History branded him a coward. Prophecy labeled her his destruction. Some legends are born of lies. Others begin when the lies end. And not everything remains myth...
"If you could live forever, what would you choose to live for? I chose power..."
Born of darkness and raised on revenge, Mordred Lothian spent an eternity fighting for the honor of a woman who had none. Free of her hatred, his only goal is to pick up the pieces of betrayal and attempt to forge a new life in a world that never wanted him.
Raised by one of Hollywood's most scandalous actresses, Jenalyn Rhodes knows true illusion begins when the end credits roll. Damaged by the one person who should have protected her most, she is determined to have no master and only one mistress: Herself.
Thrown together to stop an ancient evil hell bent on vengeance, can the sacrifice of one be the salvation of the other?
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“Stop being a baby. Let me help you,” Jennie chided, rounding the bathroom doorway and standing stock still as Mordred studied the sizable chunk of flesh missing from the seeping bite wound centered on his left hip. Even wounded, he was magnificent. Honed, deadly muscles which flexed and coiled as she drew nearer distracted her for a moment.
But only for a moment. Because the thing brought actual tears to her eyes were all the old scars and puckered wounds decorating his back; thick and rigid, the skin drawn up in patchwork manner and covering his entire torso as well. She'd noticed them the other night when they'd been in the kitchen talking. He'd only worn a towel then. She'd felt them last night under her questing fingers.
Yet, today, now, this moment, it took her breath away.
She met his ocean blue eyes in the mirror’s reflection, her long fingers reaching out to lightly trace above a curving scar along his tailbone, its length unknown as it dipped below the waistband of his jeans.
“Go away, Jenalyn. I don’t need your help. It’s not my first rodeo.” His voice, rugged and sensual made her ache in places she'd never felt before. Everything about Mordred either fascinated or annoyed her and she couldn’t say it to be necessarily a bad thing. Yes, he oozed arrogance, he embodied chauvinism, he came off demanding and bossy. He underestimated her, provoked her and habitually patronized her.
She liked it, twisted, fucked up ball of yarn she knew herself to be.
Again, she let her fingers trace the air above a long, thin jagged scar stretching from his nape down to the middle of his back. Ignoring his dismissal, she met his gaze in the glass again. "How did you get this?"
He swallowed, she watched the tendons in his neck stretch taut before he answered. "My stepfather, Lot. I didn't fetch his food fast enough."
"And this one?" She touched a puckered patch of skin on his hip.
"Lot's wife, Dilys. She poured hot water on me for daring to touch her newborn son, my brother."
Jennie's jaw dropped. She pointed to a nasty looking section of discolored skin on his back left shoulder.
"What about this one?"
"I said no to one of Lot's knights. He didn't take it kindly and bit me."
"Jesus, Mordred. How did you endure this?'
"I didn't have any other choice."
"I thought you told me you were invincible?" She bit off a light laugh, nearly strangling on the knot in her throat imagining the things he told her.
"I am. Still here aren’t I?"
"Why didn't you Wolverine yourself?"
"Heal yourself? I thought you could."
"At the time, I couldn't. And when I could, these scars remained."
Shadows danced over his hard, handsome face before he turned to face her, wrapping his hands around her upper forearms.
Dear Gods, she wanted to give his chest a repeated tongue bath. Despite the grievous wounds blanketing the marbled flesh, she found it mouthwatering. The heat from his touch raced through her and she had to bite her own tongue to keep from moaning when the sight of one scar, in particular, caught her attention. Right over his heart, it looked like someone had tried to cut him open once. A vicious wound, angry looking despite the passage of time.
Raising her fingers again she touched the air above it, traced it gently, tenderly. “This one? What happened?”
He dipped his head low, warm breath washing over her ear as his grip on her tightened. “Jenalyn. Go. Away.” Despite the words, he made no move to release her, she heard his harsh breathing kick up a notch, saw his fangs punch down, peeking from under those lips she knew she wanted to kiss.
“Tell me what happened and I’ll bail.”
His lips brushed her temple, dipping lower along her right cheek. “I got it because I don’t listen well at times. I'd a rather harsh teacher back in the day. I admitted a weakness and an attempt to purge it followed. Warriors can’t have weaknesses. Let alone the son of Morgan Le Faye.”
Jennie's eyes fluttered shut when his warm mouth brushed the outside of hers, hovering.
“W-what weakness?” She felt her lower belly constrict, moisture flooding her thighs at the slight contact with him.
He pushed her away gently.
“I confessed my love for someone. So she tried to remove my heart.”
A sharp pang of jealousy hit Jennie in the gut at his admission.
“That's ...what? I'm glad it didn’t work."
“The procedure? No. The lesson? Yeah. It worked. I'd turned ten years old that day.”
Jennie stiffened, rage washing through her at the admission. A child, a little boy!
She looked into his eyes. “Where the fuck was your mother?”
“With me.” Mordred bit off a dark laugh and stepped further back, leaving a good three feet of space between them. Jennie watched as the hazy lust smearing his face hardened back into battle mode.
“And she didn’t stop it?”
He shrugged, reaching around her to turn on the shower. Steam instantly filled the bathroom. "Who do you think taught the lesson?"
Born on the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous,I am the illegitimate love child of Han Solo and Daenerys Targaryen. Rescued by Gandalf shortly before my home planet was destroyed in the last days of the Clone Wars, I was raised in relative obscurity by my foster parents, Severus Snape and Pippi Longstocking. At the tender age of 113, I inherited the best little whorehouse in Texas and it's been rumored that I am bringing Sexy Back. A self- confessed chocoholic, I've been engaged to Willy Wonka for several years despite gossip surrounding millionaire Bruce Wayne and myself.
And clearly, I practice delusion on a daily basis.
Fact is nowhere as fun as fiction!
Growing up, I could be found nearby falling down rabbit holes, catching second stars to the right, and stepping through wardrobes into mysterious lands and countless adventures. When those stories ended, I made up her own and kept going. This later on translated into a strong passion for writing that has helped keep my feet on the ground while my head stayed firmly in the clouds.
My first brush with romance novels came at the tender age of 8 when I filched a Barbara Cartland dog eared paperback from my unassuming aunt and fell into a world of magic, wonder and entirely innocent G rated writing. (Seriously, the farthest Dame Cartland ever took any romantic scene was a chaste kiss and that generally didn’t occur until the very end.) I went on to greedily consume Johanna Lindsey, Jude Devereaux and Anne Rice when older.
Now, I'm a middle aged woman with moxie, no shame and a vivid imagination who loves to write and share her crazy with the world. Her future plans include, hopefully, buying a lovely Scottish castle and convincing Queen Elizabeth I that I'd make a fab addition to the Royal Family.
I live in Southern California, a stone's throw from Disneyland, with my family and the most ridiculously spoiled pets anyone could imagine. My goals are simple: Keep reading, keep writing and never lose the determination to make life as random, quirky and beautiful as it can be.
Blog and Website: http://torienjames2.wixsite.com/thetoriezone
Amazon Author: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00CTBYH0M
Author, artist, jewelry maker and all around creative person. I write in many genres and have a lot of fun doing so. Please take a look around and enjoy!