DARK MOONS RISING

Dark Moons Rising Cover 6x9 sm

DARK MOONS RISING

by Nia Farrell

A PNR shifter D/s MFM ménage otherworldly erotic novelette

Unleashed March 15, 2019.  99ȼ or FREE with KU

Amazon Univeral Link e-book     Amazon US e-book     Goodreads reviews

 

Deidra of Ravenhill is a daughter of light, a healer whose energy can be tapped by the one who marks her.  Mordred, the bastard son of Owain ap Coel, is determined to be that man.  He’s captured the castle, killed her family, and forced her to train as a comforter, preparing her for his ultimate possession.

While Mordred is gone, having the brand made to claim her, Deidra manages to escape the castle.  She nearly dies in the forest but is saved from falling into a poacher’s pit by Thorne, a dark lord, one of the race of giant shifters that she’s been taught to fear since childhood. 

With dark moons due to rise on the most dangerous night of the year, Thorne must become a centaur for them to escape the monsters that roam with the god of chaos.  He carries her to the safety of his brother’s hunting lodge, but is she truly out of danger?  From Mordred, perhaps, but there are two dark lords who want her—if she’s willing to share…

This story is out of this world—literally—with twin moons, magical healers, ruthless warlords, and a pair centaur shifters that will have you looking at horses in a whole new light.  Granted, intimacies only take place while they’re in human form.  If that’s a major disappointment, you might want to pass on this book.  The coming prequel is dark and dirty.  If you don’t want to miss it or the two planned sequels in the Dark Moons Saga, follow my Amazon author page at http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell.

Written for Terran readers Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

She could only hide her nature for so long.  If they wanted her, they would take her.  If they took her, they would know.

It did not make her decision any easier, but revealing herself sooner rather than later might work to her advantage.  Oddly, she could thank Mordred for the training that he had ordered her to undertake these past weeks while his custom mark was being made.  The lessons were meant to prepare her for his possession.  She never dreamed that she would use them to try to tempt a man, yet she now found herself preparing to seduce two.  And not just men.  They were another race altogether.  Dark lords.  Manbeasts.  Centaurs who would split her asunder if they chose to take her in that form.

The thought made her tremble, but she had to risk it.  She’d made her choice when she’d climbed on Thorne’s back and wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in his heady male scent as he galloped through the forest at breakneck speed, carrying her to safety.

Casting a glance about the room, Deidra spied a ewer of water on a sideboard.  Untying the length of linen from her hair, she unpinned her knot and loosened her locks, finger-combing them into some semblance of order.  Thirstier than she’d been in her life, she could not resist stealing a few sips of water before wetting the cloth and scrubbing her face, neck, and hands.  She moistened it again, as needed, cleaning her fingernails, one by one, as best she could.  Helpless to do more without the proper tools, she turned her attention to her poor legs and was tending the worst of her scratches when the brothers came back.

Immediately she dropped to her knees, with head bowed and her hands locked behind her, presenting herself as she had been trained, except that she was still dressed.  One of them—Thorne, she thought—whistled softly. 

“Well, well,” he murmured.  “What have we here?  Speak, femina.”

“Sires, this girl was born Deidra of Ravenhill.  Her father Fallyn is—was—lord there, until Mordred, bastard of Owain ap Coel, captured it.  He plans to take what no man has had and mark this girl as his.  Please, my lords, this girl would rather die than suffer his touch.  No amount of training will change that.”

Expletives blistered the air as Ragan cursed her father’s murderer.  “We have heard of this Mordred.  I take it, you were being made ready for him?”

“Aye, milord.  For him, and, he threatened, for his friends.  Becoming a comforter requires much preparation.  Advanced training allows one girl to satisfy multiple partners,” she added meaningfully.  She’d only just begun that phase when she managed to escape, thanks to the floral bouquet she’d been allowed to pick for her room.  The natural sedative from one plant had rendered her guard unconscious, long enough for her to access the hidden passage.

She had never seen such motion in stillness, yet both men remained exactly where they were.

“He will come,” Thorne grated, clenching his fists, his chest heaving with each hot breath.  “He will want her.”

