Seducing The Dark Prince
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Hell might be heavenly...
...for one of the Sisters in Sin
Lucien Smok is heir to the Smok fortune. He’s also the crown prince of Hell, a legacy he despises. Clairvoyant Theia Dawn tries to convince herself that she’s only interested in Lucien because of his family’s role in the persecution of her ancestor, not because he’s the most beguiling man she’s ever met. The attraction that burns between them might be her downfall. Or it might be his salvation.
JANE KINDRED is the author of the Demons of Elysium series of M/M erotic fantasy romance, the Looking Glass Gods dark fantasy tetralogy and the gothic paranormal romance The Lost Coast. Jane spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.
Also by Jane Kindred
Waking the SerpentBewitching the DragonThe Dragon’s HuntSeducing the Dark Prince
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
Seducing the Dark Prince
Jane Kindred
ISBN: 978-1-474-08204-4
SEDUCING THE DARK PRINCE
© 2018 Jane Kindred
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Extract
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Like the ethereal substance his last name evoked, Lucien Smok was breathtaking—literally. The moment Theia saw him across the temple reception hall, the air rushed from her lungs as though it had been sucked into a vacuum. Pale blue eyes like pieces of ice locked on hers from beneath long lashes, dark brows in an ivory face lifted in amusement above them as if he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.
She’d seen him before somewhere. In a dream or a dark premonition. Beneath the reception hall’s Baroque quadratura-painted ceiling—invoking the blessing of the gods of Olympus—he reminded her of a painting by Waterhouse, Narcissus winking just for a moment at the viewer before returning to his reflection.
But beautiful or not, this wasn’t some breathless lust at first sight. She really couldn’t breathe.
Theia clutched at her throat and tried to make a sound, but nothing came out. Her lungs were locked in a spasm, convulsively trying to take in air against some obstruction.
Her dark-haired Narcissus crossed the reception hall in two swift strides and embraced her from behind, arms wrapped around her waist and hands clasped tight beneath her breasts, a gesture of intimacy. Vertigo swam over her, making her feel as though she were floating within herself, a lighter-than-air balloon encased in a human frame, bobbing against its edges.
He hugged her forcefully, jolting her against him, almost off the ground—once, twice, thrice.
Another spasm of her diaphragm forced what remained of the air in her lungs through her windpipe and dislodged the champagne grape she’d swallowed wrong. Such a small thing to cause so much trouble.
Air rushed in so quickly that she choked on it, gasping and coughing until tears ran down her cheeks.
“All right now?” The soft voice at her ear brought her fully back to herself. His hold around her hadn’t loosened and was decidedly more intimate than it had been when he’d been performing the Heimlich on her.
Theia realized she’d relaxed into his embrace, her arms sliding around his, and she let go with a jolt and bolted from his grasp. Though the moment had seemed epic and prolonged, none of the other guests were paying any attention.
His smile was one-sided—a slight leftward lift that combined amusement, smugness and a hint of offense. “You’re welcome.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to... I mean, thanks. I appreciate the—”
“Don’t strain yourself, darling. It’s okay. I’m used to this reaction.”
Theia’s embarrassment dissipated, and she narrowed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. “What reaction?”
“Women going weak in the knees and tongue-tied around me. I expect it’s being this close to money.” His voice had the lazy, sardonic drawl of James Spader’s bad boy Steff in Pretty in Pink. “Does that to some women, I understand.”
“Wow. I take it back. You’re a complete ass.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that, either.” He held out his hand. “Lucien Smok, heir to the Smok Biotech fortune and your hero today.”
Theia kept her hands tucked under her arms. “Gosh, how fortunate for me. And I’ve heard of you.”
“Of course you have. Hence the reaction.” His hand dropped casually to his side. “Are you going to reciprocate?”
Theia blinked at him. “What?”
“Your name. Not going to give it to me? Then let me guess.” Before she could react, Lucien had drawn her left arm from where she’d tucked it, his fingers stroking the crescent moon and descending cross tattooed on her inner forearm. The slow, sensual touch sent a shiver down her spine. “The mark of Lilith. You must be a Carlisle. I’m going to guess Theia.” He let her go, and Theia wobbled a bit from having planted her feet so firmly to steel herself against him.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “How do you know that?”
“I cheated. I asked the groom.”
“No, I mean Lilith. How do you know about Lilith?”
A fleeting look she couldn’t interpret crossed his features. “I’ve studied astrology. I’m familiar with the symbol.”
