For a lot of the time period of this book we’re going over old ground but this time we see it from Vorian and Beau’s perspective.
It was interesting to get a different view of what was going on in Kaelum’s book (not as much with Jax/Wesley’s) but it did mean that for the first half of the book, the only new thing happening was the burgeoning romance.
Fortunately, that was enough for me to not care because Vorian and Beau were so desperately right for each other. They’ve both been treated as disposable objects, have had little support, encouragement or kindness in their lives.
So when they meet on Crux’s ship after Beau’s been beamed up from Earth, the situation is ripe for them to find a soulmate. And I very much appreciated the slow nature of their relationship, it’s not all instant chemistry and big lusty thoughts.
They connect through acts of compassion, Beau sees Vorian as something other than the bastard child of the disliked Crux, the half-brother of Kaelum that no-one wanted, the Queen’s child – but one born from an act of violence.
My heart hurt for Vorian so much. He is nothing like the character we were given a perspective for in Book One. He is steadfast, faithful, conflicted and – ultimately – a Thorizan halfbreed who will help remove the danger his father presents to all.
Beau is a sweetheart, he’s had a rough time of it and just wants to find a home and in the strange alien ways of Thorzan he does just that.
I loved Kenosi throughout this book too, and I really hope we might get back to this series and find out if he also finds his own eight-foot blue-skinned warrior to love!
#ARC kindly received from the authors in return for an honest and unbiased review
A death that wasn’t what it seemed… A kidnapping that isn’t what it seems… Time is running out. The morning after his wedding night, Prince Marcelo thought he’d be embarking on a journey to his own personal fairytale happily ever after with his husband, Efren, the crown prince of Zioneven. But when news arrives indicating his sister’s death wasn’t as accidental as previously thought, that journey becomes fraught with danger. Enmeshed in political intrigue, death, and a kidnapping that might not be what it seems, will Efren untangle the web of misleading clues in time to save the naïve young man he’s already come to admire, or will Marcelo dig deep to discover a previously untapped inner strength and determination to facilitate his own survival?
Excerpt
Chapter 3: …Oft Go Awry
Efren
Efren blinked rapidly as he came awake with a start. He stared into the darkness and mentally shook the cobwebs from his mind. What had awoken him? Marcelo lay softly breathing in his arms, as relaxed and peaceful as only the innocent can truly be.
Around him, the night was silent. Too silent? He strained to hear the patrols rustling through the grasses, or the faint trills of their signals to each other.
A breeze swirled through the branches of the trees in the distance, rippling the leaves. Crickets chirped, apparently unconcerned about whatever either was or wasn’t going on in the meadow.
And footsteps. Quiet, approaching footsteps. It must be time for the shift change. That’s what had awoken him. Efren relaxed and nestled Marcelo tighter against him. One at a time, the guards would come in and wake their replacements.
Except—Efren tensed, then maneuvered his arm out from under Marcelo’s head and eased himself from under the blankets—the footsteps, furtively stopping and restarting, were approaching from multiple directions.
Efren shivered as goosebumps rose on his naked skin in the chilled night air and soundlessly slipped his broadsword and knife from their leather scabbard. He glanced at Marcelo, still sleeping, although less serenely with the sudden loss of the warm body next to him.
Guilt pinged his core as he shook off a strong desire to waken and forewarn Marcelo, but he pushed it down. Marcelo, completely untrained in warfare, would be safer in here. He seemed a heavy sleeper, likely incorporating outside noises into his dreams, unused to a need to be readily alert. He might even doze through the skirmish.
Or was that just wishful thinking? Because there’d be no hope that Marcelo could escape unseen, if it came to that.
Surely it would be better for such an innocent to be killed in his sleep, or with scarcely a brief moment of shock beforehand than to spend minutes quaking in terror, unable to defend himself.
Efren shook off his doubts and quickly pushed out the weighty flap, sword raised ready, and opened his mouth to yell an alert to awaken any of his warriors who hadn’t already sensed the looming danger, same as he had. But the breath he drew to strengthen his voice instead choked him.
He’d never before smelled these fumes, but the pungent, wet-dog odor had been described to him. The material of their tents was heavily treated to keep the toxin producing that odor from permeating the walls and closed flaps.
Icy apprehension slithered across Efren’s skin before settling in the pit of his gut. This was a completely unexpected development. The alchemists from the kingdom of Proye who’d developed this toxin—and unfailingly guarded the recipe—called it “Knockout.”
As Efren’s sword arm dropped, followed swiftly by his eyes rolling back in his head and his body slumping in a boneless crumple, a corner of his brain recognized how fittingly it was named, and hoped that enough of it had entered the tent through the briefly opened flap that Marcelo would succumb before Proye agents executed whatever they had planned. They’d been married for less than two days, and already he’d failed his innocent, young husband.
Copyright 2019 Addison Albright
About the Author
Addison Albright is a writer living in the middle of the USA. Her stories are gay romance in contemporary, fantasy, and paranormal genres. She generally adds a subtle touch of humor, a smidgen of drama/angst, and a healthy dose of slice-of-life to her stories.
