In a world where magic makes might Cyril Arlen is the fourth
son of the Matriarch of House Arlen, a powerful clan of witch-born. Uninterested in politics or the pressures
associated with his House, Cyril is content to leave it all behind to live a
quiet and peaceful life on his own.
Unfortunately not everyone agrees with that choice.
After a decade of peace Cyril is unexpectedly named Heritor
to his mother’s position and shoved back into the spotlight against his will.
Now, forced to deal with a power hungry half-brother and the
pressures of one day ruling his House, Cyril’s only comfort is Alpha Sinclair
Ferus. Sinclair is duty bound to protect
him and happens to be the same man who has fascinated Cyril since he was a
child.
Despite his reluctance to accept his new position Cyril
finds that having Sinclair around might just make it all worthwhile.
Teaser:
For one tense, almost too long moment, Sinclair was rigid
against him, the shoulder beneath his hand as hard as marble. Just as Cyril was
prepared to pull back, to stammer an apology and find somewhere to hide until
his hurt and humiliation had faded, Sinclair moved.
Alpha in all the ways that mattered, Sinclair took control
of the kiss with a barely suppressed snarl. His mouth went from passive to
aggressive as his arms came up, one large hand cupped the back of Cyril’s neck
firmly while the other arm wrapped itself around his waist. Cyril barely had
time to blink before he was tugged even closer to the heat of Sinclair’s frame
and desire threatened to completely white out his thoughts.
There was a low rumbling growl building in Sinclair’s chest,
Cyril could feel it with as close as they were pressed together. Caught up in
his lust Cyril couldn’t help but try and press even closer to him. The arm
around his waist was a band of steel that clutched him tightly as Sinclair’s
tongue swept into his mouth to tangle with his own. Sinclair tasted of mint and
hints of spice, chai like the tea he drank in the afternoons.
The arm around his waist moved then. Sinclair’s hand trailed
down across his waist and his lower back only to pause long enough to squeeze
his ass for a brief moment. Then, with a flex of muscle, Cyril found himself
hoisted in the air so that he could wrap his legs around Sinclair’s tapered
waist. He groaned at the sensations the new position invoked, at the way
Sinclair’s hips fit so nicely between his thighs, even as Sinclair shifted them
until Cyril felt a wall at his back.
Sinclair broke the kiss a few seconds later only to nip
sharply at Cyril’s bottom lip and duck down so he could mouth wetly at the
curve of his throat. Cyril didn’t hesitate to tip his head back as far as he
could against the wall behind him, purposefully baring his throat.
Sinclair made a rough growling noise and then his mouth
seemed to be everywhere. He sucked harshly at Cyril’s pulse point, ran his
tongue across the throbbing vein, nipped at the sensitive skin until Cyril knew
he’d have marks. He also knew what the willing and open baring of a throat
meant to a wolf.
Trust.
Surrender.
Submission.
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