Wicked Deeds of a Warrior Prince: Desires of the Otherworld, #3

By Aline Hunter

Behold the tale of a lovelorn queen, smitten with a would-be king. When her affections were forsaken, she betwiched his kinsmen and enslaved him.

 

Byron Morgianne is unique, a union of fae and diaone sidhe warrior blood. He knows and understands lust, as well as violence and pleasure. The world was his market, and there was nothing he couldn't have. Until he met a female unlike any other, a swan princess entrapped by a curse that has destroyed everything she holds dear.

 

Elsa Dinarii lost her kindgom and home due to the lusts of a vampyren queen. Zoraida captured her brother and enslaved her kin. She'll do anything to free her twin of his torment, but doing so comes at a cost. The only man who can help her wants her in a way that will alter the course of destiny. In setting her sibling free, she'll remain trapped forever with no hope of escape.

 

As worlds collide and irrevocable actions put fate into motion, Byron discovers there's more to existence than blood and lust. If he wants to protect the female he can't live without, he'll have to risk everything.

 

Including his very soul.

 

**Wicked Deeds is intended to be read as part of the series (following Eternity and a Day) and not as a standalone.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renrut Publishing
• Release date: Dec 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201725365

Aline Hunter

Aline Hunter has written stories featured in horror magazines, zombie romance anthologies, and flash fiction contests. Her work has a dark undertone, which she credits to her love of old eighties horror films, tastes in music, and choices in reading, and have been described as “full of sensual promise,” “gritty and sexy,” and “a breath of fresh air.” You can visit her online at www.alinehunter.com   

Book preview

Prologue

The Otherworld

Province of Madness, Realm of the Wraith

Pandemonium Palace

Elsa Dinarii dodged debris from the collapsing ceiling and rushed to the portal that would take her from the palace to The Swamp of Despair. Once there, she could call on guards to escort her to her brother. Despite the pain slamming into her—a byproduct of her connection to her twin, informing her Hadrian had been seriously injured—she ran across the room. Her foot slipped on an uneven piece of flooring, sending her sliding into the wall. Her head connected with stone with a resounding crack.

Stars speckled her vision. Everything swayed.

Damn it.

She couldn't do anything if she couldn't see.

The palace shook again.

She instinctively covered her head with her arms, saying a prayer to the Goddesses that the structure wouldn't give way entirely. Horrific roars ricocheted in her ears, followed by a loud explosion. She peered past her arms, looking at the small window on the opposite side of the space. Red flames were visible. If the palace survived the physical attack, it could still fall under waves of fire.

She wasn't surprised at the level of violence inflicted on the castle.

Ulrich, the wraith king, had gotten more than he bargained for when he struck a deal with Zoraida The Collector. He'd unwittingly kidnapped Runa Charon. A fae who happened to be the Chosen mate of Eric Locke—a Draigen. Part man, part dragon, and all-powerful. He and his brothers were one of the strongest and most feared races in The Otherworld. They were the wardens of the Erinyes, those that kept the realms in check.

No one fucked with the Draigen and survived.

No one.

From the looks and sounds of things, they were unleashing hell on the place.

Slowly, cautiously, she got on her hands and knees.

The portal was only inches away.

As she crawled, she told herself she should never have come here. It had been foolish and reckless. She only hoped the vampyren queen wasn't aware Elsa had come to the palace to release Runa's brother.

Byron Morgianne—a fae warrior prince, turned mercenary.

Gods, the male got under her skin.

He annoyed her with crude comments. He stared at her like dessert on a platter. He vowed to do all sorts of wicked things to her. She should have stayed away, let him rot in his cell, and watched from afar as the castle tumbled into the water surrounding it.

But she hadn't because there was something else to the male.

Something more.

When he touched her, she felt a connection she couldn't deny.

In all her life, she'd never experienced anything like it.

