The Enchanted Elf

By Clea Kinderton

Ariantha is a Hunter on the trail of a Turned One, a witch serving the Dark Gods. Things get complicated when she runs into an old acquaintance, a Hunter like herself, and go from bad to worse when the witch gets the upper hand on the pair, casting an enchantment to inflame the desire of her companion. Will Ariantha satiate her lover’s bewitched passion, or will the Hunter become the hunted...?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Lamp Press
• Release date: Jan 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507042137

Clea Kinderton

I've always had a wild imagination. I love fat fantasy novels, B movies, comic books, and scifi. But I also love romance and sex and you'll find plenty of both along with heaps of humor, mystery, and suspense jampacked into some of the hottest, hardest, kinkiest stories you may ever read. Strap yourself in, it's going to be a wild ride. I'm always interested in hearing what you have to say and welcome suggestions. You can contact me at [e-mail] and follow me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CleaKinderton/ and Twitter: https://twitter.com/CleaKinderton.

Book preview

The Enchanted Elf

Clea Kinderton

Published by Red Lamp Press, 2015.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE ENCHANTED ELF

First edition. January 8, 2015.

Copyright © 2015 Clea Kinderton.

ISBN: 978-1507042137

Written by Clea Kinderton.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Enchanted Elf

Further Reading: The Orc King's Captive (Rough and Reluctant Monster Breeding Erotica)

About the Author

Ariantha crept down the stairs to the dungeon. She could smell the lingering hint of decay, damp stone, mildew, rat feces, and a faint trace of the sickly sweet odor of her quarry — Surilla, a Turned One, priestess of a dark god.

She’s here, somewhere, Ariantha thought, stepping softly to avoid grinding together the loose fragments of stone beneath her feet.

The ruins of the elvish keep were ancient, of an older era, before the masons had perfected their arts: the walls were heavy, the carved leaves and flowers thick like overripe fruit turned to stone; they lacked the grace and deceptive delicacy of modern stonework. Over everything crawled the spidery roots of the forest above, snaking tendrils that had burrowed down through centuries of neglect, between the once tightly knit stones seeking the buried heart of the keep.

Even with her keen, elvish eyes, Ariantha found it difficult to pierce the darkness. What little light filtered down from the gibbous moon rolling through the night sky above provided feeble illumination this deep in the castle. She clucked her tongue against her cheek to catch the echoes from the walls with her sensitive ears and suddenly found herself face to face with the point of an arrow.

What in the nine hundred and ninety nine hells are you doing here? hissed a familiar — and unwelcome — voice.

Hondryl, an elf of exceeding handsomeness and grace, stood poised in the shadows before her, dressed in the soft leather scale armor of his people, his long hair neatly plaited. The perfectly chiseled angles of his features were as cold as marble.

I could ask you the same, whispered Ariantha.

Hondryl, lowered his bow with a slight twitch of his cheek. What do you think? whispered the bounty hunter, not bothering to conceal his irritation.

Then why did you ask? Ariantha returned tersely.

I thought you were halfway around the world, said Hondryl, speaking softly. Judging by the strength of Surilla’s scent, it was unlikely she would hear them if they spoke in whispers.

I was. Until I heard what happened. Ariantha thought she’d seen the last of Hondryl and was less than enthused about this sudden state of affairs.

Well go back. You’re just in the way. Hondryl looked around impatiently, as if he expected Surilla to suddenly materialize in front of them.

And you’re out of your league, Ariantha snapped back.

Really? Hondryl laughed softly. You’re even more conceited than I remember.

And you’re even more garrulous, said Ariantha, trying to push past him.

He put his hand on her arm and jerked her back.

She pressed the point of her dagger into his throat, moving so swiftly the motion would have escaped mortal eyes.

Unhand me.

Hondryl shook his head and glanced down, drawing her attention to the floor. A glyph had been inscribed in chalk on the stone where she had been about to place her foot. Surilla had stopped to lay a trap.