Stolen
Wish
The Blood Realm Series #5
By Jennifer Blackstream
Publication
Date: August 7, 2017
Publisher: Skeleton Key Publishing
Genre: Paranormal Romance
PRIDE MAKES HIM
BOLD ENOUGH TO COVET HER
Ali is a
notorious thief, skilled enough to steal whatever his heart desires—except what
it desires most. Anara. His fellow criminal would never let him get so close if
she suspected he knew who she truly was. But a man can only resist temptation
for so long…
PREJUDICE CANNOT
HIDE PASSION FOREVER
Princess Anara
is a tiger shifter obsessed with redeeming her race. With fierce determination,
she’s stealing back the sacred objects of her people, the loss of which cost
them the ability to safely convert their mates. Nothing and no one will stand
in her way—not even a relentless thief who sees more than he should, and says
more than she’s ready to hear…
DUTY AND LOVE
BOTH DEMAND SACRIFICE
A dark sorcerer
inadvertently gives Ali the leverage he needs to demand Anara’s hand in
marriage. He’ll get the wife he’s coveted for so many years, and she will get
the chance to finally explore the passion that she’s denied herself for too
long. But even with a djinn’s magic at their fingertips, happiness is no
guarantee. That which is easily gained is just as easily lost. If they want a
future together, they’ll have to fight for it…
The Blood Realm Series #4
The Blood Realm Series #3
The Blood Rose Series #1
I’m not
alone.
Anara
slid into the shadow cast by a large pillar, stilling her breath as she scanned
her surroundings. Visconti Malik’s cavernous home was empty on this level, none
of the current occupants trusted to be in the showroom when their master
was away.
The cool
tile chilled her back through her cloak as she held still, reaching inside
herself for her other half. Her beast stirred, a tiger’s soft golden head
rising, opening shining green eyes. Three high-arched doorways on either side
of her gave a breathtaking view of the city around the hilltop, but she ignored
it, focusing instead on the surrounding room. The massive pillars could be
hiding anyone.
Her
nostrils flared, parsing out the myriad of scents that swirled in the wind. The
ghost of the night's dinner still hung in the air in a perfume of figs,
pomegranates, goat meat, and barley. Underneath that slept the scent of
the treasure the visconti loved so much, bragged of so often. And still below
that was another scent. One that did not belong.
Masculine.
Sand. The sharp scent of clothing dye. And a familiar hint of foolhardy
excitement.
A smile
spread over her lips. She knew that scent. Knew the man it belonged to. Her
stomach fluttered in excitement as she remained hidden behind the pillar,
waiting for the soft footsteps to pass her hiding place.
Ali was
silent for a human, she would allow him that. But a weretiger’s senses were
unrivaled, and she would have heard the slap of his bare feet on the tile even
if he had been moving as cautiously as he should have been. She shook her
head, stalking him as he approached the far wall where the treasures
glittered on rows of pedestals.
“Hello,
beautiful,” he whispered.
Anara
froze, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Irritation furrowed her brow, and
she crossed her arms. “How did you hear me?” she demanded in a whisper.
Ali
jumped, whirling around in midair and nearly dropping the gold rhyton he
held in his hands. Blue eyes opened so wide they caught the moonlight, turning
his irises into crystal pools of light. The silky black hair hanging to his
shoulders framed those eyes, made them all the brighter for the shadows that
bathed the sides of his face. Anara dug her fingernails into her palm,
resisting the urge to touch a lock of that hair, see if it was as soft as it
looked.
He
exhaled a deep breath, muscled shoulders sagging under the thin material of his
caftan. “Habibi, you scared a year off my life. Why would you do such a
thing?”
Her
eyes narrowed. “You were talking to the rhyton, weren’t you?” She
drummed her fingers along her biceps and lifted her chin in pretended offense.
“What a fool I was to think I was the beautiful one you were greeting.”
A
grin spread over Ali’s mouth, and he rolled the treasure down his arm,
carelessly flinging it to his other hand as he focused on her. The intricately
carved head of a ram seemed to flash its disapproval as Ali raised the cup
in a mock toast. “Had I known you were here, I would not have wasted those
words on a meaningless trinket such as this. You are the true treasure here.”
As
always, Anara found his smile infectious, and soon she was returning his grin
even as she tsked at him. “If you’re wasting your time with baubles such as
that, then you are ignorant of the visconti's greatest wealth.”
Blue
eyes glittered with renewed greed as he replaced the rhyton on
its pedestal. “Oh?”
