Publisher: Crimson Frost Books
The Annual Valentine’s Day Special Edition was uploaded earlier today, and it’s filled with wonderful reading from some very diverse and talented authors. So, drop by and pick up your copy if you’re in the mood to sample a few sweet and seductive treats. ALL our issues are on the Archives page, there are 20 in total. The newest one is the Valentine’s Day 2014 issue:
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As contented peace steeped the air around them, and they were able to breathe in near silence again, Sherindal contemplated her surroundings. On her knees, with the Prince of Ember still sheathed within her, she had never known a moment of more perfect serenity and completion. Her senses hummed with awareness of everything: the texture of the bed linen, cool silk, caressing her heated skin, the subtle patterns swirling amid the tapestries that hung on the stone walls of the bedchamber, even the heavy scent of candle wax added another layer of appreciation to her happiness.
“You really are magnificent, Sher,” Rienn whispered, his arms wrapped around her, drawing her close.
She leaned to one side, looped her arm around his neck and drew his mouth to hers in a kiss that was filled with gentle passion.
“I do love you, Rienn.”
Rienn nodded. His hands on her waist moved her. She shivered as he slipped free of her. “I’ll order a bath and some food,” he told her.
She grabbed his wrist and shook her head. “Later. I want you to hold me.”
Rienn stretched out and pulled her down to him, spooning her body to his when he pressed her back to his chest.
They’d only slept for minutes when the huge doors of the Prince’s chambers were flung open and the spacious room was invaded by numerous men, all bearing swords.
The word was a warning, and Sherindal slithered from the bed when he released her. She scooped up her weapon as she rolled, oblivious to her nakedness. She whirled to face the first rush of the attack. Somewhere through the early morning hours since they’d made love, Rienn had thought to retrieve his breeches, she noted from the corner of her eye. He had managed to gain his weapon, and they fought, back to back.
Sherindal hissed in fury and pain when the second of the men who engaged her slipped past her defense and inflicted a wound near her waist. It was a surface injury and she quickly rewarded him by slicing off his sword hand. Howling in agony, he toppled back, then fled as he recovered his footing several feet away from her.
Rienn had killed two men and was about to run through the third when Sherindal’s voice filled the room, and the blade she wielded, Huntor, rose with her song. The attackers froze momentarily, those two who remained, and she smiled when the weapon cut them down, then drifted back to her outstretched hand, coming to rest in her grasp with near peaceful ease.
“Your blood-thirsty weapon has been sated nicely this morning,” Rienn observed with a tense glance at the gleaming blade.
“Who are they?” she asked, her tone cold as she met his gaze.
“Why would you assume I know?” he retorted instantly. “This is hardly what I would consider an invigorating start to the day!”
“Really?” One eyebrow rose in emphasis of her sardonic tone. “It is one of the more interesting diversions you might have provided, Rienn.” Her laughter was faintly mocking, and not a little bit ironic.
Rienn’s handsome features suffused with rage and he reached for her, gripped her bare arm with fingers that dug into her flesh like steel bands.
“You can be an evil bitch,” he whispered darkly.
Sherindal smiled, and this time it was genuine. She nodded, kissed his chin, the closest she could get to his mouth from her disadvantaged height, then she gasped as a fiery lance reminded her of the slash near her left hip.
“Enough, Rienn,” she said.
He released her, scooped her into his arms, and placed her in the center of the feathered mattress of his bed. He looked closely at the injury, yanked the bell pull, and then went to the heavy wardrobe at the far end of the chamber.
His guards were rushing along the corridor when he returned to the bed and helped Sherindal into one of his linen shirts. She bit her bottom lip against another stab of pain and laughed in macabre amusement when she spotted the duo who entered the room.
“They look rested enough, my love,” she muttered.
Rienn glared at her, then turned an even fiercer visage to the men who should have prevented the assault in his private rooms.
“Get them out of here, then report to Radisan.”
“Radisan will no doubt beat the life out of them, Rienn,” she remarked. “Your brother is overzealous when it comes to punishment. He enjoys watching other people writhe, especially when he is the orchestrator of their anguish.”
“Would you rather I reward them for their lapse?” he snapped. “We could have been killed, Sher!”
“Highly unlikely. Get me my own clothes,” she requested. “I want to dress.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he warned from his position near the door. As the two guards dragged the last of the fallen men into the hall, he slammed the door into place and speared his lover with a look that frequently froze men in their tracks. Sherindal rose from the bed to retrieve her belongings.
She sighed and began to apply salve from the small medicine kit she carried. When the wound was smeared with the peach-colored cream, she wrapped clean linen around her hips, then continued to dress. Dark brown trousers, forest green tunic, black boots and vest, and lastly the sword, in a sheath that she wore at her back, the glittering hilt visible between her shoulders when she faced the Prince again.
“Rienn,” she said gently. “I would not leave you if it wasn’t necessary. This is something I must do. I have no choice!”
Rienn’s unusual eyes flared with anger, and he strode toward her, stopping when her head moved so that she might hold his look. He towered over her, and often used that height to keep her off balance when they were this close. She had told him that he was a drug she was addicted to, and the sensuality of their passion had grown with their aging. She would have made a perfect queen, but his father had long ago threatened Rienn with banishment if he took Sherindal as his wife. The old man had said on many occasions he would hold the throne forever from Rienn if he dared to believe a witch would be an appropriate queen for Ember. Sherindal seemed more than happy to be his consort, with none of the advantages that position could have offered.
Ironically, by his own decree, Rienn’s father had also insured he’d never have the grandchildren he desired, for Rienn would not betray his love for Sherindal by accepting another woman in his bed. The King believed that to be one more proof of Sher’s sorcery, her hold on the oldest son of Ember’s Royal House. Love was an emotion the old man mocked and disdained, and one he had never understood. Rienn’s mother had died many years earlier, and they had been closer than many sons and mothers. They had been friends and confidants. The Queen had approved completely of Rienn’s choice of mate.
“I have no choice.”
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“Live the Romance, Become the Fantasy…”
** Predators & Editors Best Author 2012 **
Jonas gave a hearty laugh and shook his hand.
Running a high-class brothel and casino isn’t exactly the life she was born to but Chantille is determined to overcome the ruin her family was left in once the Civil War ended. But, she has chosen a difficult path… one that demands much and leaves her lonely. She’s noticed the handsome man who comes into her world from time to time, and when she chooses to give in to desire, the passion evoked by Austin’s touch may change her life forever….
** Preditors & Editors Best Author 2013 **
** Best-Selling Author of 2011 **
“Live the Romance, Become the Fantasy…”
** Preditors and Editors Best-Author of 2012-2013 **