The moment she learned Draigen were attacking the palace, she'd reacted without question, relying on instinct. Byron remained chained with magik steel attached to the castle itself. Without a key, he'd remained tethered to the doomed fortress forever. She wouldn't let him suffer that fate. If she was honest with herself, she couldn't let something happen to the infuriating fae. A little voice in her head wouldn't allow him to be harmed, telling her life would permanently change if she lost him. She was the reason he'd become trapped in the first place. It was only right she set him free.

Another explosion tore through the room.

Don't think about that right now. Get out while the getting is good.

She made it to the hidden portal and extended her right arm. Magik flared, searing her fingertips. A vortex appeared, allowing her to view her destination. She froze, mouth gaping. What she saw shouldn't have been possible. Swanarri Lake had been destroyed long ago, changed from a lush paradise into the swamp she now called home. A loud boom ripped her from the splendor. There was no time to wonder how or why things had changed. She passed through, inching from the palace to safety, and the portal vanished.

Flipping onto her back, she inhaled deeply and looked at the sky.

The sun broke through the clouds, warming her face, allowing her to see everything around her. The sky was clear and blue. Not dank and gray. Trees were covered with vivid green leaves, no longer broken husks with snapped branches in swampy water.

Tears flooded her eyes.

Somehow, someway, Swanarri Lake had been restored.

Home. I'm really home.

Gloved hands appeared from nowhere, latching onto the cloak around her shoulders. She was jerked upright, brought face-to-face with one of the henchmen Zoraida ordered around during the day. These men were just as dangerous as vampyren and equally terrifying. They were without independent thought. Zoraida issued orders, and the bewitched men followed them to the letter. He brought Elsa upward, lifting her feet from the ground. His expression remained cold and detached. She held her breath, wondering if he was going to punch her in the face.

Wouldn't be the first time.

Instead, he felt around her neck and located the charm Zoraida had given her. The spell inside the pendant gave her magik defenses, a few powers, and allowed her to teleport to various portals. He grasped the necklace and ripped it from her. She immediately lashed out, trying to retrieve the only thing that allowed her any sort of protection against others. His eyes narrowed, and he reared back. The blow to her chin wasn't nearly as hard as it could have been, although her teeth rattled.

Queen Zoraida has issued a decree. As of this moment, you no longer have access to Prince Hadrian. Any attempt to communicate with him will result in his immediate punishment. As the guard spoke, he gave her a firm shake. If you want to alter her orders, locate the Ahriman veil, and deliver it to Viktor Inanov.

The Ahriman veil—the lover's crown?

Viktor should have had the ancient relic in his possession by now. That was why Runa had been kidnapped in the first place. Viktor had taken Runa from her home, brought her to Ulrich, and planned to exchange the woman for the veil. She didn't know all the details, but she'd overheard Zoraida's guards. Viktor had made the trip successfully. Shortly after that, the Draigen arrived. He should have teleported out straight away.

If he'd failed in that mission...

Oh no.

That was why Hadrian was in pain.

Zoraida must have learned her plan to exchange Runa for the veil had been unsuccessful and was taking it out on the one man who refused her every day even though his actions would eventually kill him. What better punishment than tearing his sister—the only solace he had while trapped in a dungeon of madness—away from him.

Zoraida wanted to break Hadrian's heart.

I can't, she said, voice shaky.

If Ulrich still had the crown, he wouldn't simply hand it over. That was a well-known fact as she'd asked him to do so more than once. The vampyren queen knew Elsa wouldn't get the veil. The bitch didn't want her to come back.

That didn't mean she wouldn't try to negotiate. Take me to the queen.

No. He let her go, and her legs caved when her feet hit the ground, sending her to her knees. He took a giant step back. The bargain is simple. If you wish to see your brother again, you must possess the veil.

Panicked, she thought quickly. Return me to Pandemonium Palace.

King Ulrich wouldn't give her the crown, but she could try to take it.

What other choice did she have?

Zoraida was very clear. The guard kept moving back, about to teleport away, leaving her helpless. Your journey begins here.

Just like that, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Son of a bitch!

Gazing at the splendor around her, she tried to remain calm. Over the centuries, she'd learned not to panic. To survive, one had to stay calm and level-headed.

