No Stranger to Danger ~ teaser excerpt

Mara rested her chin on her knees where she sat in the leather U-shaped seat by the window in the master bedroom. Logan was below in the yard, walking the perimeter. He stopped to listen every few minutes and had stayed away since he had left the bedroom, she suspected more so because he regretted what they'd shared.

She didn’t regret it. She was an adult, too, and she could have stopped him had she wanted him to stop. It hurt that he regretted what they had done so soon though.

Sex with Logan brought on a menacing horde of feelings she would rather have ignored, and had not expected. Not entirely. When she had gotten the surprise of her life a mere week ago, she had thought all feelings for Logan far behind her, too deeply buried to ever resurface. She'd managed to trick herself into believing she'd forgotten about him for years, and all it had taken was one look to make her remember the hurt. One kiss to make her remember his love. The passion they had shared, raw and hard, deep and endless. Well, she had once thought it endless.

Maybe it was.

Mara shut her eyes hard and bit her lip. She breathed in deeply through her nose and out through her mouth.

And then, her eyes flared open and she growled. That shit never worked to calm her down. She raked a hand through her hair and mentally shook herself. What Logan had done to her earlier still ravaged her senses.

Although she'd found release, she wanted more. She wanted him, and she never wanted him to leave her again.

Her stare followed him as he looked over the drop, into the ravine where they had hidden the body away.

The Tennessee mountains were dark and gray, swaths of wispy clouds wrapping between peaks in the distance. A low rumble shook the heavens, and Logan looked over his shoulder in the direction of the storm closing in. Mara leaned back from the window, waiting a moment so he wouldn’t see her. She peeked back and found him staring up at the clouds. A moment later, he walked on, out of sight.

She relaxed a little and looked out over the trees, watching a black-faced chickadee sitting high up in a pine that grew off the side of the cliff as the little bird ruffled out and fluffed his feathers. A gentle peck began to hit the window, one after another as the mist became a drizzle and the drizzle became a steady rain.

Thunder rattled the window, and Mara shivered, turning her stare up to the dark ceiling. The door downstairs opened and closed, and Mara heard Logan place his door alarm.

She pulled herself from the seat. Why was she nervous suddenly? As if she hadn’t once been married to the man she had just had sex with? Like they hadn't ground their bodies together and fucked like animals before.

Mara turned from the window and slowly made her way downstairs, and though she tried to look completely at ease, when their stares locked, it was everything but ease between them.

Tension and passion.

Hurt and fear.

Mara closed the space between them, brushed the short wisps of hair from Logan's eyes before she came up on her toes, and kissed him lightly.

"We don’t have to figure it all out now," she said.

He growled at her, and Logan wrapped his arms around her, his lips sinking into hers for a deeper kiss—

The clanking of the little alarm and a loud squawking voice tore them apart. Logan whipped in front of her and lifted his sidearm at the door.

©2014 Kerri M. Patterson

A Heart of Fire teaser

The seduction of Katia Dobre

Hi there!

Today I'm sharing another scene from my backlist title Under the Harvest Moon - Castle de Sânge. Did I mention I really liked working on this book? :) I think you will enjoy this scene where Katia, a woman chosen by a vampire prince for one night of pleasure, loses her virginity - and the unsuspecting prince loses his control.

XOXO-

Kerri

Under the Harvest Moon

Castle de Sânge

Katia Dobre cried out as the chained cuff enclosed her wrist. She kicked out at Serle. "What are you doing to me?" she screamed.

Serle backed away. "You must be quieter. The prince does not like the women to fight him. If you do not stop this, I will have to drug you again and he will like that even less."

Vasili watched from the shadows across the room. Though Serle spoke in a hushed whisper, he could still hear him. Firelight from the massive hearth centered on one wall flickered over Katia, but excluded the corner where he sat by his bed from any illumination.

He'd left for home immediately after making his choice, going on foot as he moved much, much faster than Serle or any human. He had left the carriage for his man to bring Katia in. He found it easier on himself if he were not there when Serle used the potion to render the woman of his choice unconscious to bring them here. This time, Serle's potion had not worked quite as well. Katia had woken as the first cuff closed around her wrist and quickly came to her feet to fend off the man.

"That will be all, Serle," Vasili said. Katia's pulse leapt in response to his voice, he heard it, and Vasili closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. He had every assurance he had made the right choice in that moment. It was rare he ever needed to chain or bind a woman anymore, but he instinctually knew with Katia it would be everything necessary. He usually found his women quite willing after a few touches.

Katia was different.

She intrigued him.

She would be a challenge.

As Serle left the room, Katia jerked on the chains, rattling them. "I know it is you, Prince Vasili," she called across the chamber. She stopped her futile efforts and glared in his direction. "You are a much worse monster than I first thought!"

Vasili chuckled, raking her body with his dark stare. He fingered his chin as he watched her. Her breasts heaved in her anger. He found it odd that she was angrier with him more than she was afraid. They were always afraid at first, until he showed them he would not harm them.

