Touch of the Fey: An Erotic Fantasy Romance - Volumes 1-4by Danica Slate
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After promising her hand to her first love, the enigmatic Lord Damon, young Cora finds herself pursued by the lecherous and powerful Lord Vallen. Now Cora is on the run from the evil lord's men as Damon pursues her through the wild and sensual lands of the fey. A world of magic, treachery, and burning desire await the two lovers as they encounter all manner of sexual and seditious creatures.
Warning: This 4-book series contains 30,000 words of beastly banging, sexual serpents, demonic orgies, reluctant tentacle sex, lustful fairies, draconic lovers, and other fantastic scenarios.
The hand gestured to the chair again. “Sit.”
Cora reluctantly walked over to the chair. The advisor snapped a finger and a guard rushed forward to strap her tightly into the leather seat, cutting off her protests with his rough hands. Cora gasped in disbelief.
“Bring them in,” Lysander said curtly. The guard bowed and slipped away.
“You intend to keep me this way for days?” Cora asked. Lysander, leafing through his book, did not answer.
The guard led in six robed and hooded figures, bowed, and left. Cora found herself alone in the room with the advisor and the black-clad figures. Two dimmed the lights while the other four began to draw strange shapes on the floor.
“What is going on?” she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. The bonds held firm against her struggles.
“Gather round,” the Lord Steward whispered, stepping to the edge of the circle of runes. The figures obeyed, and began weaving slowly from side to side. Cora could hear a low, humming drone of unknown origin fill the air. “Disrobe.”
The hoods and cloaks fell to the floor, revealing the naked flesh of six women. Their bodies were covered in runes similar to those written across the floor.
Lysander clapped his hands together and began to chant in a low, deep voice. Cora did not recognize the words, but gasped in surprise as he clapped his hands a second time and a puff of smoke exploded from the center of the circle. A cadre of small brown and red imps appeared and fell in a tumble of bony limbs and claws and wings, giggling and shrieking in high-pitched cackles. Cora shook her head in disbelief.
“You... are a warlock!” she declared. Lysander gave her the slightest bow.
“Indeed,” he snapped his fingers at the imps. They scrambled apart and gathered at his feet, jumping and giggling. Their beady eyes darted around, drinking in the details of the room. “Welcome back, my feylings. I have brought an offering for your master.”
Their eyes swung toward her and they screeched with laughter. Her heart leapt into her throat as they bounded toward her.
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