Think. Strategize.

She had limited options and a short window of time to make crucial decisions. She had no food. No supplies. The closest village was a two-day walk. Granted, she could change to swan form, using wings to travel, but she couldn't keep her robe or clothing if she did so. And she needed the garments as much as she needed food and water. Without covering, her face would be revealed. Men and women often went mad when they got an unhindered glimpse of her, feeling either an overwhelming and suffocating love or an intense amount of desire and lust.

That was the twisted gift she shared with her twin—godlike beauty.

With a sigh, she located the forest in the distance.

It would take a few hours to make it to the tree gnome who refused to leave Swanarri Lake after it had become a desolate swamp. As putrid and vile as he might be, the forest creature was her only hope. He had access to pandemonium nightmares, the fastest and strongest horses in The Otherworld, as well as other things she'd need to travel.

Perhaps she could bargain with him. Maybe he'd help her.

She started walking, determined to find a way back to Hadrian.

He'd suffered so much for so long and remained strong. But he wouldn't continue fighting if she wasn't there. He had no one to talk to, as the guards kept their distance. Females were not allowed anywhere near him. Zoraida didn't want to share her prize. Not with anyone. She'd given Elsa allowances because Elsa served a purpose, watching over the swamp, reporting directly to her when people trespassed.

Which begged the question...

Had Zoraida lifted the curse on the lake?

Was that the reason Elsa wasn't wanted or needed?

No, that couldn't be. Zoraida was greedy and selfish.

There was no way the queen turned Hell into Heaven.

Something caught the edge of her boot, and she nearly fell. She found her balance, pivoting slightly. When she wasn't in danger of falling on her ass, she peered down at a heavy satchel. She sank to her knees and grasped the leather bag. After she undid the clasp and pulled it open, she discovered sheathed daggers, a large revolver of some kind, ammunition, a length of rope, food, and water. Rummaging around, she located two small pouches and opened them.

Praise be.

Gold and jewels. Various Otherworld coins. More than enough to purchase transportation or anything she might need. There was also a thick leather wallet. She checked inside and found pieces of paper—each a strange shade of green with numbers on them—along with several plastic objects lined neatly to one side. She removed one of the peculiar things, inspecting it closely.

The card was black with silver writing. An odd picture in the center. American Express. A strange set of numbers. A name. For a moment, she thought her eyes deceived her.

She blinked several times and checked again.

Byron Morgianne.

Her hand shook as she brought the wallet to her nose and inhaled. The item belonged to him. She'd recognize his unique scent anywhere.

He must have dropped it when he came through The Swamp not too long ago. Elsa lived there to monitor travelers. She'd alerted Zoraida to his presence immediately, which led to his capture. Only later did she realize what she'd done, experiencing guilt when she found him bound and caged like an animal.

What was it about the man?

His looks could explain the allure.

He was one of the most captivating creatures she'd ever seen. His blond hair was kissed by the sun but contained white strands, complementing sapphire blue eyes with hints of gold near the pupils. His body was equally sublime, perfectly proportioned, nothing but lean muscle. That wasn't the entire reason she felt an attraction to the male, finding herself drawn to his courage and unbreakable will. Even when he'd been a prisoner in the dungeon, unaware of which day might be his last, he never showed an ounce of fear. He also kept his emotions in check.

No, that wasn't wholly accurate.

He'd been upset when he learned his daemon friend had been killed. In fact, if the chains holding him hadn't been magikally enhanced, he'd have broken free. When she'd mentioned his sister was in danger, sharing the information she'd overheard, he'd reacted without hesitation. Byron hadn’t seemed to mind if he lost his life, but he did care about Runa's. He knew what it was like to love someone more than himself, and she understood.

In that, she and Byron had much in common.

An unexpected pain pierced her chest, and she dropped the wallet and pouch. Her hands shot out as she fell forward, keeping her from landing flat on her face. She took several measured breaths, bearing the pain. Hadrian had endured punishments before, but Zoraida never inflicted injuries that permanently marred his body.

