Myth/Mythology – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Myth/Mythology – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:10 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Myth/Mythology – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Shattered Gods – Dark Olympus Read Online Katee Robert http://www.books2020.com/shattered-gods-dark-olympus-read-online-katee-robert Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:10 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/shattered-gods-dark-olympus-read-online-katee-robert Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology Authors: Katee Robert Advertisement

Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)

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She was Olympus's Queen. Its sacrifice. Its savior. Its destruction.

Long ago, Circe was Hermes' entire heart. The two women lived on the outskirts of Olympian society, content with a quiet life away from the spotlight. Then Circe caught the eye of Zeus…and was forced into a marriage that would take her freedom, her future, and in the end, her life. In the wake of the tragedy, gossip swirled about the woman Zeus married and (allegedly) murdered…but in time, everyone forgot about beautiful, tragic Circe.

Everyone but Hermes, who vowed on that day to bring Olympus to its knees.

Now, fifteen years later, a new Zeus rules the city, a new Hades protects his people, a new hope dawns…and Hermes has begun to think there may be things about Olympus worth saving. With Atalanta by her side―and slowly rebuilding her heart―Hermes may finally be ready to set aside her fury and seek the city's rebirth instead of its total annihilation. But there is a beautiful devil on Hermes' other shoulder: a devil who rose, blood-soaked, from where Zeus left her for dead years ago. A devil who has waited all this time to have her revenge.

And no matter their past, no matter the desperate love they once shared, no matter the complicated triad forming between the three women, Circe will not rest until all of Olympus lays shattered at her feet…and the gods help anyone who gets in her way.

A scorchingly hot modern retelling of Hermes and Atalanta and Circe

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

Hermes

Circe marches on Olympus.

It takes days because she doesn’t come alone. She brings the whole of the civilian population with her, an exiled queen returning to the city that tried to kill her. A homecoming for the ages. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. She played me with the softness of our history and a hope-laden kiss.

A kiss that betrayed.

The wind lashes my skin and yanks at my braids. Winter is nearly here, and it’s impossible to see that as anything but an ill omen. If I were up against anyone else in this world, I’d have no doubts. I’m the best, after all. I’ve worked hard for that title—both as Hermes and as me. No other Hermes in history managed to steal from every member of the Thirteen, the ruling party of Olympus. No other Hermes used glitter and charm to make the city’s powerful underestimate both the title and the person, all while I was searching their homes and offices for the information I needed. No other Hermes brought down the barrier that kept Olympus separate from the rest of the world.

And yet…Circe.

My phone buzzes against my hip, a welcome distraction from the shadows plaguing my thoughts. We have one opportunity to stop Circe’s wholesale slaughter of the Thirteen and the legacy families. One. And in the days since I delivered Zeus and Hera to Hades in the lower city—the last remaining part of this city that’s marginally safe—not a single one of the Thirteen have been willing to listen.

They’re in a sinking fucking ship, and they’re more concerned with their perception of power than filing to the offered rescue boat in an orderly fashion. I can’t save them all. I don’t even want to, if I’m being perfectly honest. The new crop is better than the ones who held the titles when I became Hermes, but that doesn’t mean anything. This is Olympus; it’s filled to the brim with monsters.

My phone buzzes again, and I sigh. “Right. Answer the phone, Hermes.” I dig it out of my pocket, a small smile tugging at the edges of my lips when I see Atalanta’s name on the screen. “Hey.”

She doesn’t answer right away. “Are you standing on a roof somewhere, brooding?”

That makes me laugh aloud. It feels good, a reminder that not everything is doom and gloom. “It’s rude to call me out so explicitly. You know I think best when I’m being dramatic.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you have some brilliant ideas up your sleeve. Ares hasn’t made it to the lower city barrier with her partners, but she’s already arguing with Hades about allowing her soldiers through the barrier. He’s refusing.”

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Circe isn’t interested in soldiers, other than converting them. Ares’s people will be safe enough without her at the helm.”

“I’m aware.” Her tone is dry enough to soak up the moisture in the room. She’s been spending too much time with her boss, Athena. “Unfortunately, Ares is being stubborn.”

Ares wouldn’t have survived this long without a stubborn streak to rival mine. I admire her for it, have since the time when she was Helen Kasios, beautiful daughter of the scariest monster in the city. A prize to be handed out at his whim, though he didn’t live long enough to accomplish that task. “They’ll have to figure that one out on their own. Lead a horse to water and all that. What’s the status with the others?”

“Artemis holed up in her building and locked down all entrances. I don’t expect her to change her mind.” Atalanta’s voice gains an icy edge. We placed her with Artemis all those years ago when we put this plan into motion, and she served loyally—as far as Artemis was concerned, at least—until Minos’s party in the country where she was offered up on a platter.

I almost lost Atalanta there. The thought makes me shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the cold air whipping around me. She’s been my dearest friend for over a decade, the one who pulled me out of the dark pit of grief I’d fallen into. The one who taught me how to hope again. The person I care about most in this world… Or, at least that was true before I discovered that Circe was still alive.

Things have gotten complicated since then.

“Good riddance,” I snap.

“Hermes.”

“I have no interest in killing Artemis, but if she’s determined to offer Circe her throat, then so be it.” The statement is mostly true. If I ever end up alone with Artemis, I can’t guarantee I won’t slit her damned throat for thinking she could hurt Atalanta without consequences. “I’m not willing to risk you or others to save her from herself.”

Atalanta pauses long enough for my anger to fade. Finally, she clears her throat. “The rest aren’t much better. I think Apollo plans on coming to the lower city, but he won’t leave until he’s sure he’s blocked as much access to our systems as he can.”

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Advertisement Hexes and Hearts Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters http://www.books2020.com/hexes-and-hearts-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:15:42 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/hexes-and-hearts-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Authors: W. Winters, Willow Winters Advertisement

Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >99

What’s better than a spicy fantasy romance?

How about three featuring a recluse witch in the woods discovering her fated mate, a twist on Hansel and Gretel, and the mysterious librarian welcoming a ghostly encounter to heat up the night.

All three have a pinch of cozy but a heaping amount of steam!

Fall in love with the fantasy again and again in this collection of witchy romances.
Titles included
The Witch’s Fate
Never Have I Ever
Haunted Desires

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Idalis

Some say it’s dreadful, but I love my life.

