Dhark & Desired Read online

  The Dharkling Daughter Dhark & Desired Book 2

  C. C. Dowling

  Contents

  Dhark & Desired

  1. Harlo

  2. Dhru

  3. Dhru

  4. Harlo

  5. Dhru

  6. Dhru

  7. Harlo

  8. Dhru

  9. Harlo

  10. Dhru

  11. Harlo

  12. Dhru

  13. Harlo

  14. Harlo

  15. Dhru

  16. Harlo

  Dhark & Damned

  About the Author

  Also Available by C.C. Dowling

  Dhark & Desired

  The continuation of the Dharkstar Dragon Saga...

  After discovering the truth about her dual nature, Dhru Dharkstar is more ready than ever to take down the Council. But first, her and Creed will have to survive an assassination attempt.

  Charlotte Storm has waited over twenty-five years to get revenge on the dragon responsible for killing her brother. Unfortunately, Dhamyan Dharkstar has proven an impossible mark to hit. Guess she'll have to settle for taking out his daughter instead.

  What Charlotte doesn't expect is to be attracted to the foul-mouthed dragon, or to learn the dangerous truth about who Dhru's parents are. But Harlo knows all about dangerous parents, and how to hide secrets of her own.

  Set in Las Vegas, Dhark & Desired promises more action, more desire, more cursing, and more sex than book 1.

  Copyright © 2017 by C.C. Dowling. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  This work was edited by:

  Kisa Whipkey www.kisawhipkey.com

  Empress Author Solutions empressauthorsolutions.com

  Cover art by Christian Bentulan

  www.facebook.com/coversbychristian

  Formatting by The Graphics Shed

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  Thursday nights are the busiest at Nightingale’s.

  Lyra’s strip club/bar, located in the seedier part of downtown Las Vegas, caters to humans and Outer Realmers alike. The services offered compared to conventional clubs? Very different.

  According to recent intelligence given to me by the Queens of Hell, Dhru Dharkstar is one of Lyra’s bartenders. All employees work Thursday nights, which means she’s here.

  Even without the intelligence telling me where to locate her, I could have found her. The instant I’d stepped through the boundary between our realms, her energy signature wrapped around me like a blanket left behind by an ex-lover, full of familiar comfort and bitter resentment.

  Granted, I’ve never tracked Dhru before. No one has. Her father made sure to hide her well. But I know Dhamyan’s energetic stench intimately. I’ve spent the past couple decades training to take him down. For now, I’m willing to settle for his daughter.

  My soft shoes grip the dirt-encrusted concrete as I skim across the flat, sunken rooftop of Nightingale’s. The shouts of the ensuing fight on the ground below put my senses on high alert. The sounds of battle, and a stench that’s unmistakably Minotaur, remind me to be in the moment and pay attention. I can fantasize about all the ways I’ll torture Dhamyan after I murder his daughter.

  Reaching the edge of the roof, I duck behind the ledge and peer over. When I do, my breath catches in my throat. My heart stutters in my chest. A tingling sensation, like the rush after barely dodging a Magi’s spell, trickles up my spine.

  By the Demon Seat, I didn’t expect Dhamyan’s daughter to be half naked. And so fucking hot.

  On her back, tits exposed. Her features pinched in anger. Silky black bangs stuck to the sweat on her forehead. Her beautiful lips open, ready to cuss out the Minotaur.

  Wait. Why am I thinking about her lips? Unless I plan to peel them from her face with a sharp blade, I shouldn’t be thinking about them at all.

  The bull roars and charges. I swear, if that Minotaur hurts her, I’ll cut off his cock and make him swallow it.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? And what’s with the surge of energy riding my nerve ends, making me want to jump from this roof to save her instead of gut her like the dragon-pig she is?

  This isn’t right. Succubi aren’t ruled by want. We create desire in others to weaken them. To feed on them. Manipulate them. Maybe there’s more to Dhamyan’s daughter than I know. Maybe she’s part demon. Or something else. No one knows anything about her mother.

  The bull has her pinned beneath him. I push aside how I feel and ignore the rush of blood under my skin, bringing awareness to the spot between my thighs. Instead, I allow a sadistic grin to part my lips. I don’t envy Dhru. Minotaurs are foul, vile beasts. That close, she’s getting a full dose of his pheromones.

  “Really, asshole? Killing me conflicts with your schedule?” Dhru says to the bull.

  If I didn’t hate her so much, I’d almost admire her self-important attitude and sense of entitlement.

  Demons, especially children of the Queens of Hell, know all about entitlement.

  But the Minotaur isn’t going to kill her. The Dharkstar bitch is my mark. Mine. I owe her an arrow between the eyes. Well, not her exactly. Her father. Still, getting to him is harder than getting into Fort Knox, as the humans would say. She’ll have to do. For now.

  Pushing to my feet, I nock an arrow, draw my bow, and aim. But the Minotaur is no longer on top of Dhru. He’s fighting a Called Fae.

  What an interesting turn.

