Master of Desire

By Angela Knight

For half-Sidhe billionaire Conal Donovan, rich people problems include an ex who’s an evil Fairy goddess named Siobhan. When Siobhan sends a team of werewolf terrorists to kidnap and torture him, he’s rescued by Helena Baker, African American, former FBI agent, and wolf-shifter. But Conal’s not out of the woods, because Siobhan has sworn to kill him, his sisters, and all his Sidhe friends. He and Helena decide the only way to protect the innocent is to focus Siobhan’s vicious jealousy on them by pretending to be lovers.

Helena Baker’s best friend is a gun inhabited by a retired death god, so she can handle werewolves. She’s less sure about the handsome white guy with the talking phoenix and the relentless commitment to protecting his sisters. Especially considering that she’s in her Burning Moon -- the werewolf version of heat. Her pheromones make Conal just as interested in her as she is in him. But is their growing love real? And what will happen when the hormones wear off?

Love really shouldn’t be this complicated.

Publisher's Warning: Master of Desire includes scenes of graphic violence and previous sexual abuse that may be triggers for some readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020

Book preview

complicated.

Chapter One

I’m hungry.

You just ate. Last week you had two Fomorians and a troll. Helena Baker turned the page, trying to concentrate on her romance novel. The roses that covered the arched wooden arbor cast cool, sweet-smelling shade over the pages. Maeve’s palace was surrounded by glorious gardens, and the arbor’s cushioned wooden bench was her favorite spot to enjoy them.

She glanced up from her book. The palace looming over the trees was breathtaking in its fluid Sidhe architecture, white marble blazing in the golden afternoon sunlight. I’m living in a Fairy tale. When she remembered she used to be an FBI agent, it was enough to give her psychic whiplash.

"That was last week. I’m hungry now."

What you are is bored. Why wouldn’t he shut up? She was almost at the good part. Sexy, threatening Daegan was about to dominate Gideon. These days reading a BDSM romance was the closest she came to getting any. And she needed some. So, so bad. Her Burning Moon hormones were driving her insane. Swear to God, it gets worse every year.

But it’s your job to provide for me. His voice was way too close to a whine.

My ‘job’ is to keep you from killing people. Turning the page, she glared down at him. Would you please let me read my book in peace? Or do I need to put you in the Box?

All right, all right! You get so bitchy this time of year. His tone brightened. Maybe we could release some of that pent-up aggression by hunting a serial killer. Remember that DCN piece about those murders in…

She held up one finger, frowning. Hear that?

What? Liam said.

It’s the Box, calling your name.

But…

That’s it! Helena picked up the Desert Eagle and started to stuff him into the enchanted holster on her belt. You’re getting quality time in the gun safe. An hour in the Box would shut him up and give her a little privacy for a foursome with Daegan, Gideon and her new vibrator.

Liam promptly turned into a rocket launcher. She almost dropped him before she managed to get a good grip again. The hell? You trying to shoot me in the head?

Of course not. Lacking vocal cords -- or a mouth, for that matter -- he had to use magic to generate speech. You’re my priestess.

"For the last time, I’m not your damn priestess. I’m your keeper, and my job is to make sure you don’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve to die. If I weren’t immune to magic, you’d be trying to convince me to shoot myself."

I’d never do that. You’re the best priestess I’ve ever had.

Yeah, in the sense I’m the only one you haven’t managed to kill. Yet.

"I am a death deity."

"A retired death deity. You swore to obey me, Liam. Change. Back."

Fine. Keep your flea collar on! Sparks exploded, leaving behind a very ladylike Smith & Wesson with a pink grip.

Helena glared down at him. Now you’re just being insulting.

Helena? Maeve’s voice rang out over the garden, sharp and urgent. Where are you? Normally the Mother of Fairies could sense anyone on the palace grounds, but her magic rolled off Helena like water off a mallard.

Helena’s head snapped up as she rose from the bench, gun in hand. Here! What’s wrong?

Werewolves have captured Conal Donovan.

Liam cursed in a language that had been dead since the last ice age. Thrusting him into his belt holster, Helena leaped into a dead run. Coming! Conal Donovan might be a Changeling -- half human, half Sidhe -- but he’d also saved the life of Maeve’s granddaughter at considerable risk to his own. That was the kind of debt the Mother of Fairies took seriously. Since the goddess’s magic had no effect on werewolves, rescuing him would fall to Helena.

Maeve rounded a topiary unicorn and strode between towering mounds of Mageverse blooms toward Helena. Six feet, six inches of sculpted, regal beauty, the goddess radiated power like a storm front. Gleaming green hair fell around her shoulders, pulled back and bound with thin braids to reveal the elegant points of her ears. An emerald-green leather vest hugged her full breasts and bared powerful biceps, while matching leather pants and thigh-high boots made her muscled legs look even longer.