My days in the meadow usually take on a similar shape. In the summertime, I rise early in the morning because the land rises early. The song of the birds is my wake-up call. That’s the best time of day to tend my garden beds. Weeding in the heat of the afternoon is asking to become ill from too much sun, even if you do have magic. The morning sun is much better.

When I’m finished, I might walk to the small pond at the edge of the forest closest to my house and bathe. Then I have a bite to eat and bake bread, and finish any work left from the day before. With a flick of my hand the pages turn, and I read a bit in the warmth of the sun. Though I’ve already read my small collection of books many times over, a new book every so often comes my way and I enjoy the studies as much as the adventures. New spells come to me, and I refine them as much as I can before I write them down for anyone else to see. My grimoire is full of scribbles, but the papers I submit are proper and complete. Although I substitute some concoctions so no one may reverse the much-needed remedies.

My magic is powerful and yet, so often, I feel at peace in the quiet and lonesome. I look forward to long days of a gentle breeze and a divine sunset.

It’s not quite summer yet, but it has been a warm spring, and I look forward to what is coming…no matter how unfortunate others claim my life to be. They know not of what a sanctuary it has become, they know only of why the powerful witch lives by herself and why no others join me.

There is almost no chill in the wind anymore as I go about my late spring routine, yearning for more warmth and the life it brings. Soon it will be high summer, with the crickets singing in the grasses of the field and late sunsets and those early, early mornings.

In the wintertime, I go to see if I’ve received any letters when the suns are highest. I don’t care for the cold much but thankfully the winter is the shortest of seasons where I reside. Now, in the spring, I wait until the warmest part of the day is fading into late afternoon before I cross the field to the box where letters manifest themselves. A courier from the closest village leaves mail for me in a faraway land. A spell I cast years ago allows the letters to find themselves here. They call me a recluse, but I consider myself careful. After what happened, I take no risks, and my life is all I’ve ever wanted…mostly.

The ground beneath my feet is warm as I cross the field barefoot. The tall grass tickles my ankles and my thin linen dress drags behind me. Surely it will be dirty at its hem from the travels, but I love the way it feels, the way the wind blows back the sheer material. It reminds me of other times when I danced with my sisters under the full moon. Sisters who are no more.

When I’m tending to the gardens, I wear a straw hat to hide from the rays, but I take it off and let it swing from my fingers on my walk. A simple flick and the hat twirls beside me following the path I gave it.

The box is at the edge where the field meets the trees. A crossroads was needed, and nature provided it for me only a mile or so from my cottage. It’s near the path that leads to the clearing but not across it. My house is visible from this part of the path, but only at a distance, and if you’re not looking, you probably won’t notice. No one ventures here though. Not for years. Not since my request to Chamberlain Colson. I’m grateful it was granted, but had it not been, I would have cast a shadow and hid there.

I turn my back on that small glimpse of my home, its thatched roof, wisteria growing up the side of the chimney, and light blue shutters accenting a dark blue door, and then approach the letter box. Even from a distance, the Canterbury bells and roses are visible, and if I focus and allow the noise to quiet beside me, I can vaguely scent the florals. Sweet and light and providing a decadence most do not know they should wish for.

The box itself is sturdy, made of thick planks and four logs with a door in the upper half wide enough to fit the rare parcel that might come and not much else. It took me weeks to build it, the magic was particular for such a long-distance physical manifestation. Still I cast protective spells whenever I think of it.

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Advertisement House of Ink & Oaths Read Online Autumn Jones Lake http://www.books2020.com/house-of-ink-oaths-read-online-autumn-jones-lake Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:33:34 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/house-of-ink-oaths-read-online-autumn-jones-lake Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal, Suspense Authors: Autumn Jones Lake Advertisement

Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)

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Emery Corbin built her YouTube following by debunking ghosts, curses, and small-town legends. Proving the eerie tales of upstate New York's Crowsbridge Hollow are nothing more than hoaxes could be the story that pushes her channel into the spotlight.
But then she meets Declan Sterling.
Brooding, reclusive, infuriatingly sexy, and downright rude, Declan owns the House of Ink and Iron—the only tattoo shop in historic Crowsbridge Hollow. His body is etched in ink that tells more than stories—it moves. Reacts. Awakens whenever she’s near.
The Sterling family is cursed.
The price was devastating.
And the consequences still rule Declan’s life.
Each time Emery and Declan are together, her skepticism crumbles a little more. His tattoos pulse in her presence. Desire unleashes visions she can't deny. And the town seems more invested in tourist dollars than exposing ancient secrets.
Unraveling the truth behind the curse could free Declan.
But loving him drags Emery into the curse’s embrace.

House of Ink & Oaths by USA Today bestselling author Autumn Jones Lake is a gothic romance of cursed bloodlines, dangerous attraction, and a love that reveals buried truths

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Emery

The red light on my camera blink, blink, blinks like a tiny, steady heartbeat. I lock it onto the tripod, frame the old covered bridge behind me, step in front of the lens, and switch on my journalist voice.

“Hello, my curious crows. Emery here. For weeks now, my comment section has been begging—no, demanding—I come to Crowsbridge Hollow to investigate its so-called spooky happenings. You asked. I listened.”

I angle the camera toward Main Street.

“And here I am. Just in time for Creepy Christmas Season. This sleepy upstate New York town has absolutely committed to the aesthetic.”

I pause, scanning the street. “The carolers wear fangs, the fog rolls in like it’s a paid actor, and the coffee shop sells something called a Corpse Nog Latte topped with a chocolate skull.”

Phew. That was a mouthful.

A sharp breeze carries the river’s breath across my face. Cold pine. Wet stone. Smoke from a woodstove somewhere down Main Street.

I swing the camera around for B-roll footage. The bridge stretches over the narrow creek, timber ribs dark with age, iron rosettes pitted and scarred. Planters brimming with yellow and rust mums block either end. A stern sign announces, “Pedestrians Only.” Across the planks, a tourist in a black-and-red cape gallops across the planks, a plastic sword raised in triumph. At the mouth of the bridge, someone waits, phone held high as they film and laugh. A pair of crows watch from a railing leading up to the bridge with bright, cynical eyes, as if finding the human performance disappointing.

Between two lampposts, a paper banner droops and flutters.

SEASON’S CREEPINGS—CELEBRATE WHAT HAUNTS THE HOLLOW.

In smaller type, almost an afterthought:

Please respect our bridge.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket to check the screen.

Wren: Filming yet? Don’t forget. Need 20 sec hook for shorts

I thumb back a reply.

