Constantine: The Siren Trilogy, #2

By Marata Eros

"Five Stars... " ~ Leiza Less

From New York Times, USA Today and #1 Erotica bestseller Marata Eros and for fans of The Black Dagger Brotherhood and True Blood comes a controversial tale of alpha vampire warriors who do not sparkle, claiming what is theirs for the survival of the species.

"Hot, sexy, quick read...."

Leaving the Reaper vampire stronghold, he seeks those females who share his blood and unique calling.

Brandon enters a battle between the mixed-blood Constantine, Kane of demon descent and Madden—a Mer who has the answers to the mystery of his lineage. Left with more questions than answers, Brandon is shocked when he discovers a female that is mixed as he.

Can Brandon find answers to the questions that plague him? Or will his protection for the one female who calls to him circumvent the resolution he craves?

When males from the opposing sects hunt him for what he possesses—can he call on his Druid counterparts to save everything he cares most about ....

Full-length novel

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. Rose Press LLC
• Release date: Mar 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781311111104

Book preview

1

Constantine was weary of the endless battles. He'd had a fine first rut with Ember, and now these scallywags were interrupting his fun.

No time to sulk. He must teach a few lessons.

Ember, call the Mother, my wet flower, and make this a mite easier on us all.

He feels her heat at his back―smells his seed mixed with her virgin blood.

The scent makes Con's cock hard.

His fantastic erection withers when he also scents her reluctance. "We do not have time for pangs of conscience, my breeder. We need help in the now if you've noticed."

Constantine fists the flat, whip-like handle of the Encourager, a lethal weapon of chain links with spiked and barbed ends. When uncoiled and flung with precision, the device makes a handy skinner. It's a Constantine favorite.

The Encourager does not discern for race, creed, or religion―it is an equal opportunity torturing device.

Con smirks at his internal musings.

Hand the breeder over, the demonic commands.

Con tenses, gifting the demonic with the full weight of his gaze. I believe there are greater concerns with our mutual fate than you wishing a fuck with my breeder.

"Oh? I am yours now?" Ember sulks.

Con rolls his eyes, not bothering to look behind him. Yes, unless you would rather be with the raping Mer?

No, Ember admits in a sulky voice.

His lips twitch at her sullen admittance as her small hands clutch the back of Con's tunic.

Eyes roaming the contingent of Mer and the lone demonic, Con exhales in an angry rush. He watches as a few Faction join the group.

It will get interesting soon.

Madden, the captain of the Mer warriors, steps forward. He spreads his hands away from his body, cocking his head to the side as though in question.

He can put forth no question worth Constantine answering.

Faction, let us take the Mer princess, Madden says. She is a prime breeder, and royalty among our people. You cannot lay claim to her.

Con's attention moves to the scattered Faction who keep their distance from the Mer.

He knows exactly their motivation. They see supernaturals to kill, and a fine breeder; who sports the rare pearl seed pods of her people as a clever weave in her hair.

The Faction are present for the commerce. The Mer are here for the power over their once-princess. The demon? Well perhaps he wants a good wet fuck. The cool cunt of a Mer princess will ease the fire of his prick.

Con snorts, slowing unraveling the Encourager. Nine feet of sharpened, skin-shredding love unfurls smoothly, a testament to Con's years of practice with the implement. Satisfaction fills Con when Madden's eyes arrow upon the weapon.

Constantine smirks at the Mer’s expression. That's splendid, fish fuck. If you think I be without claim, come and get her. Con chuckles, looking at each pale face in turn, their dark eyes like obsidian coins in their faces. Who wishes to be amongst the first to taste the Encourager?

Five of the Mer retreat in uneasy alliance with one another. The Faction hold still―waiting for the others to be the first meat the Encourager finds. They have tasted such ancient methods and found the experience bitter on their palate.

Con's smirk turns to a sneer. "Eh? No takers? Excellent."

Constantine, Ember says from behind him.

His tunic pulls taut against his chest from the tightening of her grip. Con’s eyes sharpen in the gloom.

Fuck me.

