Embrace of the Damned Read online

  “Anya Bast is a professional at writing stories that

  keep the reader in a … state of suspense. Her

  reputation is well deserved.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “The atmosphere that Anya Bast portrays is

  intricate, dark, and highly erotic.”

  —Just Erotic Romance Reviews

  PRAISE FOR

  DARK ENCHANTMENT

  “When I was first introduced to Anya Bast a couple of years ago, I quickly became enchanted with her work. It seems that I cannot read her work fast enough to satisfy the need. Dark Enchantment … holds the reader spellbound while in its pages … Like all her books, Dark Enchantment is well put together and a pleasure to read. I hope you take the time to get lost in a ‘Dark Enchantment’ yourself—you will not be disappointed.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Readers will recognize many characters. Bast has created a charmed world of faeries, brownies, witches, goblins, and more. You won’t want to leave this beautiful world … Seriously sexy.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “This is the third installment in the Dark Magick series and it does not let you down … Charlotte is surprisingly sassy [and] Kieran is droolworthy! … As with Bast’s previous novels, there is plenty of action in this novel as well … You will not be disappointed or bored!”

  —ParaNormal Romance

  WITCH FURY

  “Full of action, excitement, and sexy fun … Another delectable tale that will keep your eyes glued to every word.”

  —Bitten by Books

  “Hot romance, interesting characters, intriguing demons, and powerful emotions. I didn’t want to put it down, and now that I’ve finished this book, I’m ready for the next!”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  WITCH HEART

  “[A] fabulous tale … The story line is fast paced from the onset … Fans will enjoy the third bewitching blast.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Smart, dangerous and sexy as hell, the witches are more than a match for the warlocks and demons who’d like nothing more than to bring hell to earth and enslave mankind. Always an exhilarating read.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A story that will captivate its readers. It will hook you from the first few pages and then take you on a wild ride. It is a fast-paced story but it is also a story that will make you feel emotion. Anya Bast uses words like Monet used paint. It’s vibrant. It’s alive. Readers will be able to see the story come to life as it just leaps out of the pages.”

  —Bitten by Books

  WITCH BLOOD

  “Any paranormal fan will be guaranteed a Top Pick read. Anya has provided it all in this hot new paranormal series. You get great suspense, vivid characters, and a world that just pops off the pages … Not to be missed.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Gritty danger and red-hot sensuality make this book and series smoking!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  WITCH FIRE

  “Deliciously sexy and intriguingly original.”

  —Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling author

  “Sizzling suspense and sexy magic are sure to propel this hot new series onto the charts. Bast is a talent to watch, and her magical world is one to revisit.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A sensual feast sure to sate even the most finicky of palates. Richly drawn, dynamic characters dictate the direction of this fascinating story. You can’t miss with Anya.”

  —A Romance Review

  “Fast-paced, edgy suspense … The paranormal elements are fresh and original. This reader was immediately drawn into the story from the opening abduction, and obsessively read straight through to the dramatic final altercation. Bravo, Ms. Bast; Witch Fire is sure to be a fan favorite.”

  —ParaNormal Romance

  “A fabulously written ultimate romance. Anya Bast tells a really passionate story and leaves you wanting more…. The elemental witch series will be a fantastic read.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “A terrific romantic fantasy starring two volatile lead characters … The relationship between fire and air … makes the tale a blast to read.”

  —The Best Reviews

  Titles by Anya Bast

  WITCH FIRE

  WITCH BLOOD

  WITCH HEART

  WITCH FURY

  WICKED ENCHANTMENT

  CRUEL ENCHANTMENT

  DARK ENCHANTMENT

  MIDNIGHT ENCHANTMENT

  EMBRACE OF THE DAMNED

  THE CHOSEN SIN

  JEWELED

  JADED

  RAVEN’S QUEST

  EMBRACE

  OF THE DAMNED

  ANYA BAST

  BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s

  imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

  establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over

  and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  EMBRACE OF THE DAMNED

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / May 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Joanna Mackens.