Until now.

Rage swept through her, replacing the misery radiating through her body. She'd dreaded the moment the vampyren bitch got the crown. No one could resist the wearer of the Ahriman veil, magikally compelled to do anything and everything they were told. She figured once that occurred, and Hadrian accepted Zoraida's advances, the queen would become bored and let him go.

Foolish wishful thinking.

Love and hate often merged, especially in the vampyren. The curse of madness in the vampyren's bloodline increased over time. Even if Hadrian did as Zoraida wanted, catering to her every desire, the bitch would never have enough. The evil harpy wouldn't settle for his adoration or love. The sadistic immortal wanted his soul. There was only one way to save her brother, even if it was practically impossible.

She had to get him away from Zoraida.

The only question was...

How?

Chapter One

The Otherworld

Province of Fire, Realm of Flame

Hephaestus's Inferno

Here bitchy, bitchy, bitch, Byron Morgianne whispered, inching through the crypt, keeping his gun leveled. If his sources were correct, the person he'd been searching for was right around the corner. Picturing his half-sister—who deserved to die and then some—he added, Come 'ere, you life-sucking little tramp. I got something for you.

Easy, Byron, Lucian instructed, hands upright, a blue light flowing from his palms. Insulting Octavia is one thing. Pissing off a fire god is another.

He's been dormant for a century. At least, that was the rumor. Otherwise, Octavia never would have sought refuge in the Realm of Flame. S'all good.

Things are always dormant, Lucian replied, calm but solemn, until they are not. Do you want to test your luck?

Point taken. Understood, mate. My bad.

Lucian waved a glowing hand in Byron's direction and paused. The place was a disaster with all the cobwebs, dust, and overall wear and tear due to time. It was hard to picture Octavia—who lived for designer clothing and the lush life—coming anywhere near this place. Byron had seen her throw more than one tantrum when she didn't get what she wanted. She'd once stabbed a housemaid with a nail file for putting the wrong sheets on her bed.

I'm not certain we'll find what we seek, Lucian said, completely alert and focused. Anyone with sanity would never tread on the resting place of a deity. I don't care what the signs say. Coming here is a death sentence. It's foolhardy and dangerous.

Yeah, well. Byron sighed. Octavia isn't exactly sane.

Conniving, bitchy, and evil? Absolutely.

Mentally stable? Not so much.

He hadn't believed she was all that intelligent until she'd pulled off something he'd never imagined possible. The moronic female had gotten her hands on Racheron's Horns—one of the three relics needed to open the portals between the mortal and immortal realms—and initiated what mortals viewed as the apocalypse. Her actions had started an endless cycle. At some point, the war of souls would begin.

Don't think about that today. Think about that shit tomorrow.

Following Byron's line of thought, Lucian stated, She's not entirely stupid. He hesitated and added, Unless she's become completely ignorant to otherworldly limitation due to success and perceived power. She planned and initiated something the Draigen couldn't prevent. The knowledge had to bolster her confidence. Her sense of self-preservation could be hindered due to that.

Or maybe she's an egotistical bitch who doesn't care. I suppose.

Since he'd witnessed many wonders in his life, that could be.

Anything was possible.

There's something... Rotating slightly, Lucian—the most powerful daemon in the realms—focused, gazing around. His tan skin took on a blue hue, and his eyes shifted from black to silver. A signature is coming from over there. Behind the tomb. This way.

Byron let his friend take the lead, staying on his heels. Anticipation flowed through him, as well as relief.

He'd been searching for Octavia for months.

Now—with her so close—he relished the knowledge that soon she'd be in his grasp. The only way he could keep the bitch contained was to escort her to Tuatha Mound, right into the hands of Seevier The Black, first chosen of the Unseelie Court. The dark king paid the penalty for her actions as Octavia was one of his children and had pissed off the gods. To appease the powers that be, the king had to atone. She would be expected to offer compensation and endure punishment.

Once there, she'd never leave.