She was sure he’d meant something more than just the astrological symbol—a representation of the Black Moon Lilith, the elliptical focal point opposite the earth at lunar apogee. He’d associated it with the Carlisles. But Lucien didn’t elaborate.
“Well, you’re wrong,” said Theia. “I’m not a Carlisle.”
His brow furrowed, as though he didn’t care much for being wrong. “Oh?”
“My name is Dawn. Theia Dawn. My sisters are Carlisles.” She’d taken her middle name as her last after learning about the second family her father had kept hidden until his death. She didn’t want the name that belonged to a cheater and a liar. But Theia didn’t bother to explain any of this to Lucien Smok. Let him wonder. She turned on her heel and left him staring after her.
Gliding up beside her, her twin put her arm in Theia’s. “Who was that?” Luckily, she’d taken Theia’s right arm. Theia wasn’t about to let Rhea anywhere near that Lilith tattoo, especially now that Lucien had touched it. Where Theia occasionally had prophetic dreams and visions, Rhea could cut right through the annoying interpretation of symbolism with her “pictomancy” readings to see the future in tattoo ink. And Theia absolutely did not want to know any specifics about her future.
“Lucien Smok. His family owns the biotech firm that recently partnered with Northern Arizona University. I think he’s a friend of Rafe’s.”
Rhea wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t say friend. Phoebe was telling me about the Smoks. Rafe’s family knows them, but she doesn’t remember sending them an invitation. Some uncle of Rafe’s must have brought Lucien along.”
Before Theia could speculate on what Lucien was doing there, a commotion broke out at the front of Covent Temple’s reception hall. A tall, Nordic hunk of beefcake was literally thumping his chest at the best man, who stood coolly observing the former and looking perfectly at home in his Armani tux, graying temples adding to his sophistication against the rich hue of his skin.
“Looks like your man is fighting with Dev.” Theia nudged her sister. “Go get him, sweetie. We don’t want Kur getting out and eating the guests.” Dev Gideon, their sister Ione’s boyfriend, had an unfortunate tendency to transform into an ancient Sumerian dragon demon when provoked.
Rhea sighed. “Leo must have been celebrating a little too enthusiastically.” Like the thousand-year-old Viking he was, Leo Ström was fond of a good, hearty drink.
Theia watched Rhea weave through the guests to get to Leo, the shin-length red chiffon of her bridesmaid’s dress swinging and swishing gracefully. It was odd to see Rhea in anything but pants. Not that Theia was much for dresses, either.
She glanced down at her own, smoothing the fabric beneath the crisscross bodice. Only Phoebe could have gotten her and Rhea cleaned up this good. Well, Ione had, really. But Phoebe had chosen the fabric as part of her red rose-themed Beltane wedding—red, blush and white ribbon draped the room, woven around the support at the center of the hall like a Maypole and fanning out to form a latticed canopy.
Theia had to admit the dress looked fantastic with both her natural dark bob and Rhea’s short, bleached-blond cut sculpted into points—the dead giveaway for those who had trouble telling them apart. Rhea had curled her points at the tips for the occasion, adding a dab of cherry-red dye. She’d added some of it to the points of Theia’s bob, too. It was more difficult to see against the dark color, but Theia preferred subtlety.
With Ione officiating as high priestess in her longer, dusty-rose version of the dress, the twins’ red had made Phoebe stand out. She’d been absolutely gorgeous in a fairy-tale bone-white off-the-shoulder sweetheart gown with beaded lace and a vintage mantilla from Rafe’s own grandmother.
Theia glanced around, realizing she hadn’t seen Phoebe in a while. Or Rafe. God, you’d think they could wait a few hours for the honeymoon.
Her glance fell once more on Lucien Smok, flirting with one of the younger members of Ione’s coven. An unfamiliar irritation prickled along Theia’s skin as his hand rested on Margot’s shoulder while he leaned close, Margot laughing at something he’d said. Theia shook off the sensation. No. Absolutely not. This couldn’t be jealousy, because she had absolutely zero interest in Lucien Smok. Or the heart-stopping contrast of his pale eyes with his nearly jet-black, effortlessly messy hair.
He caught her watching him and winked.
Theia looked away deliberately, her eyes on Rhea leading Leo away from the open bar. It was always amusing to see Rhea, her form slight beside him, managing the Chieftain of the Wild Hunt. Having spent the last thousand years under the control of a Valkyrie, he seemed perfectly content to let a woman take charge despite his outward bluster.
On the opposite end of the room, where the reception hall connected to the temple nave by a breezeway, the Sedona winds had apparently kicked up, and the doors blew open with a bang. Ione moved to shut them, her long, ironed-straight hair whipping about her head in a halo of setting-sun ombré, but paused and stood deathly still, staring at something on the other side of the doorway. Theia moved around the support column that blocked her view.