His intrigue for her stirred his passion and Vasili felt himself begin to swell. As Katia was not afraid of him, perhaps this might allow him to go further with her than he usually did the others.

Vasili gained his feet and was at her back in an instant, his lips on her neck. Katia jumped, gasping.

"How did you do that?" she asked, trying to face him. The chains held her in place, affixed to two walls at the corner of the room.

"I possess certain strengths most men do not, Katia."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Vasili trailed the top of her bare shoulder with the pad of his thumb up to her ear and back down. She flinched from him, watching him intently. "All in good time," he said low, near her ear.

"Stop that," she said.

He smiled, looking down her back at those pearl buttons that had so bothered him with their presence before. Her blood rushed, her skin a little hotter with his nearness.

"I do not intend to stop." Vasili dipped his head to the crook of her neck and nipped her with his teeth. He drew back sucking in a hissed breath, his fangs protruding at the taste of her. He stayed well behind Katia where she could not see as he fought back his desires, tamping them down into submission.

That was the first thing he had taught himself: To own the beast driving him from within. He might be a monster, but he would never let the beast control him.

He took blood only when he wanted to take it.

It was the only way.

Vasili reached into Katia's hair and removed a single pin. He stepped closer, inhaling her. She intoxicated him.

"Prince Vasili, what do you mean to do to me?" she asked quietly.

He stopped. "Isn't it obvious?"

"You . . ." A pinch of hysteria entered her tone. "You mean to rape me?"

Now it was his turn to scoff at her. Upon reflection, he had not liked being scoffed at earlier. "No," he said flatly, and began to circle around to her front. He stood back just a step, so she might see him clearly. She still met his stare, not cowed in the least.

Vasili reached for her pert chin at lifted it. "By the time I take you, you will be very much compliant."

She arched a brow at him. "So sure of yourself, aren’t you?" She scoffed, jerking from his grip and looking across the room.

Vasili's pleasure fell a notch. "Do not make that sound again," he said.

Her wide stare returned to his and she scoffed once more. "What? That sound?"

His jaw set in a hard line and he tilted her chin up again. "That sound."

"I do not understand why you chose me for this. Why not my sister? She is prettier and she would have fallen into your hands like clay. Tamara would have let you cast her whichever way you wanted." Katia paused. "Not that I would wish this on her. It is just that she is the more preferable when it comes to the attention of gentlemen."

Vasili chuckled. "I assure you, the choices of those men are not based on your beauty. It is your sharp tongue that deters them. You nearly had me fooled, too, but I did not wish to have someone so easy to be had. Not tonight."

She arched a brow again. "Then I am not the first to be brought here?"

Vasili snorted at that. "Certainly not."

She regarded him with fury.

Vasili stepped in again, cupping her cheek. He rubbed his thumb alongside her face. "It is not my wish to break you. I admire your spirit. It is what drew me to you. I wanted to know what exists beneath the façade you wear. You wish to learn? Let me educate you on the passion there is to be had between a man and a woman."

She tried to pull back. "I do not wish to be your whore."

"I will not make you my whore," he said, reaching for her hair.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him pull another pin from her head, the strand it had held cascading down to dangle over her breast and Vasili casually tossed the pin over his shoulder, his stare traveling down the lock, to her breasts, and back up.

She gaped, staring after the pin, but he tilted her chin with a finger, returning her attention to him. When he was satisfied that her concentration was again on him, Vasili slowly circled her, returning to her back. He kissed her neck tenderly and reached around to fill his hand with her breast. He gave her a squeeze and Katia gasped. In the faintest bit, her neck rolled to the side for him and Vasili chuckled darkly. Her skin fevered under his touch.

As much as Katia might like to deny him, her body betrayed her.

Desire thrummed through her, coursing in her veins.

Katia might not be so hard to tame as he thought. Her blood pulsed hard, and what thrilled him more, it was all from his touch. He would show her pleasure she had never dreamed of before.

Vasili pulled the last pin from her hair and wound his fingers in her tresses, pulling her head back. He sealed his lips over hers then, kissing her hard. "I want you, Katia. I will have you," he said against her lips.

"No," she whispered back.

Vasili dipped under her arm, returning to her front. He stooped to pull a small dagger from his boot, causing Katia to shrink back as much as the chains would allow. He came forward and pulled her into him with one arm and with the knife in his other hand, drew it up her back. The sound of the pearls clanking to the stone floor filled the massive room.

Katia gaped at him in horror, but Vasili smiled down on her triumphantly and made quick work of removing the rest of her bodice.

"You are an animal," she spat.

"You have no idea," he murmured, taking the top of her skirts in hand and ripping them down the middle.

Katia shrieked, looking down on herself in her silk shift. They both knew there was little else beneath. Vasili tossed his dagger behind him where it embedded into the wall with a thunk.

Katia looked over his shoulder at it and then back to him.

