Mastyr Quinlan pursues the artist, Batya, with only one thing in mind but soon discovers that his desire for her is just the beginning of an earth-shattering affair…
He doesn’t want a woman in his life…
Quinlan must keep Grochaire Realm safe from the enemy at all costs. As ruler of his realm, a woman has no permanent place in his day-to-day existence. But when his lust takes him to Batya’s bedroom, he soon discovers he’s deep into a powerful experience that threatens to blow his life apart. He wants Batya with a feverish desire that makes no sense in his logical, warrior world. But when an ancient fae attacks Batya’s gallery, he launches into protector mode and soon finds himself embroiled — body, soul, and fangs — with a woman he’d only meant to bed a couple of times.
She has no desire to get involved with a mastyr vampire…
Batya’s intense desire for Mastyr Quinlan stuns and baffles her. She doesn’t want to be involved with the vampire on any level. His sole focus of ruling Grochaire Realm has kept him from staying with one woman longer than the proud length of his fangs. Besides, she’s built a life for herself in Lebanon, Tennessee as an artist and healer to the realm ex-patriot community. But when the ancient fae attacks Quinlan at her gallery, then attempts to kidnap her assistant, Batya finds herself catapulted into an astonishing adventure. Even so, she works steadily to get back to her free-clinic and her painting, but how can she leave Quinlan behind when he’s commanded her like no other man ever has?
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From Chapter Two:
Mastyr Quinlan, having survived an enemy attack because Batya healed him, has to brush out his long warrior hair. Batya helps him out…
Quinlan showered, washing out the mass of his hair twice then applying Batya’s crème rinse until he’d have a half-way decent shot at getting the snarls out with a brush.
Using her blow dryer, he scowled as he watched his damn hair fly around. Why couldn’t a vampire, especially a Guardsman, have some kind of preternatural power to remove snarls and dry his hair without electricity?
“Want some coffee with your ‘shits’ and ‘damn-all-the-elf-lords-to-hell-and-back’?” He met Batya’s reflection in the mirror, and saw a mug extended in his direction.
He shut the dryer off, turned around, and took the cup. “That bad, huh?”
Batya chuckled. She had dimples, two of them. Not deep, but they were definitely there, beside her mouth. He’d never noticed before, but then most of his seduction work had taken place at a distance.
“Turn around. I’ll work the back section.”
He didn’t hesitate, something that resonated deep in his brain as a serious warning of some kind, but he wasn’t sure in what way.
She picked up the brush he’d been using and started at the tips. He couldn’t even feel the tugs so he drank his coffee and released a sigh.
His thoughts turned to Grochaire, the realm he ruled. “I need to get word to my Guard, to warn them about what they’re up against. But my telepathy isn’t working through your shield and my phone got blasted by one of those wraith-pairs.”
“You can try my phone, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get through, not with the shield I have in place. Sorry, but staying alive has a priority here.”
He smiled because he couldn’t have agreed with her more.
She brushed through a long length, hit a snag and started working it. He could see her in the mirror, brow furrowed. He’d seen that look already, more than once just conversing with her. She had a seriousness about her that he approved of, maybe because it matched his own.
He sipped some more and watched her. She was a beautiful woman and tall, maybe just under six feet. He wouldn’t have to lean too far down to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She wore her hair loose with clips holding it away from her face. She had strong cheekbones and a straight nose. Her chin was definitely fae, more pointed than a human’s would be, but exquisite.
He knew her ancestry, half-fae, half-troll, her genetics having fallen on the fae side. Realm-DNA did that when the species mixed. The offspring landed one way or another, the same if more than two lines made up the code. Genetics always picked a lane. He realized that he liked her looks, really liked them. “Have you ever done a self-portrait?”
She picked up another long hunk of his hair and once more started at the tips, working swiftly. “I don’t really do faces. I’ve always been into landscapes and the occasional still-life if the objects intrigue me enough.”
“Do you go out, snap photos of woodlands, that kind of thing?”
“Sometimes.” She stopped brushing and scratched her cheek with her thumb. “But more often than not I’ll get these rich images in my head and that’s what I’ll paint.”
She started brushing again, making quick work as he sipped his coffee. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t think about it. I just paint and let the spirit move me.”
He smiled. “The spirit, huh?”
“It’s a good earth-saying, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it is. So you like being here on human earth?”
“I do. In fact, I love it. I didn’t know what happiness or freedom was until I moved here.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “And I don’t plan on ever returning to the Nine Realms. The day that we made our treaties with the US, turned out to be the best day of my life…”
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