Me: got it. Festive and freaky all over. I’ll try not to die of frostbite.

Three dots. Then another text pops up.

Wren: Please actually don’t die. Trend alerts popping bc of missing kid. Remember, keep tone compassionate.

I know. I know. Sheesh. Mason’s name repeats in my head like an uneasy whisper. Sixteen. Vanished after a dare at the cemetery. Police have no clue. Is he just a teenager doing teenage things or is something more sinister happening?

Maybe my opening was too flippant. Should I redo it?

I promised my followers no grief tourism. No filming crying parents for clicks, no turning the living into gossip fodder for views. That’s not journalism, it’s ghoulish. My byline used to run in a real newspaper, and even though the masthead’s gone, the training stuck. I still follow the code to be curious and seek the truth. Only difference is now I chase the stories legacy media has ignored—the ones that blur the line between folklore and fact.

I hit record again and step in front of the camera.

“Okay.” My voice remains calm, steady, and professional. “Before we unwrap today’s small-town legend, a serious note. A teenage boy—Mason Baker—disappeared last week. He was last seen near Crowsbridge Cemetery. If you know anything, contact Sheriff Bertram’s office. Links in the description. Remember, we’re curious crows, not cruel clowns. Mason has family who is worried about him, so be kind in the comments.”

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and pivot toward Main Street. Porches strung with quivering ropes of red-and-black garlands. A bakery window stacked with gingerbread skulls, bone-white sugar cookies, and dark chocolate Yule logs. Another shop advertises Krampus Keepsakes—Naughty List Approved. Everything about this town screams, “empty your wallets, merry little tourists.”

Across from the bridge sits a narrow brick building painted black, the windows tinted dark, the door a slab of wood banded in iron. Gold lettering on the glass window states House of Ink & Iron, with an extra-swirly ampersand. I love a good ampersand. Instantly intrigued, the shop’s name hums in my head like sleigh bells hitting an enticing note.

I slip my camera into its bag, fold my tripod, and tuck it in the outside pocket.

“Note to future me,” I mutter for my audio notes, holding my phone up to my lips. “Interview owner of Ink and Iron. Tattoos can carry more folklore than T-shirts and cupcakes.” Knowing I’ll probably forget to listen to the voice note later, I uncap a blue pen and flip open my notebook. Blue ink smears my fingers. Of course it does. My hands always look like I wrestled a rainbow-farting unicorn and lost. Sighing, I jot a quick note, then tuck the pad and pen away.

Eager to interview some locals, I head toward Main Street. A woman at a folding table sits beneath an awning strung with flickering red bulbs and paper snowflakes shaped like skulls. The sign behind her reads Crowsbridge Artisan Market—Handmade for the Damned and the Divine.

Cute.

She offers glossy brochures about tours of the cemetery. The back of one brochure features an image of a veiled bronze statue of a woman on a snowy hill. Icicles drip from her fingers, the patina streaked down her face in green tears. The text reads “The Legend of the Weeping Widow” in an elegant serif font.

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Advertisement His in The Fire (Hades & Persephone Duology #2) Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters http://www.books2020.com/his-in-the-fire-hades-persephone-duology-2-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:21:16 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/his-in-the-fire-hades-persephone-duology-2-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Authors: W. Winters, Willow Winters Series: Hades & Persephone Duology Series by W. Winters
Series: Willow Winters
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >81

From USA Today Bestselling Author Willow Winters comes the second part in the sizzling Hades & Persephone Duet.

Ripped away from Olympus to the Underworld was a hell of its own making, but so is returning.
Leaving behind Hades and my rightful place as Queen of the Underworld caused an agony I’ve never known before.
What’s worse is that the war has not come to an end and my place in Olympus is questioned by all because of Hades’ demands. My mother will stop at nothing to have me safe with her and neither will Hades.

I’m left torn between life, Olympus, my mother and the throne I was always meant to have beside my lover, the King of the Dead.
I miss him dearly, I crave his touch and I need the love I felt so strongly in his presence.
What brings me the most fear though, is my own thoughts and my own power. The threat of losing what I had is enough to make me question my sanity. My mother would starve the world for me, Hades would burn it. But myself… What I’m willing to do as the suffering intensifies is blasphemy and terrifies me to my core.
There’s no going back and in this place I must find peace and balance before it’s too late.

I know one thing for certain: after dark, there will always be light. If that wasn’t true, the dark would not have a name…
And I crave both.

Please note: His in the Dark must be read first

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Playlist

Little Girl Gone - Chinchilla

Lily - Alan Walker, K-391

Light Em’ Up - Fall Out Boy

Bones - Imagine Dragons

Take me to church - Hozier

You Give Love A Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Sweet Dreams - Eurythmics

Persephone

Olympus is blinding.

The shoes click on the white marble floor with every step I take, and I can barely breathe. Hecate’s hand protectively around my arm holds me close, and I…I can’t see. It is the brightest light I have ever encountered. One moment, I was in the Underworld and the next, the mother of crossroads and keeper of the keys has taken me home.

I cover my eyes with a stifled gasp as my legs find grounding. Hecate’s grip tightens, but only so much that I may rely on her for support. She’s strong. I’ve always known such things, but now I can feel her power in her touch.

She pauses as my body stiffens and I heave in a breath, my head light.

Her eyes are vacant as I look up to her and yet they hold so many memories.

“Are you well?” Hecate whispers. Her voice echoes as if I’ve heard it three times. The mother, the maiden, the crone. All of her is concerned.

“Yes,” I answer in a hushed tone. I am not well though. My heart screams the truth. My soul is torn and where I belong is unknown to me. Fate has meant to torture me.

Her eyes flash as if she knows. As if she can hear every thought that races through me.

Unable to meet her gaze, my eyes adjust to my surroundings. Olympus.

Everything has changed during my time in the Underworld. I found myself there, my power and my strength. I learned to live without the fear of what was to come, and now I have been ripped away. Or rather I ripped myself away.

The words Hades and Hecate spoke ring in my ears. The words she said to me:

No magic will save you now. You must come back to the world that is now forever changed.

We have both changed, I answered, and now I know it is true. The girl I was before I went to the Underworld would never have found the light of Olympus to be so harsh.

And what Hades said to Hecate…

Do not leave her side. Do not betray me.