"How did you rip through all that material?" Katia looked down at the pile around her feet. So absent was her voice, it was almost as though she had not known she'd spoken.

"I told you, I have strengths other men do not possess."

Her stare returned to him. "What are you?" she asked. Vasili circled her again, kicking the torn clothing out of his path. "I told you I have read our histories. Tell me you are not what I think you are."

"I am not what you think I am." Vasili drew his fingers around her slender waist. He sucked in a hissed breath at the feel of the curls at the juncture of her legs, beneath the shift. In a burst of need, he rent the sleeve on one side and tasted her skin there, and inhumanly quickly, he did the same at the other side. He was back in front of her before Katia could blink. Vasili pushed the garment down, exposing her breasts and the rest of her body fully. He delighted in seeing her as the shift slunk to the floor around her feet. Her white stockings were tied up with green ribbons matching the gown she had worn.

Vasili's breathing came sharply as he looked upon her. The soft petals of her sex were slightly swollen from his touch and he could smell her desire. Katia trembled under his hot stare. He had managed what she had thought he couldn’t.

His stare remained on her as he removed his shirt and tossed it aside and then quickly parted with the rest of his clothing until he was just as bare as she. He started to remove her stockings too, but decided he liked them just as they were. The bows at the tops of her thighs made her look all the more enticing.

Vasili slowly stroked himself as he approached her. Her eyes fell to him and she watched the erotic movement of his hand, swallowing hard. Her stare excited him in a way he couldn’t remember having been in a very long time.

Vasili reached for her and pulled her hair back until he forced her to look up at him. His cock pressed into her belly as he pulled her body flush to his. Katia whimpered. "Do you desire me, Katia?" He reached up, fingering her lower lip and then trailed his fingers down over her collarbone and to her pert breast. Her nipple stood erect against his fingers and he pinched one before dipping his head to close his teeth around the bud, gently pulling her nipple taut and then latching his lips around her.

As Vasili sucked, he wanted to sink his fangs into her so badly.

Hearing no answer, he lifted his head. "You won't tell me? Shall I find out for myself?"

She drew in sharp breath. Vasili's fingers traveled over the plane of her stomach and paused in the soft curls. He claimed her mouth with his and dipped his fingers lower. He found what he already knew. He could smell the sweetness of her as she'd become wet for him, but he hadn’t known just how wet.

Katia cried out as he pressed his finger into her and swirled it around.

Vasili growled, dropping his hold on her, and bent to his knees. He roughly took her thighs in his hands and forced her legs apart where she stood. He dipped his head to taste her, shuttering at her wetness on his mouth. His tongue darted into her folds and Vasili gripped her thighs tighter to keep her in place as she squirmed and bucked against him.

He growled again against her tender skin, parting her with his thumbs and flicking his tongue against her most sensitive area. Her cries echoed around them as he sucked on her flesh and her body trembled as she came against his tongue. Vasili stood then, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth and he lifted her, wrapping her legs about him as he did so. Katia stared down at him in speechless wonder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and then Vasili lifted her higher, positioning her, and quickly sheathed himself with her body, ripping through the thin barrier of her virginity.

She cried out again and Vasili hung on to his senses with all he had, only an unraveling thread left between him and the beast. Katia felt so good, so tight.

He gave her a moment to adjust to his size before he began to move again. He lifted her up and down on him, thrusting against her hard until he cried out, too. Vasili dipped his head to her neck, sinking his fangs into her, thrusting in her again as the hot spurts of his desire left him.

Vasili drank until his need abated.

When he was done, he removed himself from her and Katia slipped down his body. She was barely conscious.

Vasili cupped her face in one hand, connecting their stares. "You will remember nothing, Katia. The last you saw me, we were dancing." All her memories from the night were gone in that instant and Katia blinked once before slipping into a state of oblivion.

He easily ripped the chains from the walls and left them to drag behind as he took her to his giant bed with massively carved posts at each corner. Katia was limp in his arms like a wilted flower.

He laid her down and then broke the cuffs from her wrists and tossed them aside. He watched her a moment. Usually he didn’t care if Serle saw the women he used after he was done with them, but the beauty of Katia's body stirred him and the small bit of conscience he retained pricked at him.

He went to the corner to pick up her shift, tying the frayed sleeves as he walked back to the bed and gently clothed her. He finished by tucking her in.

Vasili cast one last look at the woman lying peacefully in his bed as he left the room to wash.

For the first time in two hundred years, he wasn't entirely sure he was done with this one.

©2013 Kerri M. Patterson

Chapter #teaser from my #backlist title Under the Harvest Moon - Castle de Sânge

I have to say, writing Vasili was really a treat. I enjoyed being in his head a little bit, or rather, him being in mine. Out of the three short stories in UTHM, Castle de Sânge was my favorite.

xoxo

Kerri

Under the Harvest Moon

Castle de Sânge

Castle de Sânge

Chapter One

Romania, 1729

Vasili Acros sipped the unappetizing wine, studying the others milling about the grand palace ballroom, watching the lovely young women as they danced. He considered them with the lethal attention an animal might look upon its prey before taking the lunge to kill.

