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The Burning Heat (Argus)

The Burning Heat by Argus

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When you accidentally exchange blood with a vampire and set up a psychic link with him, you don't have a lot of options with what happens next. Danielle's normal quiet existence of researching case law haw turned into a shockingly intense series of erotic encounters which threaten to overwhelm her mind. Her effort at proving she is her own women, and can resist the dark hunger which now besets her might allow her to go back to her old life – but does she really want to? Or can a woman whose whole life has been about defiance accept her submission to a thousand year old Viking king?

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 12 / 2014

No. words: 18400

Style: Dark Secrets BDSM/Bondage, Supernatural Erotica

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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The Burning Heat

My name is Danielle Taylor. I take the last name from my mother, who was a stripper. My father, who had never married her, is a murderer, and in prison. His name, I have done my best to ignore. It is, however, Eriksson.
It turns out that, however distantly in the far past, my I'm related to a Viking king. This would normally be nothing but a discussion topic at parties if the conversation ever got boring enough to move onto family trees and genealogy except that this particular Viking king is still alive.
He says he's a vampire, sort of, only what the books say about vampires is all wrong. He's never died, for one thing. On the other hand, he can fly, he drinks blood, and he's amazingly fast. He can also fuck with people's minds, and certainly with mine, in ways which should not be possible.
I showed up at his penthouse to consult on a legal matter because he's too damned arrogant and full of himself to go down to the law offices like normal people, and rich enough to merit personal attention.
As a king, he's used to taking whatever he wants. He wanted me, so he took me. Simple as that. I had no say in the matter, being too busy melting with heat and screaming in pleasure at the time. However, while we kissed, so hard, so hot, so bruising, I cut his lip, and wound up tasting and swallowing a small amount of his blood. He, of course, returned the favor in spades.
That was either my downfall, or a stunning opportunity. It was going to take some time to figure that out. On the one hand, it almost got me killed. Apparently my Swedish ancestry made my body a ready receptacle to whatever was in his blood, and it changed me in some weird paranormal way I can't even begin to understand.
I began to have these images of him, these fantasies, only they turned out to be true. Drinking his blood set up some kind of psychic link between the two of us, much to his annoyance. He considered resolving the issue by killing me, but seems to have put that off, for the most part because he thinks I'm hot, and controllable.
No one has ever called me 'controllable' before, and I'm not sure how realistic that is. I'm not going to be too quick to resist that control, though, if the alternative is being dead. Besides, there were some things about this which might be much to my benefit.
Tariq, his centuries-long Nubian companion and manservant put it succinctly. I could go back to working ten and twelve hour days at my law firm, earnestly trying to suck up to the bosses in hopes of getting ahead before I dropped dead in middle age of a heart attack, or I could consider living for a thousand years in perfect health in great wealth and comfort.
The problem was the man who called himself Colin Forrest Tariq called Lord Elander, and he was a bastard. All right, a really hot, gorgeous man who could almost literally drive me out of my mind with lust and hunger without even trying, but still a bastard.
He'd been an absolute ruler, and still felt like being one. He didn't take 'no' for an answer very well, and was arrogant as all hell. He was also a sexual sadist to some extent, in that the punishments he derived for me were all sexual in nature. They hadn't caused me any harm, but they had sure as hell hurt!
Oh, they'd also made me scream myself hoarse in pleasure, but that was something else again.
In any case, one of my problems was that while Forrest hadn't a hint of self-effacing modesty in his entire big boned body, I was not particularly used to it myself, nor good at it. I was not humble, in other words. I was not used to being humble. I didn't like pretending I was humble.
That's not a good attitude for a slave girl, which was the only role his royal high and mightiness Lord Elander could imagine for a peasant girl like me. He'd even put a collar around my throat. It was solid gold, rounded, like a thick rope with diamonds spaced along its length. It had no clasp or catch. He'd simply bent it together into one circle.
Which meant I couldn't remove it, of course.
The gold shackles on my wrists were more complex, flat, decorated with leaves and flowers. Together with the damn collar they were probably worth a small fortune. But then, given the size of the enormous penthouse off central park Forrest was easily worth quite a large fortune.
I suppose if you have a thousand years to work with and can manipulate people's minds you can fairly easily wind up pretty rich.
Tariq didn't talk a lot of about stuff like that. He didn't talk a lot, period. He was not the most personable of men, any more than Forrest. I wondered how the two even managed to get along, except that it appeared Forrest slept through the day, leaving Tariq alone, and then of course, Tariq mostly slept at night, being still merely human, sort of.
He had decided that I would get the night shift. He had about nine hundred years seniority, after all. He was also seven feet of muscle, so he'd simply locked me in a bedroom and told me to sleep, for I'd need to be awake in the night to 'please my master'.
“This will be your room,” he had said.
It was a room to envy. It was beautiful, if a little masculine, luxuriously decorated, and had a large balcony with a fabulous view of the city laid out around it. It was also seventy two floors up, which meant yelling for help or crawling down to escape were right out.
Even if I'd had any clothes to wear.
As a cage it was pretty golden, right down to the eighty inch flat screen on the wall. But it was still a cage, and I fumed at being locked in.

Author Information

Argus is a man with long experience and credits in the publishing world. He has had almost two hundred novels published in the United Kingdom and The United States, by such publishers as Beeline, Star, Nexus, Chimera, Silver Moon, and Olympia. He has also been published in dozens of magazines.


Publisher Information

This story has been self-published by the author

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