Octavia would be trapped in Seevier's bloodthirsty clutches for all eternity, which she deserved. As a bonus? She'd no longer be a threat to the thing he loved most—his youngest sister and the light of his life. He pictured Runa's happy face, recalling the last time he'd seen her. For once, she'd been truly content. With good reason. She'd met her Fated. The other half of her soul. Eric Locke. Since she was everlasting and would live out eternity with Eric, under the constant protection of the Draigen in the Province of the Dragon, she'd always be sheltered and cared for.

Eric had given his oath on the matter.

Big bastard better keep his word, or I'll jewel the fuck.

A disgusting scent lined his nostrils, bringing him back to the moment. The musky aroma was awful, definitely pouring off something in the grips of decay, making him gag. God's balls. That's rancid. He snorted, trying to clear his airway, and brought a hand to his nose. Where is it coming from?

It appeared to be a combination of sulfur and rotten meat, like undercooked hog or venison roasting over a weak pit for several days. The crypt was dark, making it nearly impossible to navigate. Byron followed Lucian's hands, using the glow from his friend's palms to see as they glided through various tombs along the way.

When he located the source of the stench, he stopped moving.

Fuck me, he rasped, putting away his weapon. He slapped his hand over the lower part of his face, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefingers.

That's not something you see every day.

A male had been bound to a stake with metal across his neck, torso, wrists, ankles, and each of his thighs. He'd been set on fire and scorched to a crisp. The tilt of his head, and his open mouth, indicated he'd been burned alive.

Shifting his hand to speak, he asked, What the hell happened here?

I'm not sure. Do you recognize him? Lucian peered over his shoulder at Byron.

Bastard is crunchier than fried chicken. Should I?

Possibly. He's a sidhe.

Damn. A sidhe?

The bloke could be a relative.

I need to get a look at his face. What was left of it, anyway.

Lucian approached the carcass, hands lifted.

Byron inspected the male's features. Most of his skin had been burned down to the bone, the eyes in the sockets nothing but dried up mush, but metal piercings in his eyebrows, nose, and lips remained. He recalled meeting one individual with such adornments. Even then, he found the jewelry repulsive. The asshole hadn't been all that attractive, which was odd for a fae. Why ruin what good looks he had by placing metal shit all over his already questionable mug?

Even if he didn't relish doing so, he inched closer and took a gander between the male's thighs, searching for an ornament the male bragged about. When he found the silver metal barb dangling from what was formerly a penis, he knew who he was looking at. The male had cornered Runa at a party once, thinking she'd appreciate his advances. He'd shown her the piercing, flashing her in front of the entire room, asking if she'd like to play with it while she sucked him off.

Good riddance.

Crowe Brennan, he said with disdain. He's one of Octavia's lovers.

Once, perhaps. Lucian lowered his hand, allowing light to cover the corpse's torso. From the neck to groin, everything was gone. He paused when the blue glow covered the male's genitals a second time. Not anymore.

The daemon studied the metal bindings. Interesting.

How so? Byron placed his hand over his nose again.

A frown marred Lucian’s face, brows furrowing as he splayed his fingers wide. He was bound with copper, he said, becoming eerily serious. He lifted his head, looking over the area. If Octavia was in his accompaniment when this happened, we won't have to take her to your fae court. She likely suffered the same fate. When Lucian turned, Byron realized the daemon’s eyes had turned completely silver, the irises as shiny as mirrors. Luca never flashed those peepers unless he sensed danger. Hephaestus no longer sleeps. This is his handiwork. We need to locate Octavia and leave. Now.

Fuck all.

Byron snagged the flashlight on his belt. I'm on it.

Flicking on the device, he hustled around the crypt.

He used the stealth and agility he was born with, combing through the place with nary a sound. As he neared the north corner, a familiar odor slapped him in the face. He slowed as he spotted the source, approaching another stake. A blistered body had been firmly attached to a similar spike, in precisely the same manner, and he realized he'd found who he'd been looking for. While most of her was gone, her skin peeled down to flashes of charred bone, he recognized the ruby charm around her throat.