He had never killed, though. He prided himself on being precise and never leaving behind so much as a scant memory of what he had taken from them. Of course, the punctures of his bite would remain for a while. That couldn’t be helped. Although, even in that he had gotten better over the last two hundred years since he'd become a vampire.

Turning was an awful thing. There was only one way he might ever be convinced to do that to a human, and that was if he fell in love with one. Over two hundred years and such a thing had never come close to happening, so he held no close intentions of finding a soulmate in whichever girl he took home to his Romanian castle tonight. There was only one requirement, and that was simple.

She had to have warm, thick blood pumping through her veins.

Vasili remembered himself and shook the beast inside him down, forcing his fangs to retreat.

He was hungry.

Very hungry.

He hadn’t allowed himself human blood in a month, and as the harvest moon swelled in the night, his hunger brought him to a point near madness. He could sustain himself on the blood of other creatures, but not for long.

He imagined if his heart could beat, it would be thumping in his chest as he speculated on which female would taste best. Drinking from them was always so much sweeter if he made love to them first. The blood flowed more freely.

"Voivode," a man's heavy voice distracted Vasili and he turned to him. "Might I introduce my eldest daughter, Tamara Dobre," he said, looking to the young woman at his side. "You and I met several months ago and I promised the next time I would introduce you to my family. How fare thee, my prince?" he asked.

Vasili recognized the man, another noble from the surrounding area. He was sure if he really tried, he could probably recite the man's lineage. There were so many faces swimming in his long memory, he sometimes found it hard to place such a bland-looking man. His daughter, she on the other hand was everything but bland, and he was certain they had never met.

"I am very well," Vasili said, handing off his glass as a servant walked by.

He reached and lifted her slender fingers to his lips. Vasili breathed in her scent. He closed his eyes as the aura filled him. She was happy, near bursting with it. Her heart raced just slightly. She might be the one, he thought, pressing his lips to her knuckles. His fangs threatened to emerge as her pulse beat against his touch.

Vasili glanced up to meet her stare as he erected himself and clasped his hands behind his back, controlling the beast. The music ended in the background and Vasili heard the orchestrator instructing the others to perform a waltz. "Might I have this dance?" he asked.

Tamara gave him a heavenly smile. "You may," she said, taking his arm.

Vasili led her, and as they started, he pulled her a little closer, tripling her pulse. Yes, this might be the one.

"Do you enjoy yourself, Prince Vasili?" she asked.

Vasili raked his eyes over her dark hair, pinned prettily and seeded with tiny jewel-tipped pins. Her rose-colored gown was low and pressed her breasts high.

"Immensely," he said low, near her ear as he turned them. The girl was pliant in his arms. She had the potential to be a good feast for him.

Tamara looked up in a pouty way. "Why is it you never throw grand balls at your palace?" she asked, absently. "Everyone has heard so much about it. As a Voivode, you really should. Is it that you have no wife to arrange or play hostess?"

Her eyes skimmed his face then, running along the old wound. A long gash marred through his brow and down over his eye, to his jaw. Her stare trailed down to his chin where there was also another scar below the left corner of his lower lip. He knew she wondered if his absence from society might have something more to do with those scars than the absence of a wife. He could see it in the curious way she perused him. Tamara was soft, and even her gaze seemed soft when she looked upon him. He'd never thought his scars disfigured him in a way that made him unattractive to the gentler sex. Like Tamara, they always seemed avid enough to seek his attention.

"Do you wish to see my home?" Vasili asked. "My castle sits high in the mountains and I doubt anyone would wish to travel so far for a ball. Such a shame, for the ballroom is very grand." He met her stare. "You would like it." He imagined them in a private dance, one in which he would end by sinking his fangs into her lovely neck.

She beamed at him, bravely meeting his gaze in a very coy way. "You should allow me to introduce you to some of my friends. I understand that you do not come down from those mountains often. I wished to meet you, months ago. You see, my sister and myself only just returned from visiting our Bunicuta in Austria. We were with our grandmother several months."

Indeed, he did not come often, for his own reasons. "For such a long trip, I would imagine," he said, slightly bored by the topic, though he remembered her father now. They had discussed his daughters' travel earlier at the beginning of summer, as he had told the man he too had once traveled to Austria. It was a very long time ago, however.

Vasili removed those memories of days gone, studying the olive-skinned girl in his arms. Her brows were neatly arched and her complexion clear. Tamara was a vision of artful beauty.

Not rare, though.

He had dipped his fangs into some more lovely.

Yet, beauty was not his requirement.

The music stopped and Vasili offered a bow. He led her from the floor, and just at the side, she paused.

"Look, here is my sister now," she said, sweetly. Turning, she brushed his front no doubt on purpose. Vasili did not miss the bold look she tossed over her shoulder. "Katia, come here," Tamara said.