She was every bit the badass she looked, which was why the grim look on her face made Helena’s blood run cold. What happened?

A team of werewolves broke into Conal’s house. Maeve’s voice was clipped and crisp, but her peridot eyes held worry. Essus was injured in the fight, but he managed to open a link to me. He says he can hear Conal screaming. Her mouth tightened. They’re torturing him.

"How many wolves?" Helena thrust away the memory of blowtorch pain as fangs ripped into her belly. Looking down to see a coil of something red…

At least ten. But there’s worse news. Her jaw flexed. I tried to open a gate and couldn’t.

Siobhan, Liam spat. The magical geas that bound Maeve and her daughter insured neither could use magic in anything directly involving the other. It was a devil’s bargain from Maeve’s point of view, but she’d have agreed to worse to save her granddaughter. Otherwise Siobhan would have killed the little girl despite Conal’s efforts to save her.

Unfortunately, the geas did nothing to protect Conal, which was apparently why Siobhan had gone after him. She had an uncanny instinct for the best way to hurt her mother. But why now? Helena wondered. It had been thirty years, for God’s sake. Figure it out after you save the hostage. We’ll take care of it. Where’s Conal now?

Maeve made one of those sweeping, graceful gestures she used to work magic. A soft tinkle and chime sounded from the bells worked into her braids as her power rose, smelling of ozone. Essus?

I’m… I’m here. His normally resonant voice sounded from midair, ragged and gasping. In the distance, a man cried out, voice strained through clenched teeth.

Helpless terror as teeth ripped into flesh…"What happened?" Helena demanded.

We were having… having dinner. Ten werewolves… multiple gates. Conal couldn’t get to his sword. Tried to fight. I raked them… claws… fire blasts. Nothing… Nothing…

Helena winced. Magical attacks don’t work on werewolves.

How did you get away? Maeve asked.

Conal said… ‘Get Maeve.’ So I flew, but… but there was a wolf on the balcony and he… I tried…

Are there any wolves in sight now? Liam demanded.

No. They’re in… in the first-floor great room… I’m in the upstairs hall outside… outside the balcony.

We’re on our way. Helena reached for her magic and let it roll over her in a stinging blast of whirling energy. Shifting on Mageverse Earth was easier than on its non-magical twin, and she needed every advantage she could get.

Her body flooded with strength and power, even as her center of balance rocked forward onto clawed toes. Helena looked down and saw that her clothing had vanished, replaced by sleek black fur that grew longer on her breasts and groin. Her hands were much larger, tipped with three-inch claws, just as her teeth had grown sharp in her long wolf muzzle. She was going to need every lethal one of them.

Maeve looked up at her, her gaze worried. A moment ago, she’d been eight inches taller, but now she barely came up to Helena’s chin. Are you ready for this?

Of course. Ten werewolves. Ten. This is going to be bad. But she was no stranger to fear, and it had never stopped her yet. The odds suck, but I’ve got a death god. I’ll get hurt, but I’ll survive. I always do.

Until I don’t, whispered a voice. She ignored it.

Helena drew Liam from the holster belted around her hips. He felt almost dainty in her clawed hand now, more like a derringer than a .38. Unlike the rest of her clothing, he and his gear hadn’t disappeared with her transformation, since she wore him on her hip even in dire wolf form. Open a gate to Essus.

Let me get presentable first, he said, shifting out of the smart-ass Ladysmith guise to become a sawed-off shotgun with two huge barrels. His gun belt glowed bright around her hips. When the light faded, it had transformed into a long scabbard that ran down her back from right shoulder to left hip. As usual, the swirl of so much magic felt like ants swarming over her skin.

A glowing red point appeared in midair, expanding into a wavering oval that looked like a clear pool of water turned on its side. Looking through the dimensional gate, Helena saw what appeared to be a pile of red and yellow feathers lying in the middle of a long hallway.

Good hunting, Maeve said gruffly, the bells in her long hair chiming.

"I will get Conal back." Helena dipped her head to the goddess and stepped through the gate, reality warping around her as she slipped from one universe to the next.

As her feet touched down on the hallway’s polished wooden floor, the world seemed to go dull and lifeless. The natural force that was Mageverse magic didn’t exist in its twin universe. She’d have to draw power from the Mageverse to shift again.

Like it or not -- and sometimes she didn’t -- Helena was now a creature of magic.

At the end of the corridor, the pile of feathers moaned and stirred. She padded toward it, soundless as a house cat. She’d learned to move quietly for all her size.

Another strangled scream made the fur rise on the back of her neck. The ugly rasp of werewolf laughter deepened the chill. Fanged jaws gaped over her, exhaling the scent of her blood…

I can handle these bastards. Liam had spent five years honing her FBI close-quarter combat skills, turning her into a human weapon. No, not human. A werewolf weapon.

Sometimes it was good to be one of the monsters.

