Tempt Me with Darkness (Doomsday Brethren 1)

CHAPTER ONE

PRESENT DAY

ENGLAND

BESIDE THE LUSH BANKS of a pond, a woman beckoned, familiar. Yet Marrok of Cadbury had never seen her face in his life.

Vivid grass and multicolored flowers rioted around her. A cityscape towered in the background. None of that held his gaze rapt. Her bare-to-the-skin nakedness and dangerous beauty did.

The woman’s sable hair swept over one pale shoulder, curling under the swell of a generous breast topped by a berry nipple—and framing a birthmark he knew well.

She no longer possessed the platinum tresses into which he’d once thrust his hands. Her new face was delicate—higher cheekbones, pert nose, pillowy mouth—but the siren could not disguise herself from him. Black lashes fluttered over violet eyes that had long haunted his nightmares.

Morganna.

Lust crashed into him, a battering ram to the gut. Need stiffened his cock. He wanted her as he never had, with a frightening desperation. Bollocks! Was he daft enough to let her lure him to further doom?

Acid hatred mixed with clawing desire. He tried to look away, but his gaze caressed her small waist, her curved hips, the moist flesh between her thighs glistening. Luminous, her smile coaxed him to touch her, challenged him to walk away.

Marrok didn’t—couldn’t—do either.

Morganna bewitched him more now than she had on their wind-drenched night of shared pleasure an eon ago. The strawberry mark low between her breasts brought back memories of pale moonlight surrounding them as he’d succumbed to temptation and tupped her senseless. For that mistake, he’d paid dearly.

With the last fifteen centuries.

Mist swirled around her like the mystical fog of legend, as if caressing her. Though she was deadly, Morganna in this new form captivated him. Today, society had clinical terms for his obsession. He cared not. Getting the treacherous bitch to release him from his hell…nothing else mattered.

With an alluring curl of her fingers, she summoned him. Marrok gritted his teeth. To yield would only mean further torture. But his body betrayed him, inching closer, his cock swelling painfully. Cursing, he closed his eyes.

If he must resist her to be free, he feared he was doomed.

Marrok opened his eyes as a fresh rush of desire slammed him. Want was a luxury; this woman he needed. The feeling was as new as a baby’s first breath…and as welcome as the plague. And likely illusory, merely one of Morganna’s tricks.

Though he dug his fingers into his thighs, her haunting eyes pleaded with him. Marrok very nearly surrendered to the urge to touch her.

Then she waved her hand. Suddenly, she clutched to her naked breasts the ornate red book he knew meant the difference between his life and death, and she backed away.

Nay!

Marrok launched himself at her. They fell to the ground in a tangle of breaths, arms, and legs. The book fell beside them, its maddening lock still firmly closed.

Before he could grab it, she latched slender arms around his neck and arched, distracting him with her lush curves.

“Marrok, love me.”

Her plea spiked his fevered lust. He ached to sink deep into her. But he had to resist this fatal woman. Somehow.

“Release me,” he growled.

She clung tighter, then writhed against his erection. By God, she was wet. He was on fire for her. A heartbeat from explosion. A mere moment from forgetting how treacherous she was.

“Open the book!”

“You want me.” Her whisper made him shiver.

Why deny that? A waste of time and breath.

As she wriggled under him, lightning chased across his skin. Like a fool, he thrust against her and groaned. The need to utterly possess her screamed through him. Later, he’d remember all the reasons he could not.

Marrok dropped his hands to her thighs and pried them wider. “If you tempt me thus, you will take what I give you. All I give you.”

“Anything.”

Morganna’s nipples burned his chest as he lifted her legs over his arms. From one instant to the next, his clothes melted away and he poised himself at her entrance.

Groaning, he buried his face in her fragrant neck. Incredible. Inevitable. More intoxicating than ever. Marrok had sworn never to touch Morganna again—a promise he had kept for centuries—but now…he had to be inside her.

“Everything…” she encouraged.

As he surged forward, Morganna grabbed the book. Desire chained him; he could not move, not even to snatch it from her grasp.

With a wave of her pale hand, Morganna unlocked the volume. The cover fell open, revealing a hint of its pages, as she faded away.

“Give it to me!”

He shouted at fog. She—and the book—were gone.

Again, she’d used her power against him. Desire sizzled deep but he was, as ever, cursed. Desolation slashed him, leaving his soul to bleed.

His anguish made no sense. He’d never mourn Morganna’s loss. He would, in fact, spit on her grave if she had one.

“I am the key.” Her soft entreaty swept through the wind. “Find me.”

Marrok dragged himself to his feet, suppressing a primal scream. He must hunt her. That cityscape behind the pond he recognized as London. There, he could find her. His torment would never end without that book—and without a taste of her flesh.

Around him, something rattled. Marrok sat up with a startled gasp, his bed rumpled, eyes wide. Panting, he scanned his surroundings. Bare walls, carved bed. A sword beside his hand. Glock under his pillow.

His cottage, not a mist-draped clearing. No Morganna.

The book! Marrok whipped his gaze around. On his bedside table rested the leather-bound tome. The vehicle of his never-ending torment, the key to his freedom, was still here and still locked.

It had been but a dream.

Or perhaps a message? Though it had been centuries, Morganna had once enjoyed reaching from her exile to taunt him in sleep. He dared not disregard the message—she had returned to this mortal realm as an ethereal brunette, able to unlock the volume and intent on thieving it.

He rose, determined to find the sorceress in her new disguise. She alone could end the torture of his ages-old existence. Shadow and torment her he would, until she granted him what he wanted most in life.

Death.

A sharp rap against the cottage’s front window startled Marrok—the same sound that had awakened him. He hadn’t had a visitor in a decade, and preferred it that way. Guests were both unexpected and unwelcome.