When the other young woman glided to a stop before them, Katia lifted her head over a lace fan, quietly studying Vasili.

She riveted him for a moment.

There was true beauty, and he couldn’t quite help himself from staring.

This sister wore a similar gown as Tamara, but the sea-foam green silk appeared altered to fit a smaller bosom. Her waist was smaller, hips rounder, and her hair slightly lighter in a richer red-brown. Her natural beauty without aid of artifice struck him. That and the small freckle at the top of her right cheek. A blemish, yet he found the innocuous mark attractive.

"This is the Voivode Vasili Acros," Tamara said in way of introduction.

"I know," Katia said, looking away dismissively. "The Prince of the Castle de Sânge." She cut him a disapproving look from the corner of her eye and fanned herself with the lace-trimmed fan.

Vasili cocked his head to the side, cringing a little under her censure. Not many knew the old name for his palace, the Castle of Blood, left over from the rougher years of war the voivodeship had suffered, nothing in relation to himself. He feared one day that some might begin to speculate, but in defense of his castle, on the inside not an inch reflected the crude name.

Katia's rejection bemused him.

Another dance began, a traditional dance to a different tune. Dancing was not his favorite thing to do when he had to socialize with mortals, but he was curious about Katia and how she might have learned of his castle.

He lifted his arm to her and she looked between him and the dance floor for a moment. He couldn’t believe it, but the young woman looked as though she might actually refuse him.

After another moment, she flicked her fan shut and handed the article to her sister as she took his hand. Tamara's deflation was obvious as Vasili led Katia away.

He picked up his step to the quick paces and as he met Katia again, lifting and twirling her, he asked, "How is it you know the name for my castle?"

The steps forced them apart, but a moment later, she was in his arms again. "Studying. I make a point to learn everything I can."

She parted from him and Vasili raked her with his gaze, moving along with the other dancers. "Don’t you know it is unbecoming of a woman to learn?" he teased. He was only kidding, but he received a scoff and a glare from her. He imagined her sister would have agreed with him wholeheartedly.

"Why shouldn’t a woman learn, Prince?" she asked.

He had no idea, nor any opinion, really. "I was not serious," he said, lifting her again, this time he let her slide back down his body with much more contact than necessary. Her pulse flinched and her amber eyes widened a degree when she turned on him, stepping on his toe.

She grimaced. "I am sorry."

Vasili shook his head, unsure if she meant it with the unabashed look she cast him and continued in the dance.

He frowned. "I have to ask, have I wronged you in some way?"

She paused, her fingertips lighting on his as he lifted her again. She blinked innocently. "No."

Her simple answer bothered him more than it would have had she said yes. He wondered at her demeanor as they continued, and then the dance ended and he took a bow.

Katia offered a curtsey. "You are not as bad a dancer as I might have suspected." She winked, backing away. "But then what can I say, it was I who stepped on your toes."

"Why would you have thought me a bad dancer?" he asked as they exited into the crowd.

She looked over her shoulder and gave him a blunt look. "You are so tall. Every tall man I have ever danced with has blundered about without the least bit of expertise." She said this as though he should have known it.

Vasili frowned at her slender back as he followed her away to an opening in the crowd. Tiny pearls trailed down her spine leading to perfectly curved hips and at the moment he wanted nothing more than to see them all come clashing to the polished floor at his feet.

His hunger swelled immensely.

"Wait," he called out as she continued to walk away. "You are aware of who I am?" he asked, confused.

She turned to look over her shoulder again, uninterested, and sighed. She turned to face him fully. Although there was no sound, her look scoffed at him well enough. "I am."

Vasili's brow tightened. "I have never had a woman dismiss me so."

"Then I fear it may have done you some good." She smiled tightly and began to turn away again. Vasili stepped closer, closing his fingers around her arm gently.

"No, wait. I wish to know why it is you dislike me so."

"You wish to know why I treat you differently than any other woman does? Unlike my empty-headed sister, I know what your voivodeship is responsible for. That is why."

He stilled, waiting for her to out him as a vampire.

She shook her head, exasperated that she must explain herself. "Your uncle did not defend the people during his rule, when his power was most needed. I read over our histories during my recent travels. My grandmother relived tales to me of your uncle. His rule is why she lives in Austria."

Vasili's look turned dark at the mention of the man. "I am not my uncle," he said. He distinctly felt that if he and this young woman related at all, it was in agreement that his uncle was a despicable being. Only difference was, he knew exactly how despicable.

As Vasili was about to speak again, Tamara appeared at her sister's side. "Did you enjoy the dance?" she asked with a slight giggle.

Katia straightened and pursed her lips.

"Very much," Vasili lied. He had forgotten how tiresome young women could be when they were in search of a husband.

Katia was obviously not.