His own words were a betrayal to me, though. I’d fallen for him, truly and deeply. And yet he spoke in front of me as though there were conversations I may not partake in. Could he have made a deal with Hecate about me? Did they have some understanding before Hecate appeared in the Underworld?

You have betrayed me. That was what Hecate replied. I am no fool. There were conversations Hades participated in that I was not privy to. It all happened too fast. I was kept in the dark, and resentment bleeds in slowly with that knowledge.

Why didn’t Hades tell me? The memory of his voice sends chills through me.

Hecate is coming. There is too much death, my queen. The gods have created an imbalance.

My mind spins with these revelations. I inhale deeply. I will not allow myself to slip into feeling small. That is how I felt when I discovered I had been taken to the Underworld, and it cost me days I could have done more with. Instead, those days were filled with tears and despair.

“Are you sure?” Hecate questions. My gaze searches hers. Comfort lies beyond her concern. As if this is meant to be.

“It is…very bright,” I manage to say, my eyes stinging as they adjust. “And the Underworld…” I whisper, unable to complete the thought. It was chaos in the Underworld. Parts of Hades’s realms collapsed, crumbling as I watched. Souls poured through the sky above us, and Hades moved through the vast space so quickly I could not fathom the power it must have taken. “I cannot see. I need a moment to adjust.”

Her grip loosens only so she may hold my hand as I come to terms with all that has happened.

I crave to go back to Hades. For him to stand at my side. I need to go back to my power, to the rooms I had grown used to, and to the magic I had been working on.

My magic. My heart stutters, and the doubt I once felt returns only to fall silent to the ringing in my ears.

The marble remains steady under my feet.

I blink slowly, forcing myself to stare at the floor. Even the floor is bright with light reflecting off it. It is a strange light, though.

The room Hecate and I are standing in is spacious and cool, but it looks out on a courtyard with white smoke drifting through it. A large pot has been tipped over and cracked, its pieces lying scattered where it fell. There is more smoke wafting above the roof.

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Advertisement His in the Dark (Hades & Persephone Duology #1) Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters http://www.books2020.com/his-in-the-dark-hades-persephone-duology-1-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:41:09 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/his-in-the-dark-hades-persephone-duology-1-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Authors: W. Winters, Willow Winters Series: Hades & Persephone Duology Series by W. Winters
Series: Willow Winters
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >103

There are two things I’ve always known:
Magic is real.
The Gods have no mercy for women like me.

I was born into power although what little I have is dying. Nonetheless, I’ve been protected all my life. There are myths and tales that say one day I will come to a fork in a long, long path. Either the light will take me or the dark. I never paid any mind to the whispers and warnings…

Until he crept into my window late at night.

Cloaked in darkness, silent as death. Every inch of me felt terror and yet I also felt something else. Something I’d never known.

He tasted like sin … and I loved it.

In a single moment, my entire world went dark and I was nothing more than a captive in the Underworld.
Nothing but his and suddenly all the lore brought a chill to my bones… even if he did light a fire in the most secret depths of me.

Prepare for a dark retelling of Hades and Persephone with spells and war and a love story that would change our world forevermore

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PLAYLIST

Ashley Sienna & Ellise - Pretty In The Dark

Sam Tinnesz - Play with Fire

Neoni - Wonderland

Neoni - Darkside

Billie Eilish - you should see me in a crown

PROLOGUE

Hades

With the fire crackling and the rustling of the sheets, she turns over in my bed. There’s a sultry, sinful look in her dark eyes, filled with lust as she peers back at me. The innocence is still there as she pulls the silk threads to her chest and her pouty lips, slightly swollen from pleasuring me slip open at the sight of me towering over her.

My Persephone. My Queen.

Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“The blush in your cheeks adds to your beauty,” I murmur and kneel on the bed, intent to crawl to her, to spread her thighs and bring her to the highest of pleasures with my tongue, but she hesitates. Her doe eyes go wide. She leans back slightly, against the headboard and brings the sheets up higher.

A deep groan of discontent bellows up my chest at her actions. The voices of warning hiss at my impatience.

She will be mine in every way. Every possible essence of her will bear my mark.

Time, the warning echoes in the back of my head. In time … she will be yours.

The Fates’ foretellings ease the beast inside of me who yearns for her complete submission. Her love and acceptance and the gratitude she has yet to display. Apart from crying out my name only moments ago on this very bed.

I imagine my cum still leaks from her cunt. The pleasure still surges in her blood as it does mine.

I thought the deed was done… but there’s so much more that must happen.

“Are you sated then?” I question her, intent on fixing the error of my ways. If only for her.

She stares at me, her mind playing tricks on her no doubt and the magic depleting her even more so than it has in the last months of her capture.

“My Queen,” I get her attention, “You created that,” I gesture to the flames on the back wall.

There’s a hitch in her breath. Her eyes widening as the flames reflect in her darkened eyes. “You have power in pleasure. Power that was always meant to be yours,” I tell her and ease myself to the back of the bed. Her gaze flicks to mine then back to the raging fire. The flames lick up the wall, leaving black marks in their wake. They will scar and remind her, she herself is a fire no one can tame.

The very thought brings me pleasure.

“Is that not divine?” I ask her in a whisper. “Is it not power?”

Her eyes come back to me and I know she ponders my question although she’s silent. I will break her and remake her in the way she so desperately needs.

She was born a Goddess but prior to me, before I took her in against her will, she would have faded. She knows this. How can she not love me when I give her such a gift? When I pine for her and her glory. I fucking worship her and still she stares back at me as if I am nothing but an enemy. Even after what we just had. Even after all I’ve done for her.

“It is not my magic,” she responds, her eyes turning glassy although there’s a spark there, almost defiant. Her spine straightens as the glow of the flames lick along the soft curve of her neck and the ambers glint in the darkness of her gaze.

“It is not what I was created for. I am the Goddess of Life and there is only death here,” she whispers, soft and gentle, her words caressing although they’re in rebellion. Does she not know the power in that? The magic that fills the room when she’s lost in the role she was meant to play.

The Goddess of Life can still rule the dead.

The bed groans with my weight as I make my way to her, naked and wanting. As she stays perfectly still, no longer in questioning or hesitancy but more so in rebellion, my cock hardens. I want nothing more than to hear her moan my name again and again as I give her undeniable pleasure.