His father had given her the necklace centuries ago.

"Lucian."

While he'd hunted Octavia to hell and back, he'd always imagined he'd find her, bring her to justice, and walk away with a bounce in his step. He didn't think he'd care what happened to her. The woman was a vile bitch, absolute nastiness through and through, nothing but pure evil. She enjoyed the suffering of other creatures so much she couldn't be trusted to own a pet. But seeing her like this, skin flaking from her skull, blackened lips contorted in an endless scream, changed his opinion slightly. He didn't know how to feel, torn between disgust and relief, becoming somewhat nauseous.

In death, she'd never hurt another soul.

But she'd suffered horrifically, even by sidhe standards.

Lucian placed a hand on Byron's shoulder. It's over.

A movement to the left, mere yards away, drew their attention.

Lucian reacted without hesitation, able to use magik far faster than Byron could pull out a weapon. He brought his hands up, whispering an incantation. A soft cry echoed through the crypt, and the nygromancer took care of the sound, silencing the individual with a snap of his fingers. Byron decided not to be a decorative hood ornament, crouching to move silently, ready to kill if he had to. He stepped around Octavia's ravaged body when Lucian interrupted his momentum.

Don't, Lucian ordered, voice low. Stop.

Stop? Really? Son of a bitch.

He glowered at his companion. Now what?

The daemon disregarded him, his face a mask of concentration. Then his entire body jerked as though an unseen force had struck him. He exhaled raggedly, revealing breathing had become difficult. Shock and disgust were evident in his expression. Byron prepared to fight, retrieving the gun under his arm, his thumb resting on the safety. Lucian rarely revealed raw emotion. Whatever had rattled the powerful male was dangerous.

Put the firearm away. Byron started to argue, and Lucian glared at him. Do as I say.

What in Hades?

Lucian never acted like this. Byron would know, as they'd been hip-to-hip for nearly a millennium. Lucian was the logic and brains; Byron was the muscle and brawn. Their relationship worked better than most pairings and marriages.

Luca, he said slowly, caught entirely off-guard, what's wrong?

If I could revive Octavia and kill her again, I'd do so in an instant.

Lucian shouldered past Byron and shoved the gun aside. He strode forward, seeing something Byron couldn't, and stopped near the wall. From the motion and pulse of light radiating from the male's palm—something he'd witnessed numerous times in the past—Byron acknowledged that Lucian had sent someone to sleep.

Hephaestus didn't rise on his own, Luca informed him. He woke and visited his temple because he'd been summoned.

Octavia might be reckless, but not that reckless.

She's a crispy critter on a stick! Think about it!

Then again, maybe she was.

In that, you're very wrong. Lucian rotated his shoulders so he was looking at Byron. He crouched, staring Byron in the eye as he clasped the limp creature on the floor. He used extreme caution as he turned the person over, slid his hands beneath knees and a fragile-looking back, and picked up the tiny form. Octavia was not only stupid, she was exceptionally cruel. She brought a human child from the mortal realm to this place.

Byron thought he was going to be sick.

A human from the mortal realm? What in the actual fuck?

Anyone caught bringing a human to The Otherworld was doomed. The Otherworld survived by rules. Some unbreakable. Bringing a fully human mortal to the realm was punishable by an eternity in the darkest portion of Tartarus.

She did? Octavia had balls, clearly. But doing something like that meant someone had major cojones. Or maybe a death wish. You're sure?

I read the child's mind before I put her under.

Byron inched closer and discovered why Lucian was appalled.

Clutched in the daemon's arms was a girl, barely past the cusp of womanhood. She was so young a tendril of devastation swept through Byron. He often resided in the mortal realm to be close to Runa, spending as much time with her as possible, and had become familiar with human aging. When his youngest sister was a baby, he'd studied the subject. Back then, he wanted to know how long his sibling could live, hoping to find ways to extend her lifespan.

This mortal was barely out of high school.

She was no older than Runa.

Her tawny blonde hair was caked with dried blood, the odd angle of her nose a consequence of being broken more than once. Her