“Perhaps not,” she whispered.  “Mordred wants what no man has had.  If that changes…”

The words remained unspoken, hovering in the air between them, the silence thickening with each passing second.  Now or never, she told herself.  Inhaling, she drew her thoughts inward, tapped into her core, and focused on her heart center, drawing the energy there first, then feeling the luminescence spread throughout her body until her skin glowed softly and her fingertips were limned in light.  “Please.”  Breaking protocol, rejecting the objectification of this girl and reclaiming the birthright of her true self, she boldly met their gazes and pleaded, “Help me, Thorne, Ragan!  I beg you!”

When they did not punish or correct her, she exhaled softly.  As the tension drained from her body, she glowed even brighter.

Thorne hooked a bent finger under her chin and lifted her radiant face, his gaze locking with hers, truly seeing her for the first time, from her amethyst eyes to the thick, shining waves of white-gold hair.  With her head tilted back, it pooled in her clasped hands and spilled over to brush her hips.

His thumb traced her lower lip.  She looked at his mouth.  So very serious.  And his blue eyes.  Deep and mysterious, indeed.  With his humor hidden for the moment, the look on his face was riveting.

Thorne blew out softly.  “Deidra, do you know what you are asking?  You know what we are.”

“Aye,” she said.  “But I also know that Mordred would rob me of light.  Eventually, he would drain me.  He cares nothing for my needs.  He lusts for power and covets mine.  He was waiting to mark me, hoping that, with training, I would be more open to him.  If I shielded myself when he set his seal upon me, he would never draw more, at any other time, than at that moment.”

Deidra looked from Thorne to Ragan.  “I do not know what stories you have heard, but the words I speak are the truth, I swear by the goddess.  I am a child of Sola, a daughter of light.  It is our nature to help and to heal, but what we give must be renewed, by bathing in the rays of Sola or by drinking spring water charged with her light.  Marking,” she said, “is best done over the heart center, when a willing woman, radiant with Sola’s lifeforce, is at the peak of power and of passion.  My light has waned with the stress of the day, but I swear, I will give it freely, to you and your brother, if you will safekeep me from all others.”

Ragan studied her, considering.  “You would share your light?  And our bed?”

Deidra nodded.  Better their slave than Mordred’s.T 

 

EXCERPT 2:

Ragan left them briefly, returning with a jar of ointment.  He treated the scratches on her legs, then dipped two fingers into the jar and pulled out a generous portion.  Part went between her legs, adding to the moisture already pooling.  The rest, he spread on the tip of his erection.  Getting her first real look at it, she understood why.

Thorne was huge, but Ragan was gigantic, easily ten inches long with a girth to match.  If not for her training, she was certain she would have swooned.

Deidra bit her lower lip and watched his preparations.  “Hands above your head,” Ragan ordered.  She thought Thorne might bind them, but he caught her wrists instead and held them firmly in his grasp.

“Relax as best you can, love,” Thorne murmured, kissing her forehead.  “Just close your eyes and think of me.”

Ragan growled and cast a black look at his brother.  “Shut the fuck up, Thorne.  Don’t listen to him, Deidra—except for the relaxing part.”

She smiled, struggling not to giggle.  Here she was, pinned by one man to a bed of another she’d met not three hours past, who was about to take her virginity, and he and his brother were bickering like schoolboys.  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, looked at Ragan, and promptly burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.  “But you two…”

“Yes.  Quite a pair, are we not?”  Rather than be offended, Ragan seemed glad to see her so at ease with them.  “For better or worse, we are yours, little dove.  Now relax. That’s it.  That’s right.  Perfect.  Just breathe.  Breathe.  And keep your eyes on me, dove.  Once we get past the pain, I swear to you, I shall make you fly.”

 

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Dark Moons Rising

 

🗡🗡🗡DARK MOONS RISING by Nia Farrell 🗡🗡🗡

A PNR shifter D/s MFM ménage otherworldly erotic novelette

Scheduled for reissue March 2019

Heat level: Sizzling

Deidra of Ravenhill is a daughter of light, a healer whose energy can be tapped by the one who marks her.  Mordred, bastard son of Owain ap Coel, is determined to be that man.  He’s captured the castle, killed her family, and forced her to train as a comforter, preparing her for his ultimate possession.