Ever so gently, I brush my thumb against her jaw. The softness of her skin is at odds with the calluses that I’ve earned through brutality. Her eyes close slowly, and she leans into me just slightly. Progress. Heat rages through my blood. There is still hope that I will win this war, although the warning from the Fates echoes in the back of my mind as I kiss her. Her blood is hot as she deepens it. Her fists tighten in the sheets as she resists grabbing me, keeping herself from clinging to me.

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Advertisement Fallen Gods (Fallen Gods #1) Read Online Rachel Van Dyken http://www.books2020.com/fallen-gods-fallen-gods-1-read-online-rachel-van-dyken Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:08:07 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/fallen-gods-fallen-gods-1-read-online-rachel-van-dyken Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Authors: Rachel Van Dyken Series: Fallen Gods Series by Rachel Van Dyken
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Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >124

They said the Gods were myth. That the Giants were only stories told around dying fires. They lied.

The Gods aren’t dead—they’re only sleeping, locked in mortal bodies, scattered across the world, waiting for the right spark to wake them. And my father is the most ruthless of them all.

He raised me to obey. To bleed. To be his blade when the time came. Now he’s sending me to Endir University, a place filled with ancient bloodlines and deadly secrets, to steal back Mjolnir, the hammer of legend. If I fail, everyone I love dies.

But Aric Erikson wasn’t part of the plan. He’s the enemy’s heir. Distant. Dangerous. And…the one person I can’t afford to fall for. He’s closed himself off completely behind a wall of ice, but the more I’m ordered to unravel him, the harder it becomes to remember where the lies end and I begin.

There's only a mission I never chose—and a man I was never meant to love—standing between me and a war that will decide the fate of the world.

But if I’m the spark, maybe he’s the fuse. And the Gods? They’re about to wake up angry

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Rey

“Would you?” I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice.

We’re stopped in the middle of campus, a cool breeze brushing against my heated cheeks giving me the courage to ask again. “Would you run away with me, knowing that the world would eventually end? Knowing that the world would burn?”

Weeks ago, I never would have thought we’d have a conversation like this. Now the air between us is cold enough that his breath fogs in front of him in a frosty haze. In another life, I would have thought it poetic. Now, it just reminds me exactly what he is.

A Giant.

Ruthless.

Powerful.

A God in his own right.

Aric shifts his weight, and silence stretches between us like a chasm neither of us can cross.

Maybe I never should have let go with him. Not after knowing what was really behind the war between the Gods and the Giants. Now it just feels like the end.

“You’re hesitating.” I can barely get the sentence out.

His dark gaze holds mine, and his jaw clenches.

“I can’t promise you,” he finally says. “Not until we end this.”

All I wanted was for him to say yes. I wouldn’t have made him go through with it. I just wanted to know that he was willing to take the risk—for me.

The soft rustle of ancient leaves threads through the space between us, a low reminder of where we stand…and what’s at stake.

“So that’s it, then? We’re doing this.” Heat burns my cheeks, but I had to ask. Just one last time.

His tongue slides across his bottom lip, then his jaw tightens—like he’s trying to keep himself from saying too much. As a few errant flakes of snow float through the air, his eyes remain locked on mine.

I shake my head. One of us needs to be strong enough for this.

“I don’t need the cold,” I say and feel even more pathetic. “I don’t want it.”

“But I still need your warmth,” he adds, and I know he means it. But it’s no longer enough. Snow dusts his broad shoulders, the same shoulders that have carried so much.

“One of us is going to die.” I finally say the words out loud.

And deep in my soul, I know.

It’s going to be me.

Chapter One

Rey

One week earlier…

The note in my hand is so crumpled and damp with sweat that I’m sure the ink is etched into my skin like a brand. But that’s not what gets me.

Despite the way he treated her, I’ve never seen my stepmother cry. Not once. In all my years with her, Laufey’s been a fortress—unshaken, unreadable. Through his abuse, through her sickness, through everything.

Until today. My eighteenth birthday.

At first, I thought it was because of what my father finally asked me to do—that one “favor” I always knew was coming but prayed never would. Until of course it finally did.

But this? It feels heavier.

Like she’s been holding in something massive for years, saving her tears for this very moment.

Today, Laufey finally broke.

Between sobs, she begs, “Please, Rey. Don’t do this. We can find another way.”

I can’t meet her gaze. She was the only safe space I had other than Rowen. She protected me, and now it’s my time to protect her. She may not be my real mother, but she’s the only one I’ve ever known. And her tears cut through me like a blade.

I glance around my father’s opulent home and, for the first time in my entire miserable life, wish I could stay. But I can’t. Father has given me a mission—and promised me the world if I succeed.

My stomach pitches, but fear doesn’t matter. Can’t. Not if it means setting Laufey free.

“I know what you dream about, Rey. One day being away from me,” Father says, unmoved by his wife’s hysterics. “I know it eats you alive.”

His words dig deep into my skin like an ache I can’t get rid of, and I don’t bother to deny them. Instead, I turn to hold his dark gaze, and I let just the tiniest hint of a spine bring my shoulders higher.

An icy smile spreads across his face, and my gaze shifts. White hair pulled back into his signature low ponytail. Patch covering his right eye. Three-piece navy suit accented by a sharp walking cane. Gold adornments draping from his tie. One a hammer, the other the head of his enemy.

He’s a riot at parties.

Father glances at his bodyguard leaning against the darkened doorway to my left and nods. Without a word, Rowen moves to collect Laufey. He’s just a few years older than me and taller than Father, his shoulders seemingly twice as wide, his demeanor youthful and strong. And yet, he’s always appeared the weaker man. Maybe that’s because he obeys Father’s every whim without question.

I get it. I feel just as small in his shadow.

My stomach twists as Rowen wraps an arm around Laufey’s waist and hauls her up. She collapses against his broad chest as he leads her down the hallway to her private rooms.

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Advertisement A Deal for a Kiss Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters http://www.books2020.com/a-deal-for-a-kiss-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Thu, 19 Dec 2024 11:51:10 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-deal-for-a-kiss-read-online-w-winters-willow-winters Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Novella, Paranormal Authors: W. Winters, Willow Winters Advertisement

Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >21

Nothing could hide her from me.

The darkness is everywhere and it moves about in the mortal realm….
And then there’s her. Bright and so easily seen.

Mine.

She calls to me like I prayed to the Gods she would.
I should feel guilt for what I’m going to do. What I must do.
She doesn’t remember, but I do. She belongs to me.

I will claim her and bring her to the underworld as mine.
At all costs… nothing will keep me from what belongs to me.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Ivy

It was black for only a moment. In and out of it I went. Her voice was there; I was surrounded by the strangers on the street. It was plain and normal, and I had nothing to fear. Then there was nothing.