Tamara looked between him and the newest set of dancers, but her efforts failed. When she realized that he would not dance again, her gaze stuck somewhere over his shoulder. "Come, Katia, I have spotted someone else I wish to introduce you to." Tamara began to pull Katia along and gave Vasili one last smile under her lashes.

As the two young women walked away from him, Vasili watched them intently. This was the strangest night for him. Picking a girl was usually an easy task, but the Dobre sisters had left him feeling somewhat confused.

"Do you wish to have them both brought back to the castle, my prince?" his man asked, disturbing him.

Vasili stood a little straighter and turned to Serle, his manservant. He never went anywhere without Serle, as sometimes his special circumstances called on the man to help keep his secret.

Serle looked up at him. "You wished to have me fetch you at midnight and the hour has arrived."

"Very well," Vasili said. He started for the foyer with Serle following close behind. When a footman went for his gloves and coat, which Vasili only bothered with for sake of appearance, he turned to look sidelong in the direction of the ballroom.

"Fetch me the one wearing green. The one with a freckle on her cheek." Vasili allowed Serle to help him into his coat. He turned to the man and took his gloves. "Do not take the wrong woman," he instructed sternly. "Her name is Katia Dobre."

"Have I ever disappointed you, Your Highness?"

"No, you haven’t." Vasili only hoped his choice was not disappointing.

©2013 Kerri M. Patterson

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#Teaser chapter from the first story in by #backlist title Under the Harvest Moon - The Accursed

Under the Harvest Moon

The Accursed 

Chapter One

Salem, Massachusetts 1692

Rebecca Foster turned to her patient observer as she pressed the cork into the small bottle. "Here," she said, handing the mixture over. "This will ease the pain of Mary's contractions."

"God bless you, Rebecca, for helping us at this hour." Midwife Sarah Crowley tucked the herbed concoction into the satchel tied about her hips and whirled for the door. Her dark Puritan dress swooshed about wide hips as she gathered her cloak and tossed it around her shoulders.

Rebecca followed her late-night patron to the entry to see her out. "Please, be careful." She peered out the door into the crisp October night. The wind howled outside the small cottage and the harvest moon hung, ripe and deep orange-red, in the velvet sky over Salem Town.

Sarah cast a look over her shoulder as she gathered the reins to the small cart, led by a donkey, and then jostled herself onto the creaking perch. "'Tis not the night I fear. It will be my neck if I do not deliver this babe without incident, as the Minister has already been regarding me skeptically, despite the arrival of Governor Phips. I fear our new Governor's influence cannot take hold soon enough." A deep frown wrinkled her mouth as she whipped the reins on the backend of the lowly animal and started out for Ipswich Road, toward Salem Village, the rickety cart bumping over the rocky path leading from Rebecca's cottage.

A slight breeze wafted Rebecca's hair as she watched her good friend disappear. She was utterly alone at her cottage on the edge of Salem Town, the town separated from the village of Salem by social class and a much stricter character. She supposed she belonged right in the middle. It suited. She was neither a poor farmer nor a merchant, as her father had been. She was also neither a strict Puritan with an unjust need for vengeance upon those whom did not fit into the mold set beliefs formed, nor a despicable being wrought by evil.

After her parents and younger sister had perished of smallpox last year, she had been left near destitute and at the speculation of the village. She wasn’t stupid. She knew they questioned her because of her occupation and sex, as they did Sarah, and because she had been the only one in her family to survive. Unfortunately, try as she might to save her loved ones her herbal mixtures had been rendered useless by the sickness.

God had been merciful, however. She still lived and possessed a rare talent for finding and mixing herbs to cure fevers, pains, and other ailments, which afforded her a meager lifestyle, but she was content. Descending from a long line of healers, she would soon become Sarah's apprentice as a midwife. Her friend hesitated to take her on now, until their new governor's reason and justice took hold, for fear of the minister and deacons in Salem Village. The minister was of a mind that all women should be burnt at the stake as witches and Sarah only tried to protect her. Soon, she hoped, now that Governor Phips was aware of the danger the innocent were in, he would put a stop to the unmerciful and unjust killing dictated by the church and court.

One deacon of their church, John Yeats—who held strong influence over the minister—he and herself were already on unstable terms. The older man desired her, and she had refused him more than once. At the sickening thought of him touching her with his calloused, fat fingers, Rebecca cringed. Heat spread up her neck. If she were a witch, he would have been long since in his grave.

Rebecca closed the door and bolted it against the night, moving to tidy up scattered utensils and dried plants about her worktable. When she finished the task, she crossed the small room and headed to the back of the cottage, removing her robe as she did. Her nipples tightened against the chill lingering in the cottage, and she poked the fire before finding her bed. Just as she pulled the covers to her chin, she heard a rooster began to crow. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.

Sunday's dawn drew near.

©2013 Kerri M. Patterson 

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                                           Chapter Seven

Finna gasped. She had been sure he would rape her. When she stood before him, she glared and tilted her chin high, even as his fingers dug mercilessly into her flesh. Not even the snickers and howls of laughter from the other men deterred her.

