ring to his own finger, nearly groaning with expectation—

The cabin door exploded open; electricity surged in, hitting him in the back, shooting him forward. The ring clattered to the ground as his head crashed through one of the windows. A jutting shard raked down his forehead, deep across the surface of his eye.

Sightless in that eye, blood obscured his vision in the other. Trace. Leave this place.

Not without his ring….

His fangs sharpened, rage burning inside him. What enemy is this? Another bolt of electricity hit him, then another, each one draining him. He began blindly tracing throughout the cabin to evade them.

Through the red haze, he listened for his prey, sensing movement, striking. Appearing and vanishing, he plucked one heart from a male’s chest, biting the throat of another. The floor grew slick with blood.

Get to the ring… get closer. Another flash shot toward him; he traced to dodge it, reappearing—

A short sword plunged into his side. Behind him, a tall shadowy form wielded the blade, twisting it deep within Lothaire’s body. A mortal wound for a human.

An incapacitating one for an immortal. Whatever is here… doesn’t want me dead.

Lothaire attempted to trace a retreat, but he’d grown too weak—as his foe obviously intended.

Holding him fast, the blademan twisted the sword again. “Bag him.” Once the male drew the weapon free, Lothaire dropped to his knees in his own pool of blood.

Others besieged him, quelling his weak resistance, cuffing his wrists in unbreakable bindings. When he roared, they slapped duct tape over his mouth.

He’d just cleared his vision in his one good eye when more men approached with a black sack.

To put over his head.

He bellowed behind the tape, thrashing in the blood. But they shoved the cloth over his head, cinching it tight.

Lothaire heard the gold ring scraped over the floor as another collected his treasure. Seething wrath burned to a fury. When I get free, I will unleash hell….

Back streets of New Orleans

Target: the Valkyrie

“That all you got, muthafuckas?” Regin the Radiant cried after her third dose of electricity. “I like electricity, you dumbasses! Hit me with another.”

Apparently not taking her at her word, they did. She sucked it in, and her skin glowed brighter in the night. The street lamps nearby flared from her radiant energy.

A smile of utter bliss lit her face.

“Know what else? I’m a freaking conduit.” She caught a jolt in one hand and with her other, she funneled it back, hitting her attackers, blowing them into the air. “You want some of this?” She shot again. “How ’bout you?” And again.

They were feeding her—and it felt glorious ! She glowed brighter, brighter, illuminating one city block, then two…

But within that blaze of light, a shadow moved behind her, a towering male with superhuman speed. Before she could defend herself, he struck with a sword, planting it into her side, twisting. Lightning speared close by, and she gasped at the pain, choking as blood bubbled at her lips.

Her light dimmed. When the man withdrew the blade, she collapsed. Curled up on the street, bleeding out, Regin gazed up at him. “ You,” she bit out. “You’ll pay .”

The male ordered, “Bag her.”

Too late, she drew a breath to scream—duct tape slapped over her mouth. Eyes wide, shaking her head wildly, she watched as they neared with a black sack.

Orleans Parish Booking and Receiving Facility

Target: the witch

“Miss Carrow, what are you doing in here again?” Martin, her favorite guard, asked her. He was the youngest of the guards, cute, with a ruinous crush on Carrow. “When will you learn better?”

“Oh, I’ve learned better,” she said, strutting to the bars. He swallowed to see how short her black leather skirt was. “I just choose not to use what I’ve learned in real world applications.”

“Huh?” Martin scratched his head. “What’d you do this time?”

“Beat up a cop, stole his horse, and rode it into Pat O’s.” Before he could ask, she answered, “I needed an accessory.”

At that, her repeat roommates, sex workers from the Quarter, cheered, whoop whoop whoop!

She curtsied for them, then turned back to Martin. Through the cell bars, she tickled him under his chin with her print-stained fingertips, sending him in raptures. “So, did you bring me and the girls some chow?” He often brought Popeye’s to Carrow and the roommates. In a throaty voice, she asked, “Maybe some diiiirty rice?”

He swallowed hard. “N-no, ma’am. Came to tell you that you made bail.”

“Really? No way!” She held out her flat palm behind her and someone gave her a low five in celebration. The sun had just set—Carrow would have the entire night for mayhem! “Who divvied the cash?”

“Dunno, ma’am,” Martin said, sliding open the cell door.

She frowned. The House of Witches had vowed never to bail her out again. And Carrow hadn’t even called Mariketa, not wanting to bother her best friend again. Twice in one week was too much for even the most committed bail buddy.