  Cover art by Tony Mauro.

  Cover design by Rita Frangie.

  Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or

  electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of

  copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-58513-9

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you p
urchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is

  stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the

  author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  For James

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  PROLOGUE

  A.D. 1012, NORWAY

  Other people’s blood seeped into Broder’s wounds, making every slash and scratch on his body burn.

  He was alive. He’d survived.

  His muscles were weak from disuse, but the drive to live—the drive for revenge—had made him deadly for the time he’d needed to wreak this carnage. Now that it was over, the will to kill leaked slowly from him, not unlike the last decade of his life.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The moment he’d set foot in this enclave his life had been worth nothing. Before then, even….

  Ignoring the fiery pain of his injuries, his chest heaving and his eyes wild, Broder turned in a circle, a sharp sword clenched in one sticky hand, an ax in the other, and surveyed the bodies around him. The sight gave him no pleasure, no peace, but he didn’t regret any of it. He’d do it again if given the chance, even though the act itself was more blur than memory.

  He’d delivered retribution.

  He barely remembered it. He’d heard tales of men caught up in battle carnage, wild with bloodlust, unknowing of the deeds they committed. Man, woman, child, it mattered not to them; all fell beneath the crazed warrior’s blade. That was how he’d spent the last five minutes … had it been ten? Or had it been an hour? He wasn’t sure. Images flashed through his head—blood, bone, flesh—the sharp, silver edge of his blade rendering it all into so much meat.

  Movement caught his eye. He turned, ready to launch into another attack, and caught sight of a decapitated body sliding slowly from an ornate gold and green chair to the floor, making a lifeless heap. He relaxed.

  It was over. Soon, he, too, would be over.

  Blinking barely focused eyes, he lowered his sword and lifted his head, stretching muscles of his body that had long gone unused. He limped to a nearby chair and sat. He needed to leave this place because he didn’t want to die here and he didn’t have much time, but now that the insane rage that had animated his half-dead body had ebbed, he could barely move. His nose twitched, stinging from the stench of unwashed bodies and death.

  Slumping against a heap of silken pillows, his blood staining them dark brown, he closed his eyes. Just for a moment. His hands still gripped his weapons, as though secured there for eternity. One wound burned brighter and hotter than the rest. He looked down at his side and examined the crescent-shaped slash.

  He wouldn’t survive it.

  Every movement made the congealing blood covering him—his own and other men’s—crack like dried mud. The images of what he’d done crowded his mind, made him sick, but he didn’t want to take it back. He looked around, his lip curling with hatred. If anything, he wanted more.

  “Broder Calderson!” His name echoed through the quiet chamber.

  In spite of his wounds, Broder leapt to his feet, turned toward the voice, and reflexively threw the ax in his right hand. The man who stood at the entrance of the chamber didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as the weapon circled through the air, swooping end over end lazily, as if time had slowed it, the blade headed straight for his forehead.

  The ax passed through the man as though he were made of mist.

  The man—tall, slender, with black hair slicked back from his angular, handsome face—smiled. He swished his forefinger back and forth, grinning. “No, no, Broder. Bad boy.”

  Broder frowned at the strange language and accent and backed up, the sword dropping from his hand and clattering to the marble floor. The man wore outlandish clothing.

  He looked him up and down. He wore no tunic and his trousers were more than passing strange. There was an odd, sharp cut to his garments and his shoes were too shiny. Some sort of extra-long bit of material that served no purpose hung from his neck. He’d never seen the like of such attire—or fabric—in all his life. A black swath of some hard material Broder couldn’t identify balanced on the man’s nose and wrapped around the upper part of his face, concealing his eyes.

  “What are you?” Broder asked in a voice that hadn’t been used in a very long time. It came out broken and rough.

