Warrior Untamed
A witch's spell...a warrior's curseIf not for her protective wards, witch Melissa Carter would be dead at the hand of her enemy, shadow breed Hunter Galen. Now he's her prisoner. Though she tortures the powerful warrior with spells, he torments her with dark fantasies, inciting a forbidden lust too strong to deny.Hunter must escape to complete his mission--destroy his father who vowed revenge on him and his beautiful captor. But a warrior mates for life and now Hunter must protect Melissa--his mortal enemy and unlikely love. But doing so means descending into the underground world of the Darkken, a place so evil they might not come out alive...
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A witchâs spell...a warriorâs curse
If not for her protective wards, witch Melissa Carter would be dead at the hands of her enemy, shadow breed Hunter Galen. Now heâs her prisoner. Though she tortures the powerful warrior with spells, he torments her with dark fantasies, inciting a forbidden lust too strong to deny.
Hunter must escape to complete his missionâdestroy his father, who vowed revenge on him and his beautiful captor. But a warrior mates for life and now Hunter must protect Melissaâhis mortal enemy and unlikely love. Doing so means descending into the underground world of the Darkken, a place so evil they might not come out alive...
A fitting place for her prisoner.
She peered through the slot at him... and swallowed.
He was shirtless, his chest glistening, his muscles rippling from his broad shoulders to his ridged abdomen.
He shot her a sexy smile.
âHello, sweetness.â
She forced an end to her stare. âUp against the wall.â She dragged the pulley of chains to pull his hands back against the wall. Only then did she approach. Pity. Sheâd fantasized of stepping too close, of him grabbing her... doing wicked things.
He tugged the chains. âLet me go, Melissa.â
Her glare morphed into a cool, brittle smile. âOh, but, Hunter, weâre only just getting started.â
Her triumph was short-lived when his brutal gaze raked her from head to toe. âIf you still want me around after five months, maybe itâs not revenge youâre after.â
SHANNON CURTIS grew up picnicking in graveyards (long story) and reading by torchlight, and has worked in various roles, such as office admin manager, logistics supervisor and betting agent, to mention a few. Her first loveâafter reading, and her husbandâis writing, and she writes romantic suspense, paranormal and contemporary romance. From faeries to cowboys, military men to business tycoons, she loves crafting stories of thrills, chills, kills and kisses. She divides her time between being an office administrator for the Romance Writers of Australia and creating spellbinding tales of mischief, mayhem and the occasional murder. She lives in Sydney, Australia, with her best-friend husband, three children, a woolly dog and a very disdainful cat. Shannon can be found lurking on Twitter, @2BShannonCurtis, and Facebook or you can email her at [email protected]âshe loves hearing from readers. Like... LOVES it. Disturbingly so.
Contents
He heard the grate of a key in a lock, followed by the creak and clang as the gate at the far end of the corridor was slowly opened. He kept his eyes closed, bending and working the blazing colors in his mind like a fiery kaleidoscope. The warmth and light in his mind kept the dark chill at bay, the cold stone against his back and beneath his buttocks a sensation heâd learned to ignore.
He heard the whispers, the rough slide of regulation boots on stone floor, felt the faint stir in the air currents as oneâno, two people made their way toward his cell. It was her scent, though, that caught his attention. Something light, floral...he could almost sense the innocence, the naïvetéâthe gullibility. He resisted the urge to smile. No sense in giving anything away.
The peephole in his cell door slid open, the noise an annoying squeal in the silence of the tombâfor this was a tomb. There was no other word for it. It was where they hoped heâd spend the rest of his lifetime, and the next.
âWhatâs he doing?â He heard the woman whisper. He couldnât tell much from the soft sound, but her scent was now stronger, laced with a tired curiosity. Like a wilted frangipani.
âDunno. Meditating. Plotting. Maybe just losing his sanity. Heâs like that all the time.â He knew that voice, had become quite practiced at ignoring it, but this morningâor was it eveningâhe decided to give it his attention.
âHe doesnât do anything else?â Her voice was raspy, as though even the question taxed her reserves. She sounded fatigued. Drained.
She didnât know the meaning of that word. Drained. But she would.
âNope. Pretty easy duty, I must admit.â
âWhy is he locked all the way down here? Thereâs nobody else in this block.â
âThe lights. There is no natural light in here, so itâs fluorescent lighting.â
He knew they couldnât see the clenching of his shoulder muscles beneath the rough fabric of his prison uniform, but he still tried to mask it with a deep inhalation. He needed something to relax him whenever he thought of his current circumstances, the weakness that even now leeched the energy from his limbs. He needed light. Or something. And he wasnât getting it down in the bowels of this prison, thanks largely to his sons.