  Relaxing my bow, I watch as the Called gets his ass kicked because Dhru can’t follow a simple fucking command. Dragons. The Shadow Lands would be better off without them. Then again, the Shadow Lands would be better off without the Undying Lands hounding us, too. Without the goody-two-shoe Fae and their Called making sure we all follow the rules.

  No wonder my aunt Lilith created the Named—assassins trained in the art of death and seduction. Succubi are genetically driven toward those traits. We have our father to thank for that.

  I get all tingly in my girl parts when the bull pierces the Fae’s side. Blood, and violence against Lightlings, excites me. Stimulates me. After this is done, after I kill the dragon bitch and her pet Called, I’m going inside to order a Satyr, plus an underling demon, with a side of vampire to celebrate. Price be damned.

  Dhru shifts into her partial dragon form. It happens so fast, I don’t have time to make sense of what I see. Her scales. They’re . . . wrong, but so fucking right. I’ve never seen a more stunning dragon form.

  Gunmetal scales flecked with gold capture the moon and starlight. Deep, rich amethyst eyes glow, alight with the fire inside her. Shadowed, purple flames erupt from her throat. She is nothing short of magnificent.

  Desire rages against my resolve to kill her, threatening to destroy me from the inside out. I don’t understand. I’ve never wanted a dragon before. Not after what happened to Mayz. And it’s not a habit I’m about to pick up now.

  Dhru cooks the Minotaur like a piece of scorched meat left on the grill too long, then grabs the Called Weapon off the ground. Every protective impulse within me fires at once. My nerve endings scream at me to stop her. But it’s too late. And seriously, why should I? She’s doing my job for me.

  Her death will be more agonizing than an arrow through the skull. For that, I can be
grateful.

  I almost drop my bow when Dhru takes off the Minotaur’s head, when she doesn’t die a horrifically painful death. Called Weapons can only be wielded by Called Fae and their direct descendants. Everyone knows that, Lightling and Dharkling alike.

  My fingers go numb from gripping the bow too tight as the implication of her wielding a Called Weapon settles into shock. All I can do is stare at the scene before me. Craediarrae Blaize is the Called’s name, if memory serves. Cousin to the sister of the Queen of the Undying Lands. As far as Called soldiers go, his rigorous rule-following makes the other Called seem lax.

  So why the fuck is he kissing a Dharkling?

  Dhru reaches down the Fae’s pants and strokes him. The next moment, she pops his buttons, exposing Creed’s huge erection. Dhru lines up her hips and—for the light of Lucifer! Is she riding his dick?

  Un-nocking the arrow, I drop my hands to my sides and watch. I can’t look away. For a Called like Creed to break his vow and fuck a Dharkling—a dragon Dharkling . . . it’s just . . . wow.

  If anyone knows it’s possible for a Lightling to want a Dharkling, it’s a Succubus. It’s just not normal. Neither is a dragon wielding a Called Weapon.

  Dhru moans. The sound goes straight to my clit. My fingers move without my permission, seeking out the pulsing bundle of nerves between my legs. Touching myself through my pants, I thank Hell they’re tight. It makes for more sensation. Sensation that takes over my body and clouds my mind, making me forget what I came here to do.

  What am I doing? I shouldn’t be hungry. I glutted myself between the legs of two lesser demons less than four hours ago. I have a healthy sexual appetite—all Succubi do—but I pride myself on control. My sisters need sex every two hours to satisfy their cravings. My brothers are worse. I swear, if we didn’t have missions to go on for the Demon Seat, they’d never leave their bedrooms.

  Me? I like to tease, and deny, and stretch myself. Push my limits. Find boundaries and destroy them. I like to be unpredictable.

  “Always do what’s least expected,” my eldest brother, Mayz, had told me when I first started my assassin training. “It’s the best weapon any of us have.”

  He was right. I just wish he’d taken his own advice. Maybe then he’d still be alive, and I wouldn’t hate dragons so much.

  But I do hate them, and we can’t change the past. I hate this particular dragon even more. I haven’t been in her presence for more than ten minutes and already I feel like I’m losing my edge. Losing control. A Succubus out of control is dangerous.

  “Fuck, Creed!” Dhru shouts.

  My hand presses harder against my sex. She’s close.

  So am I.

  “You’re mine,” Creed says.

  “I’m fucking yours,” Dhru replies.

  Something inside me snaps.

  She isn’t his. She’s mine. My mark. My target. But that thought quickly derails when Dhru cries out in pleasure. Creed does, too. I almost join them as my fingers stroke my clit in rhythm to their pulsing pleasure. Not that I needed to touch myself at all. I could come off the contact high from these two.

  Raw, unbridled sexual energy ripples out from Dhru and Creed, atomic-mushroom style. My orgasm mixed with theirs rocks me hard. Biting my lip to stifle a groan that would give away my position, I drop to my knees and drink in enough residual fallout to power Vegas for twenty lifetimes. Slinking down the rest of the way against the retaining wall, I land in a postcoital puddle on the roof.

  Holy hell. I’ve never been this full in my entire life. I’ve never even heard about being this full. It’s like I just ate a twelve-course meal of pubescent Satyrs.