Anara
cast a glance around to make certain they hadn’t disturbed the sleeping
servants. The large room was open, security depending on the palace’s
strategic placement atop a hill and the knowledge that anyone suspected
of stealing from the visconti would suffer for a long time before he died.
Malik was too proud of his treasures and his wealth to lock it away, and he
clearly felt that the level of torture and violence he leveled on would-be
thieves was more than enough to make up for his audacity. Anara said a prayer
of gratitude for his foolishness as she redirected her attention to the
locked door that led to the interior of the home.
She
took a careful step toward the door, her senses alert for any sound that might
mean they were in danger of getting caught. The huge space remained empty,
not a hint of sound bouncing off the gold and cerulean tiles that lined the
floors, walls, and ceilings. With a wink at Ali, she resumed her original
quest.
He
followed her lead, trailing without a trace of the pride that so often hobbled
other men. It was perhaps his greatest quality, his ability to put practicality
above pride. A very rare quality.
“And
what precious secrets is Malik hiding, then?” Ali whispered.
“If you
would do proper research instead of just grabbing whatever shiny object
catches your fancy, then you would know. Now be silent.”
The
door’s lock gave way under the careful application of the slender tools
Anara had crafted herself. Together, they snuck inside and made their way down
the short hallway, going left when it came to a T.
The
scent of rich ink, expensive thread, and the unmistakable mustiness of a
space with no windows guided Anara until she came to the room she’d been
looking for. Polished tile cover the walls and ceiling as in the
other rooms, but this alcove boasted comfortable pillows and cushions for
lounging, and expensive silks and tapestries broke up the endless shining
tiles. A room meant for entertaining. For impressing.
Anara
kept her eyes on the tapestry at the far end, its vibrant threads depicting a
majestic Roc holding one of its precious eggs, its wings turned to burning red
embers by the glorious, intricate stitching of a setting sun. She stepped
around the various seating arrangements, her heart beating faster as she
approached her goal.
Her
fingers had just brushed the wall-hanging when Ali’s body heat washed over her
back. Anara blinked and paused, her nerves tingling with the pleasant
awareness of Ali’s proximity. It wasn’t the first time he’d invaded her space,
and once again she reflected that if he knew that the veil she wore was
not just a means of hiding her identity during her nocturnal activities,
but a means to prevent anyone from looking on the face of the sultan’s
daughter—he would never dare to stand so close to her. No man did.
But he
didn’t know. And he must never know.
“Have
you forgotten what you’re looking for?” he murmured.
The
words were another curl of heat into the air, and he shifted closer. Anara
realized she was holding her breath, concentrating on the gentle press of his
chest against her back. The tingling in her nerves turned to a crackle, and she
quickly snuffed it out.
“I have
not forgotten. I am waiting for you to realize your complete disrespect
for my personal space.” She kept her voice light, gently recriminating.
An
inhale right next to her ear startled her, and she jerked her head to the side,
prevented from seeing him by the hood of her cloak.
“You
smell good.”
She
pressed her lips together and turned enough to face him, narrowing her eyes at
the wicked smirk on his face.
“You
smell of wine. Perhaps you could refrain from breathing on me so at least one
of us can keep a clear head?”
His
blue eyes darkened and he stepped forward, crowding her and prompting her to
tilt her face up to keep meeting his eyes or else step back in retreat. Her
tiger raised its head, eyeing the man before her with burgeoning interest.
Ali leaned closer, filling her senses with his unique scent. Her pulse
throbbed as he stopped with his mouth an inch from her ear.
“Am I
making it difficult for you to keep a clear head? Perhaps you’ll join me for a
drink so I can…apologize?”
Jennifer Blackstream
is a USA Today bestselling author of fantasy/paranormal romance. Urban Fantasy
will soon be joining her repertoire, and if she doesn’t get hold of the
insidious roving gang of plot bunnies, there’s going to be steampunk sprinkled
in there too… For news, new releases, and a free copy of What Big Teeth You
Have, sign up for Jennifer’s mailing list on her website at
jenniferblackstream.com. Jennifer has unfailing affection for the authors who
have influenced her, including Laurell K. Hamilton, Jim Butcher, and the sorely
missed Sir Terry Pratchett. Her books include humor, romance, and action, with
enough darkness to keep things very interesting. When Jennifer isn’t writing,
she can be found re-watching Boondock Saints, Noises Off, or Gross Pointe Blank.
With one of those classics in the background, she might also be searching
Amazon for something she wants, but doesn’t need (Is there any such thing as a
kitchen gadget that isn’t an absolute necessity? And don’t even get me started
on office supplies…).
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