In a single step the chill of fall was gone. The heat licked across my back as if flames were there, but it was vacant of light. Nothing but darkness.

In a blink, the light returned. People moved about me as if nothing had happened. My heart rampaged, desperate to escape, and my scream was caught in the back of my throat.

Had it happened at all? Too paralyzed to move, all I did was breathe, then I was taken again. Back to the darkness, falling this time and landing harshly on the rough carved stone beneath me.

I could see nothing, feel nothing but the unforgiving stone. Hear nothing but the violent beat of my pulse. I thought there was no one and nothing, until I felt him behind me. Turning as quickly as I could served no purpose; there was nothing but blackness surrounding me.

Surely I was somewhere I didn’t belong and then, at once, I was returned. Back to the modern world built on ancient ruins with a history so cursed and intricate not a soul could know of what would plague me. Of him. I thought I was alone in that dark place. But the two deep marks on the back of my hip would prove that to be a lie.

I wasn’t alone in that place...and I’m not alone here either.

IVY

It was the architecture that brought me to Edinburgh. I thought I could learn from the old buildings that have housed so many stories and all the places where so many lives have lived. The texture of the walls and the plants that have overgrown fallen castles. The romantic side of me was pulled to the fantasy of it all. My love of history is one thing, my desire for stories is another.

I thought my life in Scotland would be picturesque like the photos they show to prospective students to help them make their decision. My sabbatical only lasts so long and it’s time for me to make a hard decision on what to do after my master’s program is over. Real life as some would say, but I wasn’t ready.

I’m not naive enough to believe that real life always turns out like a dream or a glossy photograph in a brochure.

I didn’t expect everything to be so different. I could have never imagined what was to come. The unsettling feelings deep in the marrow of my bones. The chills that would come without warning. And yet…how it all would still call to me.

I pull my hood tighter over my head as I walk down the wet sidewalk. It’s been raining most of the day. The pitter-patter and the harsh cold have been near constants. At first, they were soothing, nearly cleansing, but the gray skies have drained me almost as much as the nightmares have. I dare to peer up… The rain isn’t quite rain right now. It’s spitting, like it could become heavy fog any second.

The wind bites the tip of my nose. The rain is the kind that chills me to the bone.

The murky light reflects how I feel about this street and the sun, which is already mostly set. My boots click on the uneven stone walk as I pass the street as quickly as I can. Edinburgh looks older in the dark, as if the buildings are hiding secrets behind their doors and windows.

Some of those buildings are hiding secrets.

But I still find myself desperate to reach the café and go inside. The chill deepens despite the hood of my rain jacket, and I know it’s him. Swallowing thickly, I quicken my pace.

He’s stalking me. If he’s even real… This city is making me think I’m losing my mind.

When I first came to Edinburgh, I thought I felt that way because I was alone in a new city without many friends. I’ve always been a loner, but I’ve never felt the loneliness that’s haunted me here.

It was harder than I thought to find people to talk to. I had imagined forming a group of friends who would walk with me to the café and spread their notebooks and books out on the table with mine. I thought maybe we’d have so much to talk about that the barista might give us a look or two warning us to quiet down.

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Advertisement Sanctuary (Roman’s Chronicles #1) Read Online Ilona Andrews http://www.books2020.com/sanctuary-romans-chronicles-1-read-online-ilona-andrews Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:14:09 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/sanctuary-romans-chronicles-1-read-online-ilona-andrews Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Authors: Ilona Andrews Series: Roman's Chronicles Series by Ilona Andrews
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Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >40

It’s not easy serving Chernobog, the God of Destruction, Darkness and Death…especially during the holidays; and especially when you’re out of eggnog and one of your pesky, freeloading mythic creatures has eaten your last cookie.
Roman would like nothing more than to be left alone, but when a wounded boy stumbles into his yard and begs for sanctuary, Roman takes him in. Now elite mercenaries are camped out on his property, combat mages are dousing the house with fire, and strange priests are unleashing arcane magic. They thought Roman was easy pickings, just a hermit in the woods, but they chose the wrong dark priest to annoy. For while Roman might be patient, he is the Black Volhv, filled with the love of his terrible god. For his adversaries, it’s a fight to the death, but for him, it’s just another day in the neighborhood.

Includes a bonus short story and more!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

Snow crunched under his feet. It spread in front of him like a glittering blanket, a foot deep, sheathing the vast plain he was crossing, and he sank a little with every step. Above, a night sky gaped like a hole in existence, a spray of stars floating in its black depths.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking. It felt like forever. He didn’t know his destination either. He only felt it, pulling him like a magnet toward the dark wall of colossal pines at the edge of the plain.

Step. Another step.

Bitter cold bit at his face. His nose had gone numb, and he could barely feel his fingers in his thick red mittens as he clutched the rope that was pulled tight over his shoulder.

He was holding a rope. Why?

It felt strange somehow.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. An enormous fir tree lay on the snow behind him. The rope was wrapped around its trunk. Behind it, a long trail of rough snow marked his wake and rolled off into the horizon. He had dragged the tree for miles.

The field around him tore like a paper screen.

Roman opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. His back ached. Things snapped into focus. The tree, the harness, the destination, everything made sense.

Fucking hell.

He sat up slowly, fighting soreness. His whole body protested, whining against the movement. Tomorrow was December twenty-fourth. The thought turned his stomach.

Being the priest of a dark god came with certain obligations. Obligations he honored with dedication and discipline. But a man had his limits. This was his. His god knew it. Roman was available any other time of the year, but from December twenty-third to December twenty-fifth he was to be left alone. Such was their unspoken agreement for the last seven years.

Roman didn’t expect kindness. Chernobog was the God of Destruction, Darkness, and Death, the Black Flame, the Final Cold, the End of Everything. Hoping for kindness would be foolish, and he wasn’t a foolish man. No, he had expected fairness. Chernobog, for all his many faults and temper tantrums, was unfailingly fair.

Roman stared at the rumpled covers. He had this vague but disturbing anxiety, as if he’d either forgotten to do something important or something vital had gone missing and he couldn’t figure out what. It irritated him to no end.

The foul mood was nothing new. He detested the end of December. Koliada, Christmas, Saturnalia, he hated every iteration of the Winter Rites, with all of their corresponding rituals. The entire season was a wash. He didn’t decorate, he tried his damnedest not to celebrate, and the only thing he did like about it was the food.

