Blurb
A former super soldier turned dragon demon must choose between his soul mate and saving the world from a nuclear winter.
The British army’s nuclear testing bonded a dragon into Flynn Hemsworth’s soul. Military scientists vivisected and tortured him until he escaped two years later. Although he’s never aged, he’s been alone and on the run for almost six decades. When he prevents a naked woman from being the prize lot in a coven’s slave auction, he realizes she has an unexplored submissive streak.
The British army’s nuclear testing bonded a dragon into Flynn Hemsworth’s soul. Military scientists vivisected and tortured him until he escaped two years later. Although he’s never aged, he’s been alone and on the run for almost six decades. When he prevents a naked woman from being the prize lot in a coven’s slave auction, he realizes she has an unexplored submissive streak.
Hope Mathews—a sassy blonde with killer keyboard skills—is a strong independent woman. When Flynn prevents her being sold to a demon, she discovers she enjoys spankings and light bondage.
Together Hope and Flynn must shut down a coven of black magicians, rescue kidnapped demons, and stop a black ops nuclear missile hitting the UK. Even if they manage all that, Hope’s the granddaughter of a billionaire while Flynn’s still on the run from the military who want to dissect him again. Can they find common ground and build a life together?
Together Hope and Flynn must shut down a coven of black magicians, rescue kidnapped demons, and stop a black ops nuclear missile hitting the UK. Even if they manage all that, Hope’s the granddaughter of a billionaire while Flynn’s still on the run from the military who want to dissect him again. Can they find common ground and build a life together?
Reader Advisory: Contains explicit language, a virginal heroine who discovers she enjoys spanking and bondage. Add in some serious dragon demon loving, light the blue touch paper, stand back, and watch the sparks fly.
PUBLISHER NOTE: Paranormal BDSM Romance – 63,094 words. BDSM, Exhibitionism, Orgies and Spanking.
PUBLISHER NOTE: Paranormal BDSM Romance – 63,094 words. BDSM, Exhibitionism, Orgies and Spanking.
Buy links
Amazon US http://amzn.to/2agfoFI
All Romance http://bit.ly/29ZkMei
Chapter One
CUFFS HELD HOPE’S hands behind her, and a leash ran from the collar at her neck to the top of the cage. Barely able to move, she shivered on the exposed Yorkshire moor. “Hey! That wind’s freezing. We need some clothes here.”
Heads swiveled in her direction, but not one coven member came to her aid. She shivered anew at the malice in their collective gaze. Wrists tensed, she strained at her bonds, but the cuffs didn’t give an inch.
The wind whipped over her bare nipples and whistled around her ears. Legs crossed in an illusion of modesty, she longed for a fur coat. Even pants and bra would be good. Turning her back wasn’t an option since she didn’t dare take her gaze off her captors.
In the second cage, another woman whimpered, “Don’t antagonize them. They’ll only hurt us worse.”
Hope couldn’t imagine worse. Well, since she was about to be the prize lot in their slave auction she could, but she refused to think about that. When they’d learned she was a virgin, she’d become their star attraction. If she could only move, she’d kick the stuffing out of her captors when they came for her. Instead, the metal collar and leash kept her tethered and helpless. She shivered her ass off while the black coven performed perverted sex acts around her.
The full moon splayed the landscape in silver light. The wind carried drops of drizzle. Black boulders, head high or taller, dotted the moor. A stone altar rose out the heather, midway between the skyline and the makeshift car park at the foot of the hill.
Wind rustled the long grass. Before the coven had started going at it like rabbits, she’d heard owls hoot in the distance. Dark magic swirled over the hillside, chilling her soul and setting her trembling inside. Her skin itched and her stomach heaved. Fear constricted her throat, but humiliated and frozen, she clung to the last shreds of her anger. Head high, she studied the alfresco sex going on all around her.
A woman screamed out her satisfaction as one man lay atop her and banged her missionary style. Another man lay beneath her, and ass fucked her from below. Hope couldn’t take her eyes off them. Other women knelt on all fours, uncaring who screwed them. One exhibitionist writhed atop the altar while her triad of lovers took turns to suck on her breasts or her pussy.
Around her, masked witches and warlocks shagged as though the world ended tonight. For her, if she didn’t find a way out of here, it might. Her captors looked like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in those masks. She’d laugh if her situation weren’t so dire.
Hope had never seen so many naked people or imagined they’d perform sex acts in public. Most of the coven had red diamonds tattooed on their arms, the way gang members sported their insignia. After tonight, she’d never admire a man’s tattoos again.