With the wind had come an uninvited guest—the necromancer who’d made more than one attempt on the lives of both bride and groom in recent months. Theia’s jaw dropped open, and she sensed Rhea’s shock echoing hers from across the room. Carter Hamilton was supposed to be rotting in prison.
His overly whitened smile flashed in his overly bronzed face as he stood bracing his hands between the double doors like Maleficent making an appearance at Sleeping Beauty’s first birthday. “Am I too late to toast the happy couple?”
“How the hell are you here?” Ione’s voice seemed icy calm as she faced her psychotic ex, but Theia knew she was barely keeping it together.
Carter’s gaze acknowledged Dev as he appeared at Ione’s side. “And there he is, like a good little cur, looking for a pat on the head.”
A low rumble came out of Dev’s throat—too low to be human.
Ione took Dev’s hand. “Don’t trouble, love. He isn’t worth it.”
Their newly minted brother-in-law emerged from the stairwell to the bell tower that was doubling as a dressing room, moving toward Carter in a way that ought to unnerve the other man. Even without the Quetzalcoatl tattoo visible at his shoulders beneath the white linen wedding shirt, Rafe Diamante was imposing. And the knowledge that Rafe possessed the necromantic power Carter had killed to try to get should have had the slighter man quaking in his boots. But Carter’s smile persisted.
“You have no right to set foot on Covent property,” Rafe warned.
Carter’s gaze flicked over him. “Nor have you, my friend. I understand you’ve been formally expelled from the Covent for oath breaking.”
“I’m not your friend. No one here is your friend.”
Phoebe, descending the staircase behind Rafe, paused on the bottom step with one slipper-clad foot wavering over the floor, her face a white mask of shock. She’d been the one to put Carter in prison while she was still practicing law.
Ione’s hand tightened around Dev’s. “What do you want, Carter?”
“Just to see your faces when I tell you my good news. The conviction for the crimes you framed me for has been overturned. I’m a free man.”
Cake and champagne churned in Theia’s stomach.
Phoebe voiced her shock. “How is that possible?”
Carter’s eyes settled on her, bitter amusement dancing in them. “So you don’t deny you framed me.”
“No one framed you,” Rafe growled. “You murdered four people.”
“Well, the state doesn’t seem to agree. Nor does the Covent.”
Preceded by a flourish of his hand in the air, a champagne flute materialized in Carter’s fingers. “To the bride.” Carter raised the glass toward Phoebe. “Who looks almost as lovely in white as she does in nothing at all. And I have the pictures to prove it.”
A collective gasp rustled through the hall.
As Carter drank, Rafe charged him, the snake tattoo twisting and roiling beneath his shirt, but Carter’s physical matter seemed to dissolve into smoke at Rafe’s contact with him, leaving Rafe’s fingers to close around a nonexistent collar. The bright grin was the last thing to go, like an evil Cheshire Cat.
Chapter 2
Ione was livid. “That was an astral projection. He’s out of prison and accessing powerful magic. What the devil is going on?” She was staring at Dev, as if he ought to know.
“I don’t know a thing about it, love, I promise. I haven’t been privy to Covent business since I resigned my commission as assayer.”
Rafe closed the adjoining doors forcefully and turned back to face the hall. “I, for one, am not going to waste a moment of my wedding day thinking about that insignificant, third-rate sorcerer. He wasn’t really here, and that’s precisely the way he should be treated.” He stepped toward Phoebe and took her hand. “Care to dance, Mrs. Carlisle-Diamante?”
Phoebe smiled gamely. “I’d love to, Mr. Diamante-Carlisle.”
The mariachi band Rafe had hired—its members all magical connections of the Diamante family—began to play, and Rafe led his wife out onto the floor.
Theia took a step toward Ione, intending to try to reassure her, but a hand on her shoulder made her turn.
“May I have this dance, Ms. Dawn?” Lucien’s smile was mischievous. How did he manage to make an offer to dance sound dirty?
Before she could decline, he’d tucked her hand into his and slipped his arm around her waist, turning her toward the dance floor.
He pulled her closer as she started to draw back. “You wouldn’t embarrass me in front of all these people by turning me down, would you?”
“I might.”
“I’ve never been turned down before. It might damage my confidence. Could set me back years emotionally.”
“Then I definitely should.”
Lucien grinned. “But you won’t.”
“Won’t I?”
“I fascinate you.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Theia shoved away from him and stalked to the bar.