Roman threw the covers aside, wincing against the cold air. Naked as a newborn. Ugh. His crumpled pajama pants lay on the floor. He must’ve stripped in his sleep, because why the hell not? It’s not like it was the middle of winter and his house felt like an icebox.

He growled under his breath, got up, picked up his clothes—predictably soaked in sweat—and headed to the bathroom. He tossed them into the hamper, relieved himself, and went to brush his teeth. A big red welt crossed his chest, a souvenir from the rope. Great. Just great.

His reflection was looking leaner, too. Years ago, as he’d trudged through the wilderness half-starved, with a hundred extra pounds of gear on his back, next to other young fools in the same pixelated Army camo, he promised himself that when he got out, he would eat more and move less. Old, fat, and happy. That was the goal.

He was thirty-four years old now, and if he skipped a few meals, the flesh melted off him, leaving behind muscle and gristle, as if being in service to Chernobog burned him from the inside out. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up like his father, a gaunt old man with a perpetual frown stuck on his face.

He put on sweatpants, a T-shirt, and an old sweatshirt so soft and worn, it was threadbare. It felt familiar, and right now familiar was good.

It was a bad idea for him to be alone around this time. He’d planned on spending the holiday with Ashley, a lawyer with long legs and a fondness for light spanking, but Ashley was no longer around. He couldn’t really blame her. Sooner or later, they all ran.

His only other option was family. The thought made Roman shudder. They would be celebrating Koliada, the Winter Festival. The entire clan would be at his uncle’s house right now, getting ready for the monster parade and putting the finishing touches on the tree. The tree had been borrowed from the Christians, who in turn stole it from other pagans, but nobody cared anymore where it came from. Tomorrow night a noisy, happy crowd of Slavic neopagans would pummel each other in the ritual brawl, sing songs, then eat, get roaring drunk, and exchange gifts, while he sat there like a dark icicle, alone, wrapped in a swirl of human warmth but untouched by it.

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Advertisement House of Gods – Royal Houses Read Online K.A. Linde http://www.books2020.com/house-of-gods-royal-houses-read-online-k-a-linde Wed, 25 Oct 2023 18:31:29 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/house-of-gods-royal-houses-read-online-k-a-linde Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Authors: K.A. Linde Advertisement

Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 131875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >138

USA Today bestselling author K.A. Linde returns to the Royal Houses series with House of Gods: the story of Kerrigan Argon, a half-Fae, half-human as she seeks her place in an unforgiving world filled with magic, mayhem, and romance. Perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas, Holly Black, and V.E. Schwab.

On the other side of a portal, Kerrigan Argon lands in the home of the gods--alone.

She's lost everything: Her family. Her magic. Her world.

Even her dark Fae prince, Fordham Ollivier, has disappeared. She has no where to turn, and no idea how to survive in this new world.

The first kind face in the crowd gives Kerrigan hope. Until her would-be helpers, kidnap and deliver her into a new kind of hell and the only chance to get home--the gladiator ring.

Win the gladiator tournament and receive a gift from the gods.

Kerrigan is determined to gain that boon to save her people.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

The New Land

The grass under Kerrigan’s cheek was soft and springy. As if she were waking up back in her mountain home with the feather down mattress beneath her. Any second now, Benton and Bayton would sweep in and busy her out of the comfort of her Society accommodations and off to work. Her eyes would flutter open, and everything would be well.

But that wasn’t right at all.

Her head buzzed. Bees zipped in and out of her skull, and the noise was only getting louder as she drew closer to consciousness.

* * *

“Do you think she’s alive?”

* * *

Kerrigan shuddered at the sound of the voice. Her whole body trying, yet failing, to break out of whatever web she was snagged in.

* * *

“She looks a trifle dead to me, Matron.”

“She’s still breathing.”

“Barely.”

* * *

She needed to wake up. She needed to face what was on the other side of this mossy grass. There was something out there she needed to do.

But all of it felt so … distant.

It would be easier if she just lay here and did nothing. She had lost. That much bypassed the buzzing in her ears. She had lost, and she had traveled here—wherever here was—and giving up felt so much easier than fighting.

Surrender.

A voice like honey soothed her, silencing the bees and letting her know that it would be all right. Everything would work out. If she lay here and slept and forgot what she was after, then she could go on. And on sounded so much nicer than the alternative.

* * *

“Should I run for a healer?”

“Can’t afford one, can we? It’d be more than she’s worth.”

* * *

No.

She pushed the honey tongue away from her. Memories floated past it as Kerrigan forced her way through the viscous substance coating her memories and dragging her to the deep beyond. Her mission was important. It was the only way to save her friends and family back home. A home she might never return to if she didn’t push forward.

What was she supposed to be doing?

* * *

“I don’t know. That pink skin and red hair …”

* * *

Gentle like a lullaby, the answer returned to her.

Her mother.

Her mother was alive.

For eighteen years, she’d believed that her mother had died in childbirth. Most human women didn’t survive birthing a Fae child. Even a half-Fae, like Kerrigan, who had too much magic by most people’s standards, the mother rarely survived. It was something in the amount of magic that was incompatible with the human.

Except her mother had survived.

In fact, she’d left the land of the gods to drop Kerrigan off with her father to keep her safe. As scandalous as it was, her mother had already been married, and her husband would stop at nothing to remove an illegitimate child.

Now, she was Kerrigan’s only hope.

Alandria needed her. The city of Kinkadia needed her. The Society and all the dragons and all the people it had sworn to protect needed her.

And Kerrigan had to find her.

* * *

“Her eyes are moving. I think she’s waking up!”

* * *

Kerrigan coughed, spitting up blood onto the mossy blanket. She hacked until there was nothing left in her stomach.

The sun shone like a beacon overhead. She dug her fingers into the mossy grass, and it was not half as soft as she’d imagined. The blades scratched against her fingers, her eyes felt like she had sand in them, and there was an empty pit at the bottom of her stomach.

Her magic.

Oh, right.

Her magic was gone.

She retched again. Retched until she was dry-heaving and thought she might bring up her insides.

The rest of the problem came back to her in a hurry. The Red Masks, a terrorist group set on eradicating half-Fae and humans alike, had taken control of the Society at the induction of the new council. Kerrigan’s mentor, Bastian, revealed himself as the leader and slaughtered her surrogate mother, Helly. A circle of thirteen drained the magic from Kerrigan’s body. She and Fordham had escaped only to fall through a portal to Domara, the land of the gods. Her mother’s homeland.