Marrok slid the book into the safe hidden beneath loose floorboards in his bedroom, then took up his sword and stalked down the hall. As he slid around the corner, his heart raced with the anticipation of impending battle. Morning sunlight seeped through the window, illuminating dust motes and casting a human shadow onto the gleaming wooden floor.

If someone had come to take the book from him, he would greet them with bloodshed.

Marrok crept forward, crouched for attack. The shadow disappeared. A faint crunch of footsteps outside replaced the silhouette. He slipped toward the door silently, weapon in hand.

“Hey, freak of nature,” a familiar male voice called from outside, punctuated by another knock. “Are you in there?”

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Marrok yanked the door open to find a nightmare nearly as bad as the one that had awakened him. Golden hair spiked above sleek brows and wicked blue eyes. A glittery Hollywood smile belied the gifted wizard’s immense power. Bram Rion. Marrok groaned. Now he would never have any peace.

“Are you calling me a freak of nature? Coming from you, that is rich.”

“If today is your day to conduct beheadings, count me out.” Bram flashed the million-dollar smile that had seduced magickind into seeing things his way for four hundred years.

Marrok frowned and propped his sword against a nearby wall.

Bram paused outside. “Are you going to invite me past the magic circle guarding your place, or must I continue to stand on the mat?”

“If I do not?” Marrok challenged, raising a dark brow. He was heartily tempted not to. The magical coxcomb amused him at times…but Marrok didn’t dare trust him.

“If you don’t let me past, I can’t tell you something juicy…”

Bram would not go away until he spilled his secret, though Marrok cared little what the wizard had to say. He must find Morganna in her new guise, then force, coerce, or beg her into unlocking that accursed book and setting him free.

“Enter,” he huffed.

Bram stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “You look like hell. Did you sleep in yesterday’s trousers?”

Marrok stared at his rumpled chinos. “Did you come all this way to be my mum?”

“If you need one…” Bram shrugged, mischief lurking in his eyes.

“What the hell do you want? Say it and be gone,” Marrok demanded, striding to his room to snatch a fresh T-shirt and old jeans out of a drawer. Then he trekked across the hall to his bathroom.

Bram followed, lingering outside after Marrok slammed the door in his face.

After donning fresh clothes, he turned to a mirror and slid a brush through his dark hair. Ancient eyes stared back at him, filled with misery, anger, and thwarted lust. He did look like hell.

“To talk to you,” Bram said through the door. “You know that only something gravely important could bring me to the Creepified Forest.”

“Important to magickind.” Not necessarily important to him.

“Since I’m the only friend you have, it’s important to you, as well.”

“I have no friends.” Marrok pictured Bram gritting his teeth. He smiled.

“All right, then. I am the only living being who knows of your immortality and still speaks to you.”

Marrok grunted and reached for his toothbrush. “I am not interested. I must hunt.”

“The local market too civilized for your Dark Ages upbringing?”

Marrok wrenched open the bathroom door, staring at Bram as if he were a bloodsucking insect. “Is magickind so starved for a comedian that you suffice?”

Bram sighed. “I really have come for a reason.”

Though the wizard loved to antagonize him, Marrok knew the darling of magickind would not visit without cause.

“You will only pester me until I give in. Why are you here?”

“Because I’ve had a vision.”

Vision. Being in the same room with anything or anyone magical was enough to give him hives. Having Bram around was like a permanent case of leprosy. “Why tell me? You must have a magical healer for this sort of thing.”

“Because when it comes true, it will involve you.”

“I involve myself in nothing.” He shouldered past Bram and headed for the kitchen.

“And all of magickind knows it. Ever heard of the Book of Doomsday?”

“Nay.”

“It’s also called the Doomsday Diary.”

His uninvited guest placed his hand on Marrok’s shoulder. Immediately, he sensed a tightening under his forehead, then between the temples. Bloody hell, the bastard was trying to sneak into his thoughts. Marrok jerked away and slammed a mental door between them.

Bram reared back in surprise, speculation on his face. Clearly, humans were often unable to block him from their minds. But Marrok hadn’t survived half of forever without learning a few tricks.

“Never have I heard of the accursed book by either name. Do not touch me or attempt to invade my head again, or I will slice you in two.”

“It would be amusing for you to try, human.” The wizard snorted. “You’ve never seen the book? It’s red with gilt inlays, and is small, ornate, and very old.”

That sounded like… Marrok shoved the thought away, lest Bram read it. No reason to add fuel to his fire.

“You do know something.” Excitement revved up Bram’s face. “All magickind knows of the Book of Doomsday. It’s part of our folklore. I thought you might know of the book because it was created by my grandfather’s nemesis.”

“I did not know Merlin well. Why should I know of his enemies?”

“Well, Morganna was your lover.”

Marrok grimaced. “You have confused a one-time sating of lust with a real bond.”

“She’s the reason you’re immortal. She cursed you with the book, didn’t she?”

By hell’s fire, how could Bram know that? “I know naught of it.”

“You’re lying.”

“Shove off!” Marrok stomped to the door, opened it, and gestured with a wave.

“A moment more…” The wizard sent him a sober stare. “I want to share my vision with you.”

“Of?”

“The future. Watch.”

“Keep your visions to yourself, you droning codpiece.”

Bram ignored him, grabbed his arm, and waved a hand in front of his face. A picture appeared before Marrok’s eyes. He fell into it, unable to back away.

Nighttime. A darkened home, once sprawling and lovely, now decayed. A small mass of people walked toward it. Some were clad in gray robes trimmed in red. Others wore normal dress and oddly vacant stares.

Intrigued against his will, Marrok peered closer, then reeled back in shock. The people in robes dragged the others toward the house with ropes about their necks. The air of excitement surrounding the berobed was palpable.