A Druid moves into the opening between the trees and sea, and Constantine whips the Encourager. Metal hisses its metallic whisper into the night. Warning and encouragement, both.

Do not get any witty ideas about a charge, my Druid friend.

Con takes in the Druid vampire, who is barely more than a youngling, yet well-muscled. The young male has a tightness about him that speaks of time in battle, though his age would belie the proof before Con's eyes.

Constantine cracks the tip of the Encourager a second time, and it sings in the stillness, snapping upon the final second with a firecracker's pop.

The Mer flinch. The Faction remain like statues.

The Druid vampire's gaze narrows on the weapon.

The Mer are not near as cowed as Con would like, their knuckles bleeding to white around the grips of their tridents. So near the sea they are definitely a problem

Con's gaze shifts to the demonic.

Do you be with us or against us?

I am with anyone who would save a breeder, the Druid replies thoughtfully. His eyes never cease their restless movement, keeping their mutual enemy in sight.

The demonic's anger tightens his expression. Aye, I am with you, mixed-blood.

Constantine grunts at the demonic's clear distaste of Con’s former Faction ties. Prejudiced devil.

A dark chuckle escapes Con.

Madden says, It is three against five―you shall not have Ember. You cannot defeat us with the Mother this near.

What of the Faction who mill about? Constantine asks, sweeping his free palm at the silent contingent of vampire.

Madden gestures toward the tumbling waves at their back. His face says give up.

Con's grip tightens on his weapon. Like Hades I will.

The three opportunistic Faction, mixed-blood all, inch closer to the Mer.

Perfect, keep the Mer occupied.

Ember steps around Con, and Con sees Madden's nostrils flare. Hard.

You have fucked the Faction! Madden's eyes narrow like slits of accusation..

Constantine sighs.

Grabbing Ember's elbow, he jerks her closer to him. "You imbecile, I am no longer Faction. Do you see yonder Faction present? Them, oaf―not I."

Madden's brows dump, glaring at Con. "A mongrel is what I see," he says, dismissing the Faction who used to battle alongside Con.

Not that the other Factionsʼ stance as current potential enemy, ruffled Con’s feathers. Con has found independence, and the new status suits him quite well.

Con doesn’t have time for usurpation. "Well, bravo, my fishy enemy. But this mongrel will end you." His brow cocks.

The Mer open their mouths to call the Mother.

Constantine would like to bitch about their methods. However, he has always been a dirty fighter, and approves of using everything within his arsenal.

On that note. Con whips Ember around, gripping her arms. Her blood-red eyes and blonde hair contrast in the strangled moonlight seeping through the tree canopy like pale blood.

Derail their siren's call, Ember.

Her eyes grow round. I do not know if I am able.

He gives her a teeth-rattling shake. Try―before I inspire you to do so. You can take the Faction out of the male, but the violence remains. His voice grits, they're nearly out of time.

Constantine draws her close as the Mer call the aid of the sea.

He feels the Mother as his lips take Ember's in a brutal press of flesh that leaves her gasping. In sudden epiphany, Con bites her lip just hard enough to draw blood, and the essence fills their mouths.

He pulls away. Do it. Do it now!

Ember's tongue swipes at the wound.

Her pupils dilate, the black eating the red. When her eyes are glossy ink marbles in the ivory of her face, her mouth opens, and Ember's song fills the stillness.

The demonic and Druid cover their ears against the ringing bell of her call.

Con does not. He has enough blood of the Mer to tolerate her high-toned wail, though the timbre causes as much pain as it does pleasure. A common theme for what Constantine enjoys best.

A wall of seawater rises like a hand from a watery grave. It hovers over Ember and Constantine.

The Druid's arms drop to his sides, an expression of wonder filling his face as he approaches them.

Ember's wailing isn’t interrupted when she gives a cautionary shake of her head.

Con doesn’t shred the cock and balls off the young male, as his impulse would normally be, because when the Druid sets his hands on both their shoulders, Ember’s song rises in pitch―strengthening the call. The water that threatens them swings around and crashes into the five Mer and Faction who sidle closer to gain the advantage of proximity.