Valdrik looked down on her, shaking his head for a moment, but then looked away toward his men as he spoke. "Stieg, ride ahead. I do not think they notice yet that she is gone. If we hurry, we can make it back before midday tomorrow. Útryggr and Ragnarr, I wish you to stay behind to watch for Aldar's men. Stay until morning light and then catch up to us." One of the two men nodded to Valdrik and nudged his mount, trotting off into the wood up a hill and out of sight with the other man flanking him as they headed in the direction of her home.

Frantic thoughts of what might happen next clouded her mind as Finna watched them disappear, leaving her alone with the madman. However, she supposed one was better than four.

"Can you handle that one on your own?" the remaining man, Stieg, asked laughingly as he slowly turned his mount and started away.

Valdrik scoffed. "This one cannot have many more tricks left to play. Go, I can handle her. I want you to ride ahead and tell our Jarl we have rescued his daughter."

Fear pooled in her belly when Stieg looked on her chillingly. His eyes were cold and hard, leaving her with the distinct impression he did not care for her, though she was not even sure he knew who she truly was. He was a brutal looking man, with a heavy beard and scarred face.

Her heart began to flutter, but at last, the man looked away and urged his mount in the direction they headed before her captor had stopped. Finna watched the man fade quickly into the night, and when she was again alone with Valdrik, she asked, "What do you plan to do with me now?"

He turned to her, his look quite blasé. "Same as I planned to do with you before you attacked me," he said.

Finna looked upon him, appalled and in disbelief. "What is in this for you?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Your sister. The position of Jarl when your father passes."

Finna's eyes flared, and her back stiffened as he grabbed her up with ease again and sat her on the horse's back once more, this time with her legs draped over the side, mockingly like a lady would sit.

After Valdrik climbed up behind her, he pulled another length of rope from his belt. Finna looked at the binding and scowled. He must have brought enough to wrap her in if need be.

“Your hands, sweet maiden,” he said, waiting.

Finna jerked her hands forward. “There is no need. I am no fool. I know when I have been bested.”

“And I am no fool, either. You may cry defeat, but your eyes tell a different story. So, you shall be bound, warrior maiden." He lowered his voice and leaned closer, "Until I deem doing so unnecessary.”

“And how long might that be?” she asked scathingly.

"You are lucky, Finna. I am not a man to hurt a woman, but do not test me. I have not done to you what most men might have." With one finger, he turned her chin so she faced him.

Finna did not recoil as she had a mind to, but glared back, trembling against his touch.

"If you do anything like that again, I shall take your clothing from your body myself. I think you might be less tempted to run from me if you were bare from your toes to your head. What do you think?" His eyes fell to her breasts, his hot lusty stare evident.

Finna shivered under those hooded eyes, unused to a man looking on her so. Her breasts tingled into tight buds where his gaze lingered, sending heat to spread up her neck and into her cheeks.

He wished to wed her supposed sister, did he? She tilted her nose up at him. "Depraved mongrel," she muttered.

His gaze flashed to hers.

"You wish to wed my sister?" Finna asked. "If I indeed had a sister, she would hear of your licentious looks. Do not think I am blind, Viking."

His stare turned cold, and as if for emphasis, the rope closed tightly around her wrists, the coarse fibers biting into her skin.

She bit back her gasp, but his cool gaze steadied her determination to not back down or show him any pain. She snapped her teeth at his jaw in attempt to bite him and came very close to succeeding with the tiniest nip, the slightest touch of her lips against his skin.

Finna blanched at herself, at the salty taste of him on her lips.

Valdrik flinched and reached to touch the spot on his neck. He growled low. "Damn you," he cursed her.

She had the desire to strike him, but instead, she scrutinized him coldly over her shoulder. Oh, how she loathed this man. “I think you are a filthy son of a thrall whore! I shall spit your head on a spear when I get free from you, I warn you now."

Valdrik pulled back from her. "And to think I pitied your father for losing you. Methinks he was better off," he snapped.

"You lie."

"Why would I lie to you about your father?" he asked, tapping his heels into his horse. "I have taken you." He jerked her close, his grip around her ribs harsh. "I have conquered you," he said, his mouth very near her ear. "Do you think I need a ruse to keep you with me?"

She did not miss the hard press of his body against her, his inhale at her neck as he took in her scent. She gasped at the tightness of his arms around her and began to squirm from his hold. "Then tell me why my uncle would pretend to be my father?" she asked, struggling against him until he loosened his grip.

"Jealous hatred. Your mother. The fact that Aldar's rightful place was passed to his younger brother."

"Because of a lie," Finna said, whipping around on him. "Hadarr lied and told the people my father had died in battle."

"Nay, he did not. Aldar was gone overlong, and the people did not desire him for their ruler. Thus they chose your father when your grandfather passed on."

"Then why did half side with Aldar if they did not prefer him?" she asked.