Like a persistent mosquito, he was buzzing at her side as she ordered her drink. “What if I blackmailed you? Would you dance with me then?”
Theia whirled on him. “Excuse me?”
“That was an odd little display from the groom. And I swear I saw the best man’s eyes glow with their own fire. Not to mention the fact that someone just dematerialized right in front of us, and everyone is acting like nothing happened.”
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Theia narrowed her eyes. “Do you even know the Diamantes?”
“Of course I do. I’m exactly who I say I am. You can ask Rafael. Our families go back a long way. And there have been rumors about the Diamantes for just as long. Looks like today I’ve seen evidence that those rumors are true.”
“Then maybe you should take up your concerns with Rafe himself, if you know him so well. I’m sure he’d find them very interesting.”
“Ooh.” Lucien gave a sexy little shiver that Theia tried not to physically respond to and failed. “It sounds like you’re suggesting something untoward might befall me. Are you threatening me? I suppose you’re one of them, too.”
Theia’s fists clenched at her sides. “One of what?”
Lucien leaned in intimately close. “Witches, of course.”
Theia laughed. “That’s what you’re planning to blackmail me with? We’re standing in the reception hall of the temple of the Sedona branch of the world’s largest organized coven. It’s not exactly a secret that there are witches here.”
“But it is something of a secret that Rafe Diamante is a necromancer, isn’t it? And that Dev Gideon is the host for a demon?”
It hardly seemed useful to argue the finer points of Rafe’s incidental command of the dead or Dev’s shared physicality with an enslaved dragon from the underworld. The fact was that Lucien’s statement was irrefutable.
Theia hoped the look she was giving him was as murderous as she intended. “What do you want?”
Lucien’s eyes widened and he let out a laugh of pure surprise. “Did you think I was seriously going to blackmail you? Sorry. I have a tendency to take a joke too far. I was just having a little fun with you.”
“Oh, well, I’m so glad it was fun for you. Now you can fuck off.”
“There is a little something I was hoping you could help me with, though.”
Theia sighed, steeling herself for more innuendo.
“I understand you’re working on your master’s in molecular biology at NAU.” That wasn’t creepy-stalkery at all.
“So?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that Smok Biotech is undertaking a joint venture with the university microbiology lab.”
Theia acknowledged this with an uninterested lift of her eyebrows, even though the new lab actually interested her a great deal. Smok was just the sort of corporation she didn’t want the university to be associated with, a for-profit pharmaceutical giant. At the same time, it offered unprecedented funding opportunities for expanded research.
“I need someone I can trust to provide some oversight on a special project—someone who won’t be fazed by...odd goings-on.” Lucien flashed his crooked smile again, trying to charm her, but seemed to realize the smile wasn’t working on her and let it fade. “To put it bluntly, someone familiar with the supernatural who also understands the science.”
Theia crossed her arms and studied him. “And are you? Familiar with it?”
Something dark seemed to cloud his vision for a moment, but he shook it off and smiled. “Not quite as familiar with it as you are, I’m sure. You might say my family is magical adjacent. Our business intersects with the magical community. It’s sort of a quid pro quo.”
“Unless you’re implying that I owe you for saving me from choking on a grape, there’s no quo I could possibly want from you or your organization. I’m sorry, Mr. Smok, but I’m not interested.”
Lucien met her gaze with a reproachful look. “Mr. Smok? Really?”
“Pretty much.” Theia caught Rhea’s eye across the room and moved away from the bar, but Lucien stepped in front of her once more.
“Talk to Rafe. Before you write me off completely, ask him about the mutually beneficial relationship the Smok family has had with the Diamantes for ages.” He took a card from his shirt pocket, crimson with black lettering, and handed it to her.
Theia thought about refusing it, but that would just prolong the “dance.” She snatched it out of his hand and walked swiftly away before he could say anything else, meeting Rhea halfway as she came to her twin’s rescue.
“I saw your signal.” Rhea glanced at Lucien still standing by the bar. He raised a glass of champagne toward them. “I wasn’t sure you really wanted rescuing, though. He looks tasty.”
“He’s a creep, and I’m not interested. I’m more concerned about Carter’s little magic show.”
Rhea glowered. “Yeah, what was that? How the hell did Malibu Ken get out of prison?”
“I’m guessing one of his dirty friends in high places fixed it for him.”
Lucien’s words about quid pro quo and his family’s relationship with the magical community came back to her. Both Rafe and Dev had spoken of connections that helped keep Covent business—and other supernatural events—from the public eye. Could that be the connection with the Smok family? Maybe she should talk to Rafe after all. Not because she had any intention of getting involved in Lucien’s project, but because she and her sisters had a right to know who else knew about their business.
