Something Wicked

From the beloved The country of Avon is in deep turmoil. The Uprising has overthrown Avon''s monarchial rulers, and a decree has been issued. Candidates for the first presidential election will be selected by the completion of a special task: to kill the former monarch of their home province.; Callum, the son of the recently dethroned king, is determined to be in the running. But to do so, he must come to terms with killing his father, the key to which lies in the hands of Lady Caterine, a Gifted courtesan at La Puissance, Avon’s premiere sex club. Lady Caterine has always had the magical ability to manipulate the emotions of anyone who experiences an orgasm in her presence. If Callum can only open up to Cate, he will be able to commit the newly fated murder without suffering the guilt and take his place as the rightful candidate from his province. But Callum has a deep-seated mistrust of the Gifted. And the last thing he expects is to be confronted with an undeniable connection with Cate that neither of them understands, nor wants. With the fate of the country at stake, Callum and Cate search for ways to bare themselves to each other, and discover a darker force building within La Puissance, one that might ruin the future of Avon for good.;To stop Avon from violently falling to ashes, they must sacrifice everything they have . . . even if it requires betraying each other.

Autorentext
Falon Ballard is the USA Today bestselling author of several rom coms and the co-host of the Happy to Meet Cute podcast. When she's not writing a romance book, reading a romance book, or talking about romance books, you can probably find her at Disneyland. Ballard lives in the Los Angeles area.

Klappentext

*AN INSTANT USA TODAY* BESTSELLER

To save a world in turmoil, a would-be prince teams up with a magically gifted courtesan—but the most dangerous game may be trusting each other in this spicy, swoony fantasy romance from the USA Today bestselling author of Change of Heart.

The stunning first edition hardcover of Something Wicked features a steamy jacket with glossy effects as well as specially designed sprayed edges!

"Intricate, sensual, and filled with all the best elements romantasy has to offer." —India Holton, author of The Ornithologist’s Field Guide to Love**

The Uprising has overthrown Avon's monarchial rulers, and a decree has been issued. Candidates for the first presidential election will be selected by the completion of a special task: to kill the former monarch of their home province.

Callum, the son of the recently dethroned king, is determined to be in the running. But coming to terms with patricide will require the help of Lady Caterine, a Gifted courtesan at La Puissance, Avon’s premiere sex club.

Lady Caterine has always had the magical ability to manipulate the emotions of anyone who experiences an orgasm in her presence. If Callum can only open up to Cate, he will be able to commit the newly fated murder without suffering the guilt and take his place as the rightful candidate from his province. But Callum has a deep-seated mistrust of the Gifted. And the last thing he expects is to be confronted with an undeniable connection with Cate that neither of them understands or wants.

With the fate of the country at stake, Callum and Cate search for ways to bare themselves to each other, and discover a darker force building within La Puissance, one that might ruin the future of Avon forever. To stop Avon from falling to ashes, they must sacrifice everything they have . . . even if it requires betraying each other.

Leseprobe
1

Cate

A cloud of the deepest blue, edges of midnight bordering on black, fills the room as the man thrusts one final time, his grunt of release echoing around the spacious suite.

I latch on to the threads of color with my Gift, even as I come down from a climax of my own, finding the darkest hues of his grief, the color so saturated it becomes tangible, and I pull. Gently at first, then more firmly, twisting the strands, folding them up into tiny little pieces. Pieces I can then tuck away in the hidden recesses of his mind, allowing him to find a brief respite from the sadness enfolding him. I compress his grief, like a sponge wrapped in a tight fist. Eventually it will expand once again, the sadness refilling him, but for a short while at least, this man will know peace.

When I finish packing up his sorrow and have buried it deep enough so it will no longer disturb him, I stroke my hands down the expanse of his bare back. He tucks his face into the groove of my neck and cries while I soothe him, his nakedness now more emotional than physical. I don't take offense. Many of my clients end up in tears after a session with me; usually it's a sign I've done my job well.

Eventually, those tears subside, and he pushes aside the gauzy golden curtains draping the bed and rises, dressing quickly, leaving payment by the door before showing himself out. I make it clear to my clients that they never need to feel shame concerning what happens in this room, but some handle the rush of emotions easier than others. I have seen Charlie often since he buried his wife and child a year ago, casualties of an Uprising attack, and he has never been one for pillow talk.

I wait for the door to close behind him before I slide out from between the scarlet silk sheets covering my massive walnut four-poster bed. Fishing my dagger from underneath the pillow, I fasten its sheath around my upper thigh and slip it back into place, my thumb rubbing the smooth curve of the ruby buried in its hilt, a habit I've had since Harold gifted me the blade on my eighteenth birthday. It provides comfort more than a line of defense. I pocket the small handful of coins the man left in the gold elephant-shaped bowl that rests on my dressing table. I don't bother counting because it doesn't matter how much I earn. I'm not doing this for the money, or at least, not solely for the money.

The light in my suite of rooms is dim and sensual, the flicker of the candles muted by the lush crimson walls. I turn up the gas lamps ensconced on the walls once the man has left, lightening the space.

In the brighter light, I examine my face in the gilded mirror above the dressing table, ensuring my makeup is still impeccably done-it is, not even a smudge of lip paint out of place since I don't allow my clients to kiss me on the mouth-and slip into my robe. It's the same scarlet as my lips, and long; the silky sleeves are lined with soft feathers. The honey waves of my hair cascade down my back, a little mussed but still thick and shiny. Despite the toll that using my Gift takes on my body, I still look flawless.

I think about donning one of my costumes and joining the final performance of the evening-which actually takes place in the earliest hours of the morning-but I don't have the energy. Instead I stride to the golden bar cart that lives in the corner of my suite, pouring two fingers of whisky into a cut-glass tumbler and almost collapsing at my two-person table.

There has been an increase in demand for my services since the beginning of the Uprising two years ago, and while I try to never say no to genuine inquiries-determined to assist as many people as I can-I'd be lying if I said I wasn't exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. My clients might leave our sessions sexually satisfied with their emotions abated, but even when I'm able to find pleasure of my own, it doesn't counterbalance the heaviness of bearing their feelings or the strain on my body. I'll need to soak in a bath with one of Bianca's healing tonics before I think about seeing another client.

"How many have you seen tonight?" My twin sister Andra opens the door separating our adjoining rooms, helping herself to my booze and joining me at the table.

…