While Mordred is gone, having the brand made to claim her, Deidra manages to escape the castle.  She nearly dies in the forest but is saved from falling into a poacher’s pit by Thorne, a dark lord, one of the race of giant shifters that she’s been taught to fear since childhood.

With dark moons due to rise on the most dangerous night of the year, Thorne must become a centaur for them to escape the monsters that roam with the god of chaos.  He carries her to the safety of his brother’s hunting lodge, but is she truly out of danger?  From Mordred, perhaps, but there are two dark lords who want her – if she’s willing to share.

Nia Farrell’s Amazon Author Page http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell

 

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🗡🗡🗡EXCERPT🗡🗡🗡

Mordred wanted her. He would come for her. It was only a matter of time.

She tread lightly, smelling the earthy, fecund scent of ancient growth and rotting, fallen timbers. Instinct made her pause, rattled by the distinct, disturbing feeling that she was being observed. She listened, freezing when she thought she heard the unnatural shift of crisp autumn leaves. When she could breathe again, she threw one more glance behind her and launched herself into full flight, tearing through the deepening forest, dodging low-hanging limbs of the massive oaks as she raced along the deer trail, any thought of stealth abandoned.

Hunter and hunted, predator and prey, the distance between them closed. “Halt!” a voice ordered, low, gruff, decidedly masculine. Fueled by a sudden burst of energy born of desperation, she sped up, flying along the ground…until a massive arm snaked around her waist, plucked her up, and spun her around. Momentum carried them full circle.

“Fool,” he growled in her ear, pointing at the trap that would have claimed her.  Sharpened spikes lined the floor of the pit, dug into the forest floor along the path.

“Poachers,” he spat. “I removed the cover to reveal it, but we’ve not yet had time to fill it in.”

Deidra shook in the confines of his hold, overcome by emotion. She thought she’d lost everything but she’d still had life, and breath. Her dream of regained freedom lived, too, if only she could talk him into letting her go.

She feared there would be no escaping him. The man was huge, with strength enough in his hair-dusted, muscle-roped arms that he held her as easily as he would a pet fenica weighing six stones. And he was fast – much quicker than the runners that her father had sent to summon aid…only to have their heads returned in a wicker basket with the demand to surrender or die.

“Please,” she whispered. Choking back the tears she’d refused to shed when the walls were breached, she softened the death grip she realized that she had on his arm. “And thank you,” she added, bracing to throw herself on the mercy of a man who might well have none. She turned her head, moving her gaze up her captor’s arm, over muscles that tested the seams of his hunting jerkin, past the whorls of black hair that peaked from the v of his shirt. Above the thick column of neck, his beard-shadowed jaw was strong and square, his chin firm and cleft in the middle. His full, sensuous lips were as perfect as those carved by a master sculptor’s hand. She risked a quick look higher and glimpsed thick black lashes framing eyes as blue as the waters of Saint Illian’s spring. She resisted the urge to see if they were just as deep and mysterious.

The man was huge, at least six and a half feet tall, his long black hair tied with a leather lace that had come loose in their chase. His long bow and a quiver of arrows remained slung firmly across his back. His clothes were clean enough to have been put on fresh this morning. He smelled of the forest – woods and sweat, linen and leather. His skin was either naturally dark or he was well-kissed by the sun goddess, Sola. Laugh lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes bespoke a nature much kinder than Mordred’s.

It could be worse.

“My name is Deidra,” she whispered, forcing herself to keep her gaze lowered, giving the appearance of meekness, at least. “I seek sanctuary. Can you give it?”

He lifted her chin and crooked a smile. “Perhaps. If I can trust you to follow and obey. If not…” The lines of his mouth flattened, underscoring the weight of his words. “We’ll have to spend the night here, at our peril. Which is it to be?”

With dark moons rising, she had no choice. The things that hunted on the night of the full moons were nothing compared to what fed in the blackest hours – especially this time of year, when the veils between the planes were thinnest. “I will do my best to match your stride, if you will lead, my lord.”

“Thorne,” he said, relaxing his hold so that she stood before him, dwarfed by his size.

“Keep your eyes on me. Step where I step. If you start to fall behind, let me know at once. Understood?”

“Aye,” she said, refusing to think of anything else but surviving, one step at a time.