Paranormal Erotic Romance/67,000 Words

Verdantia (Book 3)

For disgraced nobleman and accused murderer, Ramsey DeKieran, a pardon is an unobtainable fantasy. When the High Lord of Verdantia offers the prize, Ram knows there’ll be a catch. He accepts the impossible mission—the off-world rescue of a Verdantian noblewoman, one of the last of her kind. The one bright spot: Elite mercenary, Steffania Rickard, is ordered undercover to help DeKieran—posing as his sexual submissive.

For Steffania, assisting the dominating Ramsey on this insane mission will be challenge enough. The damn rogue trips all her triggers—good and bad. But infinitely worse, on the planet, Vxloncia, she must submit as Ram’s sex slave, and there’s no faking it. Bent at his knee, serving his every command, Steffania doubts her carefully hidden desires will remain concealed.

Their mission takes on new urgency when they unmask a heinous program of enslavement, long cloaked in secrecy. Together they must find a way to overcome their initial animosity and recover a woman vital to the future of their race.

In the maelstrom of sex, savagery, domination and submission, they will need all their wits and strength to survive.


Other Books by Patricia


Excerpt

N.T. Solar Date 4637

Captain Steffania Rickard of the elite Blue Daggers fumed silently as her eyes scanned the seedy brothel’s dark, empty, upstairs room. Damn-it-all. I was certain I’d finally caught up to him. She’d wasted the better part of two months looking for this man. Her shoulders slumped in fatigue. She’d expended no small amount of energy slipping into this absurdly well-guarded bedroom. Any number of disreputable fighting men watched the rooftop, the hall outside and the stairs to the upper levels. No one had watched the building’s exterior walls, however, so she scaled the three-story brothel’s ragged bricks and entered by a poorly secured window.

A small prick at her carotid, from what was certainly a razor sharp stiletto, froze her in place. She hardly dared to breathe. Her heart leapt like a springbok eluding a hunting cat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You know not to let down your guard. 

“You are not my type, Steffania. I like my women submissive and kneeling at my feet—not contentious and sneaking behind my back. But if you want me bad enough to break in here, I’ll accommodate you.”
Ramsey DeKieran’s deep, arrogant voice drawled low in her ear. He jerked her close, and his hard body pressed into her back. His hand roamed freely, intimately, between her thighs, across her abdomen then higher to fondle her breasts. He paused to toss her hidden blades and throwing crescents to the floor. She couldn’t mistake the prodding at the middle of her back for anything other than it was—a truly impressive erection.

“You conceited ass, I’m not here for that,” she hissed as his fingers rolled one of her nipples, sending sensation zinging to her lower region.

His knife still at her throat, he growled, “Turn very carefully. I need to check your back for weapons.”

With a snarl of her own, she complied. Unusual eyes of glacial blue with an outer ring of darker blue locked with hers. An unfriendly grin stretched a full, generous mouth on a gaunt, chiseled face of high cheekbones and a straight-bridged aristocratic nose. An unkempt comma of black hair hung in the middle of his forehead. A day’s worth of dark beard shadowed his cheeks. He looked feral, undomesticated. 
His free hand roamed her back and buttocks, his arousal pressed into her soft abdomen. He found the knife at the small of her back and tossed it to the growing collection. To her horror, the flesh between her legs began to moisten. Damn him!

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Are you getting wet, sweetheart? Does dominance do it for you?”

“Bastard!” She shoved herself violently away with both hands, angered further by his oh-so-accurate taunt. It had to be a guess. She’d kept those desires carefully hidden. She retreated several steps to face him, gasping in air. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

A dark eyebrow arched slowly. “If you don’t want a good fuck, then what do you want, sweetheart?”

Steffania prided herself on being a good liar. The trick was to weave in some truth with the lie. In truth, ever since she fought beside DeKieran in the Haarb wars, the scoundrel had headlined in her sexual fantasies. “I’m not your fucking sweetheart. You’re the last man I’d want.” She threw her head back and glared. “High Lord DeTano wants you. I’m just his messenger.”

“Why would I do anything for Ari DeTano?”

“For a pardon.”

DeKieran straightened his relaxed posture. Not shrinking under his piercing examination took discipline. She stood motionless until the space between them vibrated with almost visible tension. Damn you, Ramsey. Say something. 

Finally, he shrugged. “I’ll hear what he has to say.”