Fierce satisfaction fills Con when the Mers’ siren call is cut short, water stealing the sound.

Ember's final note carries on the now-still air. Her trembling music crushes the silence as it ends.

Their breathing is all Constantine hears aside from the residual ringing.

He gazes first at Ember, then the Druid vampire, then the demonic. Let's leave before they rise from the water's grip.

The Druid says, I am Brandon. There will be more of my kind if we do not make haste.

I am Kane, the demonic says.

Con plants powerful legs far apart and folds his arms. Well, wonderful. I am Constantine. His brows come together in a glare. Let's get the fuck out of here, shall we? Con sweeps a palm in front of him, just where he likes males to be―where he can keep them in sight.

They frown.

Of course.

Ember encourages them to move. The water pulls away.

Constantine catches sight of the water's retreat.

Hurry, my breeder. He offers a hand to her.

Ember frowns.

Oh, for the love of the Goddess. Or suffer more discipline. Con's brows hike, his hand moving in a circle in the universal, let's get going gesture.

They will be asleep in the arms of the Mother for a time, then they'll come after me yet again. Constantine―she levels a look at him―shall be ever-vigilant of the approach of our enemy.

Brandon laughs.

Con frowns. Con doesn’t see anything of comedic value.

This mongrel? Brandon hikes a thumb in Con's direction. He is dangerous and treats females badly―obviously.

Kane's gaze shifts to Con. Be that as it may, he is a clever adversary.

Constantine's eyes search the heavens. Really? Let us leave. The three of you can discuss me on the way. In the meantime, I wish to seek shelter and remove myself from the Mother.

He turns, giving the sea a mock-bow. She is a fickle she-devil.

Kane opens his mouth to speak and Constantine raises a palm to stop him. Do not split hairs over my word choice, red skin.

Two may play the judgment game.

Kane snaps his mouth closed and glares at Con.

Constantine speaks true. Let's go, Brandon says.

Con shrugs. We be friends for the now, enemies at some point in the future.

The edges of Brandon's lips quirk.

Con folds his arms again, agitated. What be so funny, youngling?

It's called ʻfrenemies,ʼ Faction.

I am no longer Faction.

Brandon's dark eyes hold his. And I no longer be a youngling.

Constantine's eyes rake over the young male. He is hard-knit. Every plane of Brandon’s body screams Druid, from his height to the breadth of his shoulders.

Yet his eyes are the coal-black, seemingly pupil-less look of the Mer.

Interesting. His conjecture will have to be put on hold. Escaping is the only goal at hand.

Constantine nods at Brandon and sweeps Ember's palm into his own before he sprints―hauling her along.

The demon and Druid follow.

They move away from the sea, toward relative safety.

2

NOVA

Ιfling my black hair over my shoulder and bite back a sigh. The hand grabbing my ass kneads my butt cheek like bread dough. "That's it, sweetheart. Get that beer, and we'll get real close."

Get your hand off my ass, I say evenly.

His expression bleeds to confusion. Probably a common occurrence given his double-digit IQ. Yeah.

Fingers dig into my butt cheek through my jeans.

I wince. The commonness of being pawed here doesn’t make it right. Just because I desperately need a job doesn't automatically give a man the right to lay his hands on me.

I can't help the flesh-crawling magic that’s beginning to tingle along my skin like a fine perfume. I shut my eyes against the rush of power beginning to swell from deep inside.

The music of the lowly bar I work at fades away, and the fingers that clamp down on my buttocks go numb as the forbidden happens.

My magic has its way.

I imagine each unwanted fingerprint of the douche's hand as though it's on fire, flames consuming it.

A chair scrapes backward then an accompanying howl sounds. Fuck me! the voice bursts in horrified surprise.

I smile as his hands jerk off my body.

Fucking cunt, I hear his slur in my head.

My eyes open, and I face a patron who is typical in this den of inequity I call a job. Looming over me, he stands at well over six foot his burning hands quaking with a fine tremble.

The