The endless variety of sex fascinated her, and her gaze felt glued to the coven as they indulged in wild sex. She hadn’t known so many different positions were possible, and some of them must hurt. When she looked closer, the coven all still wore their shoes. Who knew black magicians didn’t mind getting their hands dirty but liked to keep their feet clean?
The woman in the next cell wept noisily. Her long brown hair tumbled over her breasts, hiding them so well only her nipples poked through. Hope wore her hair in a short, pixie style, and while platinum blonde spikes framed her face, they didn't hide her bare body. Much as she loved her short, easy-care hairstyle, she wished she’d let her hair grow as long as Lady Godiva’s.
Another gust of wind set her shivering again. Unnaturally thin, she could practically hear her grandfather telling her to eat more. She’d only throw up if she did. Her captors hadn’t fed them, but all skinny hips and toned muscle, she greeted hunger like an old friend.
Hope dreamed of being a curvy hipped beauty, but she’d have to recover from her food allergy first. Only, caged on a windswept moor, this wasn’t the time to worry about her eating disorder. Soon they’d auction her off to some sleazebag with a perform-in-public fetish.
Fear rolled red-hot through her gut—fireballs that pierced her shield of anger and threatened to consume her. She leaned as close to the brunette as the damn leash would allow her. “Try to stay strong.”
The brunette sobbed harder. “I’m Krystal Ellis. If you make it out of here, tell the police my name. Don’t let them forget me. God, all I want is to go home. I don’t even know how I ended up here.”
Hope shivered again. “Probably drugs. The last thing I remember was drinking a coffee that tasted off. When I woke up, I was naked and chained. What about you?”
Krystal sniffed hard, trying to stem her tears. “My boyfriend. Well, my ex. He asked me to meet him for lunch and like a fool I did. I don’t remember anything after he bought me a super-spiced samosa. Maybe there was something off in them.”
Like Krystal, Hope wanted out of the cage and off the windswept moor. Not knowing how to answer, she called out to her captors. “You lot out there, do you want us to die of exposure? We won’t be worth anything if we’re dead.”
The orgy’s participants ignored her. The more they screwed, the stronger the stench of brimstone became. As the dark miasma thickened, clouds blotted out the night sky. The wind gusted around the captives. Hope shivered so hard that even her goose bumps turned blue.
One of her captors—the pompous, pigeon-chested one—shoved at the woman writhing atop the stone slab. Without opening her eyes, she let rip a string of cuss words.
The warlock growled something inaudible. The woman’s eyebrows rose so high they vanished beneath her fringe, and she skedaddled to the rear of the circle so fast her feet could have been on fire. Her collection of lovers weren’t far behind.
Pigeon-chest grinned and stepped onto the slab. Arms aloft, he surveyed the spectators and smiled. Hope hated how he didn’t shiver when the wind whistled around his exposed bits. He didn’t even have goose bumps. His giant hard-on could have poked someone’s eye out, and his grin—pure evil—chipped away at her confidence.
Transfixed by his stare, Krystal finally whispered, “What’s he doing?”
Hope swallowed hard. Her eyes opened like china blue saucers and her lips thinned into a narrow line. “I’m no expert, but my mom had a stash of books about spells, demons, and other supernatural stuff. I think he’s feeding off the dark power those idiots create as they fuck—if such a thing’s possible.
Just before her twenty-first birthday, she’d found her mother’s occult books in the loft. She’d settled down to read them, but her grandfather hated anything that smacked of magic. The only time he’d ever raised his voice to her was when he caught her studying the arcane rites contained in those books. She’d given in gracefully and let him take them. Later, when she stumbled on her mom’s annotated copy of Secrets of the Occult, she’d kept it hidden. The illustrations of demons and monsters had fascinated her.
Close by, Krystal wailed. Fear spiraled out from her and spread over the moor like spiderwebs. Her terror battered at Hope’s courage and left her trembling in her bonds.
The wind felt like sandpaper stripping the heat from her body. Her skin itched and burned. If her arms were loose, she’d have a damn good scratch. Instead, she backed against the cage’s bars and wriggled like a bear rubbing against a tree.
The crowd quieted. Krystal’s scream reverberated around damp moorland when two coven members dragged her toward the altar. The guy with the pigeon chest and a dick like the over-endowed Greek God, Priapus, enjoyed her distress.