Her education includes a BS in Education with a major in mathematics and a minor in chemistry. Addison loves spending time with her family, reading, popcorn, boating, french fries, “open window weather,” cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere.
“Gladiator or toy?” Kaspar asks, as if it’s the easiest choice in the world. It might be an easy answer for someone branded, brainwashed, and who remembers no other life. But that’s not me, not yet anyway. I’m a cop—or at least I was until my cover got blown. Now, I’m one of the trafficked people I vowed to save. Kaspar’s a toy —a pleasure slave— content to warm our sadistic owner’s bed; he laps up the abuse he’s conditioned to associate with affection. He’s my only way out. To gain our freedom, I must play the hardest undercover role of my career and be everything his fractured mind needs: a more controlling bastard than the man who turns people into grateful slaves for a living. Officer Jiao Sweatt thinks I’m a victim. He has a lot to learn. And it’ll hurt. This book is part of CRIMINAL DELIGHTS. Each novel can be read as a standalone and contains a dark MM romance.
Warning: These books are for adult readers who enjoy stories where lines between right and wrong get blurry. High heat, twisted and tantalizing, these are not for the fainthearted.
Trailer Video
Excerpt
He accepted, absorbed, and floated in the serenity of obedience. His physical pain became walled up in a corner of his mind. The only thing that mattered was his master’s will.
“Fuck, I didn’t see you down there. Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s not my place to disturb my master.”
Jiao frowned. “Don’t call me that. I’m nobody’s master, and you’re nobody’s slave, Kaspar. Come on, up you get. You don’t have to kneel to me.”
Kaspar didn’t move. He didn’t know if he could get up, but they needed to establish something first.
“I do have a master, and right now, it’s you.” He handed Officer Sweatt the Chorbaji’s note. He hoped Officer Sweatt wouldn’t mind that it was a little damp and crumpled from being in his hand all this time.
Jiao glanced at it and scowled. “Well then, as your master, I order you not to kneel to me.”
Kaspar didn’t resist smiling. A pet’s duty was to adapt to his master’s needs. Officer Sweatt clearly liked teasing, playfulness, that he could do.
“That’s going to make blow jobs a little uncomfortable, but–”
“You don’t have to do that either; now get up and talk to me like a man.”
“Can’t men kneel?”
“Just get up, will you? You make me feel uncomfortable.”
That got him moving. Making your master uncomfortable, unless it was to entice him to pleasure, was not good pet behavior. He tried for his normal graceful, hands-free stand, but ended up on his ass; his sore, bruised, battered, and cut ass. Rolling to his side he sucked in a breath, trying to contain the bright flare of pain while expected a kick for his lack of grace.
“Shit, how long were you down there? Never mind.”
With surprising strength, his new master lifted him to his feet, one hand on his bicep, one across his chest, under the brands, and helped him limp across to the bed. He climbed up and lay on his side, head resting on one fist while he balanced himself with the other in front of him. He hoped he looked at least a little enticing. Flirty and playful, that’s what had put a smile on his new master’s face in the gym.
“You’ve been on a drip.” Jiao nodded toward the small cotton ball taped to his inner arm.
“Not a lot gets past you, does it, Ma–” he paused at Jiao’s frown. “Well, what would you like me to call you? Sir? Officer Sweatt? Chief? Boss? Please, don’t say Daddy, anything but–”
“Would you shut up?”
Kaspar’s mouth snapped shut. At least he’d got him to give an order.
A hand pushed through the inky black hair. “Look, Jiao is fine. I got called ‘Sweaty’ enough as a kid never want to hear ‘Sweatt’ again.”
Kaspar frowned. “I’d never call you that, and your first name hardly seems respectful. I–”
“This is important to you, isn’t it?”
Kaspar’s frown deepened. Understanding this new master was a challenge. “Of course it is. The higher the status of my mas–” he paused, grinning “–special friend, the higher I–.”
As he spoke, his new master grabbed a bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door and draped it over him.
Humiliation hammered. He dropped his forehead to the mattress. He was useless, unworthy, and unwanted. He disgusted this man he had been instructed to please. His failures swirled and thickened in his mind like fog.
You deserved what Azur did to you; he should have finished it. Put you down like a useless old dog.
BLOG TOUR SCHEDULE
About the Author
I have a reputation for writing dark, angst filled stories in a swathe of genres, from Sci-fi and paranormal, to contemporary romance and erotica with m/f, m/m and multiple partners.
I blame my rebellious muse (who looks like Chris from the Paint Series) for the erotic aspects tickling the angst, and the humour cuddling up with the erotic. You’ll find all this and more in my books! No matter the genre, I can promise different characters, dark themes, steamin’ sex, laughs and a HEA or HFN.
When I’m not writing or reading, in leafy Sussex, England, I herd Birman cats and sons. Both groups argue that the other is too large.
Mirrigold: Mutterings & Musings 
You must be logged in to post a comment.