One of those things was too much to handle.

All of them was a punch to the gut.

She couldn’t survive without magic. People went insane from a temporary loss. But this emptiness felt endless. If she thought about it for more than a second, her world went black at the edges.

No.

She pushed that thought away. She hadn’t died from it yet, and she wouldn’t die before she saved her people. There was no other option.

She needed Fordham.

She needed to find her mother.

And she needed to get home.

“Girl, are you well?” a female voice asked urgently.

It was one of the voices that Kerrigan had thought was lost in her mind. She finally peeled her eyes open long enough to discover there were in fact two people huddled over her. A pale, freckled older woman in a brown dress robe with her blonde hair up in curls and a much younger man who was shirtless, in nothing but dark brown pants. His skin was tan in comparison to the woman’s, and he had dark hair and eyes and a muscular torso and arms.

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Advertisement The Legendary Highlander (Highland Myths Trilogy #3) Read Online Donna Fletcher http://www.books2020.com/the-legendary-highlander-highland-myths-trilogy-3-read-online-donna-fletcher Tue, 09 May 2023 20:48:53 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-legendary-highlander-highland-myths-trilogy-3-read-online-donna-fletcher Genre: Historical Fiction, Myth/Mythology Authors: Donna Fletcher Series: Highland Myths Trilogy Series by Donna Fletcher
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >105

Is she a witch or a healer?

Lord Varrick is the Legendary Highlander who has well-earned the myth centered around him. He is known for his endless victories in battle, his fearless skill as a warrior, and his soulless nature. He rules over a heavily forested area in the north and rumors spread that he commands an army of the dead and that no one passes through his land without his permission, or they chance battling his ethereal warriors. Truth or tale? No one knows and no one takes the chance of finding out.
Fia is a healer from a long line of healers. She is eager to learn all she can so she can help the ill, though more importantly prevent illness if possible. Her grandmother warned her to be careful that there were those who would misjudge her and threaten her life. A fair warning indeed, for she has met such a fate and is now in the hands of the legendary Highlander. But not the way she thought she would be… she is forced to wed him.
Lord Varrick refuses to tell her what he wants with her, and she fears that once he has what he wants her fate will be sealed, and he will see her dead, ending their marriage and being rid of her. How to prevent such a fate is the challenge she faces. He does not hold her prisoner but has warned her of the consequences if she should run from him and it is not something she wishes to chance.

Note: While this trilogy does not need to be read in sequence, each book a standalone, Fia and other characters from Highland Myth Trilogy were first introduced in Highland Secrets A Cree & Dawn Novel… a prelude of sorts to their individual stories.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

WAKE! HE IS HERE!

Fia jolted up out of sleep, eyes wide and heart pounding, the deep, commanding voice continuing to echo in her ears. She pulled her wool cloak tightly around her, not that it did much good against the cold that penetrated the dungeon’s stone walls where she was held prisoner—though not for much longer.

He had arrived to take possession of her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. There had been nothing she could do when captured weeks ago, imprisoned, and accused of being a witch. Her twenty-odd years had taught her that ignorance was a difficult foe to battle.

She was no witch. She was a healer from a long line of healers. She had inherited the skill of her ancestors and their passion to learn, to prefect their craft, to help the ill, and… like some before her, possess the knowing. She would sense things to come and a voice in her head often guided her. Both had benefited her, kept her safe, had even helped her as a healer. Other times it had nearly gotten her killed. She tried to make sense of it and find a way to control it, but it wasn’t possible. It had a will of its own, so she had learned to live with it the best way she could, and, at times, she had learned to hide it.

She shivered, a long, drawn-out shiver, and it was not only the cold that brought it on, but fear. She had sensed, not long after her arrival here, that a man would come for her and demand to take possession of her. Unfortunately, she did not know why. She only knew that fate had sent him, but fate could be a friend or foe and only time would tell which one it was meant to be.

Fia stood, stretching the stiffness and aches from her limbs. Her sleeping palette was nothing more than a thin layer of hay with a sparse wool blanket spread over it. She often wrapped the blanket around her cloak for extra warmth. Still, she had never felt warm enough since arriving here.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her hunger. Tavia, the daughter of Chieftain Newlin of Clan Strathearn, made sure she had sufficient food, as did Flora, the chieftain’s niece. But an arranged marriage had Tavia recently leaving with her husband. A hastily arranged marriage had taken Flora away as well.

Cora, one of the cooks in the kitchen, had tried her best to bring her food but Chieftain Newlin made it difficult for her. He believed Fia a witch and feared what she might inflict on him and the clan, making it difficult for Cora to sneak her sufficient food.

She would forgo the food right now for a bucket of water so she might clean herself before meeting her fate. The stench in her cell had her wrinkling her nose and she worried that some of it was coming from her, having had no chance to wash since her capture.

Fia stilled, catching a sound. It was the door at the top of the stairs creaking open. Light footfalls followed cautiously and Fia hurried to the iron bars on the cell door.

“Cora?” Fia called out softly.

“Aye, it is me,” Cora acknowledged just as softly, fearful someone would hear.

Fia was glad to see the short, round woman, though the worry on her face had Fia asking, “What’s wrong, Cora?”

“He has arrived,” Cora said and hugged herself protectively. “He has the finest features I have ever seen on a man and yet he is the most frightening man I have ever seen. His warriors do not move without a command from him. And one look from his,” —she shivered— “I have never seen the color of his eyes before, a blue so bold it captures you and you cannot look away. One look, not a word from him, and his warriors obey without hesitation. Thankfully, he did not bring his army of the dead with him.” She shivered again. “Chieftain Newlin trembles in his presence, most do. I have heard the legends spread about him. Spawned from the mist of battle one day the tale goes, but they seemed more fanciful than true.” Her eyes went wide. “Now, though, seeing him with my own eyes, I believe the tales are true and I cannot wait for him to take his leave.”

Cora’s words sent a shudder through Fia. She would go from one prison to another, forced to leave with him.

“I am so sorry,” Cora rushed to say. “I wish you could be set free. I do not believe you are a witch, though I cannot say that to others. They would believe you cast a spell on me and have me do your bidding.” She hurried a wrapped cloth through the space in the bars. “I managed to sneak some bread, though you might be better meeting him on an empty stomach.”

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