His followers tethered Krystal’s leash to an iron ring hammered into the stone altar at his feet. They released her wrists, forced her atop the altar, and chained her legs wide open.
Clearly terrified, she punched one thug in the face. He backhanded her across her cheek. Hard as she struggled, she couldn’t break free. Finally, body trembling, breathing quick and shallow, she whimpered at Pigeon-chest’s feet.
Caged, bound, and helpless, all Hope could do was stare. She wanted to slap the grin off the chief warlock’s face, grab Krystal, and run. Horror sent cold chills down Hope’s spine, and she prayed she’d hold it together when they came for her.
Big Dick stood—all obscene genitals and medieval plague doctor mask—one foot either side of Krystal as she struggled beneath him. Hope hated the way he puffed out his chest and smirked with voyeuristic glee.
A small gesture, a tiny wave of his hand, and Krystal turned submissive. One minute she spat defiance and fought for her freedom. The next, she stroked her exposed clit and mewled like a she-cat in heat.
If Hope didn’t find some way to escape, they’d come for her next. She needed to make their captors see them as human, not commodities they could sell to the highest bidder. “Krystal, her name is Krystal. She just wants to go home.”
Krystal arched her back, making her generous breasts jiggle. At another gesture from the warlock, she slid one finger inside her pussy. Beneath her exhibitionist sex, she emanated fear and despair. Again the chief warlock gestured toward her, and she rode her own fingers.
The ridiculous cock he wore had to be a strap-on—didn’t it? Or maybe a magical, one-night-only extension. She could almost hear her grandfather’s protest. There’s no such thing as magic. It’s all hoodoo and power of suggestion. Only this felt all too real.
The monster straddling Krystal would never be able to wear trousers if that thing between his legs was for real. Hell, mothers would cover their children’s eyes if they spotted him walking along the street. Arms raised, he chanted a Latin incantation. The drizzle turned into steady rain, but the black coven didn’t cover up.
Malice spread across the moor in a sonic boom of black mist. When the thunderclap died away, five humanoids appeared in the mist. Krystal screamed and started to shake. “Are they banshees come for our souls?”
Hope didn’t know much about the occult, but those things had to be demons. Two of them linked arms, yipped, and exchanged juvenile grins. They ignored Hope and honed in on Krystal as she writhed on the altar. One sniffed her hair, and the other sniffed her between her legs. They looked exactly like the wolf demons in her mother’s book. There’s no such thing as demons, but…
The pair with a rash of black spots running down the left side of their faces—hyena demons, if she remembered rightly—fingered Krystal’s breasts. They were walking illustrations from Secrets of the Occult or an illustrated medieval manuscript. The fifth flicked his forked tongue along the vein in Krystal’s neck.
Krystal’s terror held a musky scent overlaid with the stench of brimstone as she orgasmed for the spectator’s delight—and still she rode her fingers. Her desperate smile didn’t touch her eyes, and her expression set so hard she looked like she’d overdosed on Botox.
For the first time, tears misted Hope’s vision. If her captors had cared enough to feed her, she’d have heaved. She hated feeling this helpless, and she hated the men who did this to them. Not as much as she hated this cage though. If she could break free, she’d grab Krystal, and they’d fight their way off the moor.
Big dick over there deserved a kick in the oversized balls. Martial arts trained, Hope longed to be the kicker. She gave those things with pointed ears and too much facial hair her fiercest death stare, not that they noticed.
The warlock chanted an incantation that put Krystal in deep stasis. Hope knew it was impossible, but even her computer-quick mind couldn’t find a rational explanation. And what are those creatures sniffing around Krystal? Monsters from my worst nightmare, perhaps.
They walked upright on two feet. Their bodies were humanoid, but they’d never pass as human. The pair with the pricked up ears—wolf demons—had faces like squashed up snouts. Tufts of hair sprouted around their faces and covered their hands. Their eyebrows almost merged with their hair.
The ones with dappled skins and sharp teeth giggled. Their faces looked like normal hyenas who’d been smacked in the face with smoothing irons. Now, if her hands were free and she had an iron…
The hyena creatures sneered at the wolfy ones in a Capulet and Montague type standoff. Ideally, they’d turn on each other. Hope swallowed hard and lifted her chin, trying to look brave and praying they didn’t want her.
The last demon had a completely bald head and no facial hair. His skin looked dry and flaky. She thought of him touching her and shuddered. Scaly skin and forked tongue—the one she feared most—glared in her direction and hissed, “Ssshee’ss mine.”