As she reached the pile of feathers, the growling sound of dire wolf laughter grew softer. Liam had surrounded her with one of his stealth bubbles, rendering everything within its radius invisible and soundless to the outside world.

She dropped to one knee beside the feathered shape. I’m here, Essus. It’s Helena. The Mother sent me.

What? Golden eyes blinked open. Unlike the raptors of mortal Earth, the phoenix eagle had vibrant red, orange and yellow plumage that echoed the fire he could call. Yet he lay splayed out on the floor, surrounded by broken feathers as if he’d been hit by a truck. One of his wings was twisted at an unnatural angle, and deep claw marks gouged his blood-splattered golden chest. The bird blinked up at her, visibly fighting to focus his power. Like Liam’s, his voice was a product of magic, since he lacked the lips and vocal cords for speech. Helena?

Yeah, it’s me. Needing both hands free, she rested Liam across her lap. I’m going to have to pick you up.

Yellow eyes flickered uneasily, but Essus said, Yes… yes, okay.

Careful of her claws, Helena scooped one hand under his head and the other under his tail, angling his body to avoid jostling his injuries. Despite his eight-foot wingspan, he only weighed about twenty pounds. He gasped in pain, then snapped his beak shut.

Nobody can hear us, Essus -- I’ve got a shield spell up, Liam told him. "Helena, he needs treatment now."

Open a gate.

Magic lit her senses as another wavering opening appeared, this one in easy reach. Unlike the last, it was only about a yard across. Maeve, I’ve got Essus.

On the other side, the goddess turned from pacing the garden path. Good! I… Her eyes widened as she saw Helena’s feathered burden. She immediately dropped to her knees to peer through the gate. Ahhh, my dear one, what have the vermin done to you?

The bird made a high, screeching cry of pain and despair.

He’s hurt pretty bad, Helena warned, handing the Familiar through the gate. Maeve took him with exquisite care and a soothing croon.

Helena… help my boy… Essus turned his head to look back at her. Third door on the left. Balcony… overlooks the great room where Conal… Conal’s chained. Guard’s in there. Got me when… when I flew through and slammed me into the wall. Must’ve thought I was dead. Idiot was so busy watching Conal get tortured… didn’t see me crawl out.

Maeve looked up at Helena, her eyes narrow and hard as green ice. Punish them, my wolf.

Helena showed the Mother all her many, many teeth and lifted the gun. Oh, I will. Even as Liam shut down the gate, she felt Maeve’s healing magic rise.

She padded toward the third door down as Liam contracted the stealth bubble again. Bending light and muffling sound burned a lot of magic, as did blocking incoming attacks, magical and otherwise. He was highly skilled in managing the spell’s power requirements.

As she reached the door, Liam’s power swung it open silently. Helena slipped inside, shotgun muzzle leading the way. The werewolf inside was a big, golden-furred bastard with his back to the door, leaning over the balcony railing to watch Conal’s torture.

Essus was right, Goldilocks was an idiot. She was tempted to shoot him, but he’d fall into the great room and blow her cover. She’d need a quieter weapon. Liam didn’t even need to be told. He transformed into a kukri knife -- eighteen inches long, with a blade that widened and curved toward the point with a shallow bend in the middle. Perfect. Nobody knew how to kill people like a death deity.

Helena slipped up behind the dire wolf. Liam dropped the bubble and she struck like a snake. As she whipped one hand around to grab the wolf’s muzzle and jerk his head back, the bubble snapped up around them again. She sliced her kukri across the werewolf’s throat before he could do more than flail. The bubble contained the gush of blood as she stepped back, dragging him down to the floor by the muzzle. But it’s hard to kill the Direkind, and he’d shift and heal given half a chance. Before the wolf could do more than glow, she lifted Liam and chopped the kukri down. The weapon had been designed for hacking a path through Indian jungle, and it took the wolf’s head off in one clean stroke.

More blood bounced off the bubble’s interior. Helena grimaced as it soaked her, though she’d gotten used to a certain amount of gore over the past few years… A lot of it had been her own.

Dropping the head, she rose and stepped over to the balcony railing, dreading what she’d see. She’d been trying to ignore the gritted screams. Ordinarily the neighbors would have called the cops, but given Conal’s thirty-acre estate, nobody was close enough to hear. Looking down, she flinched. Oh, Christ.

The great room was a mess of broken furniture, blood and chaos. Conal sat directly below her, chained to a chair. One of the werewolves was using claws on his bare, broad chest. Horror-widened eyes stared at the ceiling as he arched in agony, bloody face contorted, the cords of his muscled throat stark as he fought not to scream.

Fangs, digging blazing furrows into her belly…

Helena forced her gaze away from Conal to count his captors. Nine wolves, no guns. Not surprising, since ordinary bullets didn’t do much to the Direkind. They could heal damn near any injury just by shifting, so you had to destroy their heads or hearts to take them out.