  “Not what, who. You don’t recognize me? I am Loki.” The man walked toward him, strange footwear crunching broken pottery, treading through pools of blood. His strange, shiny shoes never seemed to be affected. His voice held a strong note of derision. “Surely you must know who I am. I am known for the tricks that I play, and I have played many of them.” His voice went serious. “But I am not playing now.”

  Of course he knew Loki. Broder felt the blood drain from his face. He’d just tried to kill a god. “Am I dead, then?”

  Loki laughed. “Not hardly. Not yet, anyway.” He removed the odd black thing covering the upper part of his face and his cold blue eyes skirted Broder’s body, taking in the parts of him covered with Broder’s own blood. “You won’t be dead for a very, very long time. If ever.”

  Broder struggled to make sense out of those words. It was clear to Loki and to himself that he’d be dead in a few hours. It had only been a need for revenge that had kept his body full of life up until now. He’d had his revenge; now it was time to join his loved ones. He welcomed it.

  Loki took a step forward, his polished shoe crunching on the remains of an invaluable piece of pottery. “You’ve had more than a little fun here, I think. You must be thirsty.” He gestured to a half-broken pitcher on a nearby table, sitting in a pool of the blood he’d shed. “Need libation, perhaps?”

  “It wasn’t … fun.” Broder frowned, trying to translate the odd manner of his speech. “I had reason for this violence.”

  “You offend the gods, you ungrateful barbarian!” Loki’s voice boomed from him, echoed into the reaches of Broder’s head, made the blood leak from his ears. Broder swiped at it and stared at the coating on his fingers. “You’ll not avoid reprimand!”

  Broder staggered backward, his head and side pounding out an intense rhythm of pain.

  “You must be punished for this. You know that, don’t you, Broder?”

  Punished? He’d just spent the last ten years of his life in torment. And before that … hadn’t he had enough torment?

  “Wah, wah, wah,” Loki sneered. “Don’t think I can’t read your thoughts. If you offend the gods, you suffer for it.” He pointed at Broder. “And you, sir, have offended most heartily.”

  Broder winced, pain flaring through the wound in his side. He just wanted to die. He wanted to collapse to the floor, close his eyes, and never wake up. However, he had a very bad suspicion his wish would not be granted. There were punishments worse than death. Anyone who believed in the gods knew that much, and this was Loki, the most deceitful of all the gods.

  Loki held up a hand. In his palm a small blue light sputtered to life and formed the shape of a sword, then narrowed to a sharp, pointed sliver that looked like a narrow spear.

  Broder tensed. Surely that supernatural weapon was meant for him.

  �
��I’m impressed you don’t run,” said Loki. “Most of them do.”

  He threw the blue sliver at Broder. Even though he moved to avoid it, the sliver found his chest, burying deep like the thinnest dagger made of pure ice. It pierced his heart, spreading agony to every part of him. Freezing and burning in equal turns, it dropped Broder to his knees, snapping his head back, arching his spine. A bellow of torment ripped from his throat.

  The sliver formed a cold hollow of nothing in the center of his chest, shearing away all the flickers of humanity he’d managed to hold on to during the last decade. Soon nothing remained.

  Nothing. And nothing truly meant nothing—no warmth, no love … but no fear or anger, either. It was … peaceful. He breathed into it, relaxing completely for the first time in years. Yet at nearly the same moment the pain ebbed, something else rushed in to fill up the serene emptiness. Something foreign. Something that didn’t belong there.

  Something from Loki.

  In the center of his soul a mark of despair burned. He knew without being told that he was Loki’s—his possession—and that could not be a good thing. He’d traded one Hel for another.

  Broder pried his gummy, blood-crusted eyes open and saw that he’d fallen on his hands and knees to the floor, shards of pottery cutting into his shins and palms. Grunting with effort, holding one arm to his chest as though he could compel the icy sliver and Loki’s mark out of him, he forced himself to look up into the grinning, gloating face of the god.