It wasn’t until she was helping clean up after the reception ended that Theia found her opening. Phoebe and Rafe were about to leave for the Yucatán, and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.
Theia stacked the folding chairs as Rafe collected them, his thick, dark waves tied back in a high, bobbed tail. “What do you know about Lucien Smok?”
Rafe paused in picking up a chair. “Was he bothering you? I saw him talking to you, but I figured you could handle him. I’d keep him at arm’s length if I were you.”
It wasn’t quite the answer she’d expected. “So your family doesn’t have some kind of simpatico relationship with the Smoks?”
Rafe’s look was guarded. “I wouldn’t call it simpatico, exactly, but there is a relationship. It goes back centuries. To the time of the founding of the Covent, in fact.” The Diamantes had been founding members.
“You mean they’re a Covent family?”
“No, not exactly.” He handed her the folded chair. “There were no witches among the Smok family—that I know of. But I read a lot of Covent history in my father’s records after his death. Information that isn’t generally known.”
It was unlike Rafe to be so cagey.
“What kind of information?”
Rhea’s laugh rang out from the stairs as she came down with Phoebe after helping her change. Rafe set another chair on the stack and smiled at the sight of Phoebe in her usual bouncy ponytail, bangs across her forehead instead of swept back as they had been under the mantilla. “My father kept several volumes on Covent history and politics,” he murmured, still smiling at Phoebe. “Ione has the keys to his house. Tell her I left some books for you in the library.”
* * *
After seeing Phoebe and Rafe off with much ribbing and a fair amount of sisterly tears, Theia and Rhea flopped together onto the bench by the door, and Rhea kicked off her heels with a groan.
Theia removed hers more sedately. “Where’s Leo?”
“I told him to go ride with the Hunt for a while and work off some of his buzz. It’s weird. Alcohol doesn’t usually affect him this much. He’s got a pretty high tolerance.”
“I thought the Wild Hunt only appeared between Halloween and Yule.”
“It does, normally. But now that he’s mortal, he’s not bound by the Norns’ rules and he can conjure the riders when he likes. There’s always some sicko out there that needs a one-way ticket to Náströnd.”
Theia poked at her décolletage. “It seems a little like playing God. How does he determine that someone is deserving of having their soul ripped out and escorted to hell?”
Rhea shrugged. “It’s a scent or something. I don’t ask too many questions. He gets all Gunnar the tenth-century Viking on me sometimes, like his soul is taking the reins even though he’s no longer under the curse, and Gunnar can be a little...pompous.”
“But you’ve ridden with him.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t feel weird about it? About taking somebody out of the earthly plane?”
“And having one less pedophile or rapist walking the earth? Not so much.”
Theia had to admit she didn’t exactly hate the idea. As long as their guilt was certain.
When Ione and Dev came back from closing up the temple, Theia could see the tension on Ione’s face. Carter had really gotten to her. She couldn’t blame her. Carter Hamilton was like a nasty rash that just kept coming back. It hurt to see his manipulative bullshit affecting Ione like this.
As Ione picked up one of the plastic bins of supplies, Theia hopped up from the bench and grabbed another. “Do you need any help getting things back to the house?”
“No, I think we’re good. Dev’s already loaded up the car with the rest.”
Theia followed her out with her bin. “By the way, Rafe mentioned something about getting the key to his dad’s place from you. He wanted me to take a quick look in on it while I’m watching Phoebe’s.”
“His dad’s place?” Ione set the bin on top of the others and loaded Theia’s next to it. “I thought he was selling that.”
“I assume he still is, but I guess nobody’s been by regularly except the gardener, and he wanted me to take a look around.”
Ione could always tell when one of them was bullshitting her, and the fact that she didn’t push back on the request spoke volumes about her mental state.
She took a set of keys from her purse and handed them to Theia. “Just make sure you get them back to me.”
As Ione got into the car, Dev took Theia aside. “She didn’t want me to tell you this, but our unwanted guest pretty much ruined her plans for the reception.” Dev glanced at Rhea leaning into the car to block Ione’s view. “It was supposed to be ours as well.”
Theia stared at him, confused. “Your what?”
“Reception. Don’t react. She might snap if she realizes I’m telling you. But we drove up to Vegas a few weeks ago and tied the knot.” He allowed himself a little grin while Theia suppressed the urge to squeal and jump up and down.
“You complete bastard. I can’t believe you’re telling me this now when I can’t do anything.”
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