Short Stories

Wicked Winter Took Him

In the Chill, Relentless Rain Then Keep Me 1

Short stories on Amazon:

The Assassin

The AssassinShe would never forget the first moment she’d seen him standing on the threshold. Straight dark hair, intent gray eyes set in a narrow, hawkish face. Lean and powerful, a thrumming energy to him as if he restrained a seething force within that he barely kept leashed. His every look penetrated the soul, bared every secret; his every touch brought with it a whisper of doom; his every movement slid through reality, elegant, graceful, and deadly. He spoke little, moved sparingly; he was still until action was necessary, quiet until words were essential.

This was the assassin who killed hundreds at the king’s behest.

The man she was to live with, spend every spare moment with.

The man who would train her to do the impossible.


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Dearly Beloved, Fatally Hunted

Dearly Beloved,Fatally Hunted same fontMoonlight saturates the night, its milky rays dripping into the labyrinth that sprawls like a beautiful trap in front of a fairy-tale chateau. Clouds briefly obscure the moon.

She hears him… following her.

She runs again, stumbling and falling with a thud on the gravel and dirt-strewn path. She bites her lip so hard to keep an expletive from rising to her lips that she cringes. Pebbles jab into her palms and expose shins where the gown has ridden up.

Two rows over, she hears him whip around; she knows he is peering keenly into the darkness, head cocked to the side. He’s listening, pinpointing her position.

She holds her breath.

“There’s nowhere to go, my love. No one to turn to. Come back to the party. Come back to me.”
His voice – that beloved voice! that treacherous voice! – drifts through the hedge.
Scrambling, she climbs to her feet with difficulty in the smothering silence of the night and tries to merge with the elongated shadows cast by the hedges…

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The Eighth Sin

2Knowing he would seek to work his wiles on me (again) and (frankly) not being in the mood for it, I waited until Lust was flying away before I arrived on the scene to wreak my own form of havoc with our practice targets.

Pausing next to the open carriage door, I watched his taut, bare derriere and his slate-gray wings with their red edges vanish into the distance, then I surveyed the damage he’d wrought.

The brigands had gone. Fleur and Arnaud were still tied up. And Genevieve, the unfortunate girl Lust had seduced to sin, sat curled up on the carriage seat, clutching her gaping bodice closed, saturated in the stench of sex and steeped in the aftermath of Lust’s specialty.


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Sonya Lano

Sonya Lano

Owner of two cats and huge dreams and author of any kind of love story so long as wild stuff is going on...

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