"Half?" Valdrik snorted. "Nay, woman. Not even a third, at best. The others he slaughtered when he took you from your cradle in a raid."

Suddenly, the vision in her dream flashed before her, and Finna flinched. Could those images I dreamed so vividly be of that raid? she wondered. She shook herself. Nay.

"You mentioned my mother. Did you know her?" Finna asked.

"I do know her." Valdrik straightened then, and all his animosity and anger with her seemed to wash away into the darkness of the wood. His hold on her loosened, and the tenseness of his body relaxed against her.

Finna shook her head. "Nay, my mother is dead. Hadarr took her life. You have me confused with someone else."

Valdrik scoffed. "Nay, she lives. She has longed for you. Your sister, born to your parents two years after your uncle took you, has missed growing up without you as well. You shall know the truth when you see your mother, for you have the exact look of her, with the exception of age of course."

Finna mulled the idea over in her mind, though she found no sense to his wild tale. "To speak of my mother living you put things into my head I do not care to have there, Viking."

"You doubt me even still, though."

"Of course I do."

"And if you do not come with me, for we both know you shall attempt to escape me yet again, how shall you ever discern the truth, fair maiden?"

She cared not for his taunting words. "You will cease calling me that," Finna said, snarling back at him. When she turned and faced ahead once more, she ducked for a branch just as Valdrik reached to push the low hanging limb away. "I do not know," she said. "I shall ask my father when I return to him."

"You mean your uncle," Valdrik corrected.

She paused. "Nay, my father."

"Either way, the man you left this eve has lied to you your entire life, so why would he tell you the truth now?"

Finna did not answer him, and Valdrik said no more, much to her relief. Eventually the paths became visible and familiar in twilight. Twisted branches wove a gnarled canopy above where the first shades of dawn washed away the stars in the sky.

They continued in a similar way for hours until Valdrik reined in the beast carrying them and they stopped in a clearing where soft grasses grew on the bank of a small stream. She recognized the area well, had perhaps stopped there before.

"What are we doing?" Finna asked, looking around them.

"Stopping for respite and food before we continue on. Are you not hungry?" he asked.

She was, actually. She had not eaten the evening before, too upset to do so. Actually, she had not eaten since the night Hadarr's men attacked them. "Aye," she said.

"We will not reach your father's lands until noon tomorrow." Valdrik dismounted behind her and then reached up, planting his hands solidly around her waist. "We must rest here and make camp later, elsewhere. Far enough ahead your uncle cannot catch us."

Very awkwardly, Finna allowed him to pull her from the horse, as she had no other choice. Her body grazed his on her descent, and she was glad when she was on her feet once more, his hands no longer on her. He took the large animal by the reins to the stream to drink.

"He will come for me," Finna said, watching her captor.

He was tall, this Viking, and strong. She wouldn't deny he was a strikingly handsome brute in a very rugged way. Scars and all.

His dark brown hair spilled down around his shoulders, the color matching his short beard. He wore no braids or clasps in his beard as some men did.

"Are you so sure?" He did not turn to face her, instead bent to cup water in his hands from the stream and drank.

"No matter what you think, he is my father, and he loves me." Finna's brow furrowed, as she wondered why her words faltered.

Valdrik stood, shaking the water from his hands and drying them on his leggings as he turned to her, a mocking lift to the corner of his mouth as he approached her. "You must have made him very angry when you retuned without the loot of my village. Did you tell him the truth? Did you tell him that you were attacked before you even made way across the fjord?"

Though triumph surged from him, Valdrik reached up and smoothed his thumb over the bruise at the corner of her mouth, and then gently, almost as soft as the touch of a feather, he ran the pad of his finger over the split in her swollen, bottom lip. A spark of pity showed in his eyes.

Finna did not care for his touch or pity and jerked her head away. "Of course I told him the truth! I am no liar."

Valdrik circled around her. Suddenly, she felt herself propelled forward, and she stumbled as he pushed her again toward a tree at the bank.

She looked back at him. "What are you about?" she demanded.

"I must secure you from running away whilst I find food."

Finna gave him a scathing look. "It is not enough that you have bound my hands? I could help you hunt."

He outright laughed at her. "You must surely think me a fool." He pushed her back flush against the tree, one hand to her middle, his fingers hot, and his touch seeped into her through her vest. Finna turned her head, watching him as he wrapped the length of a rope around her and the trunk twice and then tied the ends on the other side where she could not reach.

When he stood before her again, Valdrik leaned on the tree, his body almost pressing into hers. Almost. So close was he, she could feel heat radiating off him. His icy-blue eyes roamed down her, and she could swear he was the most lustful man she had ever encountered.

She narrowed her gaze on him. "You shall pay for this, Viking. One day," Finna vowed.

Valdrik smiled, crooking a finger to run under her chin, his stare lingering on her mouth. "But not this day, sweet shieldmaiden. Not this day."

©2014 Kerri M. Patterson