  Catching my breath, I let the concrete roof support my weight as I enjoy the haze of gratification. A haze that doesn’t last long. Dhru screams in agony. Her cry is like a bucket of ice water on the heated fire between my thighs.

  Nocking an arrow, I’m to my feet and aiming at the threat. I mean, for Satan’s sake, how many of us want her dead? Except Dhru’s not under attack. And I’m not her goddamn savior. I’m supposed to be the opposite of that.

  “Your Fae side is awakening,” Creed says.

  No shit. After that epic fuck, my Fae side is awakening, and I’m far from Fae.

  A haze of dizziness sweeps over me, an aftereffect of the massive energy consumption. Shaking my head to clear it—not only of the fog, but of this crazy-ass emotion that demands I protect Dhru with my life—I consider what Creed said.

  Dhru has a Fae side. Not a surprise. She wielded a Called Weapon, which means she isn’t just any Fae. Still, hearing it spoken out loud answers a decades’ old question.

  No wonder Dhamyan hid his daughter on this shithole Inner Realm planet. A daughter suspiciously born sixteen months after my brother’s death. Normal gestation time for dragons. Short, but not unheard of, for Fae.

  Vengeance for Mayz twists my insides, overshadowing my confusion about Dhru. After almost thirty years of searching, I’ve finally found something that will bring Dhamyan down for good.

  The joy I feel at this revelation doesn’t last long. Light—pure, white, and blinding—streaks down from the sky, hitting the rooftop with laser-beam precision. A tall, muscled figure pushes to his feet, his feathered wings reaching into the air behind him.

  The Power angel doesn’t see me yet. It doesn’t know that I’m about to have the best damn day of my almost ninety-year existence. Killing an angel and a Dharkstar, with a side of Called, will not only earn me status among my kind, but a deep satisfaction guaranteed to make the rest of my decade.

  Bow in hand, the angel takes aim at my dragon. With a big fuck-you grin to the fluffy garden in the sky, I raise my own bow, take aim, and release.

  What the fairy fuck is happening? One minute, Creed’s filling me up, all the way to the hilt. The next? He’s filling the rest of me. I mean, like every goddamn part.

  My dragon takes a back seat as the thing beneath my dragon takes control. Suddenly, Creed is everywhere. Inside every muscle, tendon, and bone. Inside every cell, and molecule, and whatever the hell else science has that’s smaller than that. He feels so fucking amazing, until he doesn’t.

  My blood boils, burning the lining of my veins. My muscles spasm. My internal organs liquefy. At least, that’s what this new level of Hell feels like.

  I’m vaguely aware of Creed when he pulls out of me. I think he’s talking to me, but I can’t hear him. I don’t understand a damn thing, probably because my brain is mush.

  To think, of all the warnings I’ve ignored about what drugs will do to your brain, and of all the shit things I’ve snorted, drank, and consumed, it’s screwing a goddamn fairy that finally takes me out.

  “Shit, Dhru.” Creed’s deep voice finally breaks through the shitstorm leveling my entire body. “Hold on.”

  Something presses against my chest. Creed chants and sings in the same language he used in my room before Helen left. And fuck if whatever it is he’s doing doesn’t take the edge off more than a shot or a line ever has. I could easily get addicted to Creed.

  “W-What’s happening to me?” I croak out, sounding wrecked as hell. I am wrecked as hell.

  He presses harder against my chest. A surge of electric energy pulses down my spine. “You’re becoming.”

  “Becoming what?” I ask. Isn’t being a fucking dragon enough?

  “Your Fae side is awakening.”

  Shit. “Well, can’t we just tell that bitch to go back to sleep? Because this su—”

  My back arches against the sharp, stinging pain of razor blades raking across my stomach. My lungs freeze, and I swear my heart stops beating.

  Good, because right now, I want to fucking die.

  “Dammit!” Creed growls, then slams his fist against my chest. Hard.

  I gasp, sucking in much-needed air. It isn’t a relief. It’s like swallowing a hundred hypodermic needles. Blood thunders in my ears at a pace that seems impossible. The space behind my heart hurts, and no fucking wonder. My
blood pressure’s about to give me an aneurism.

  “I’m sorry,” Creed says over and over as he kisses my cheeks, neck, and forehead. “I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t . . . know . . . what?” I manage to say between short breaths. Damn. Should my heart beat this fast?

  “That becoming your Destined, joining the halves of our souls into one, would cause you to change.”

  Destined? Joining souls? Damn, not that soulmate bullshit again. Though, if I’m really honest with myself, I knew Creed was mine, and I was his, the moment I stuck his giant cock inside me. Before that even, when I’d thought Aiden was going to kill him. I wasn’t about to let that shit go down.

  Both my dragon and my Fae perked right the hell on up to kick some Minotaur ass to protect him. So why doesn’t my dragon feel as connected to Creed as the Fae in me does? Sure, my dragon claims Creed. But he’s more like a glittering gem or shiny object. Something to be coveted. Not something to be soul-bound to.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask. I don’t fully have a handle on this Destined crap, and I don’t know what awakening, or becoming, or changing means.

  Creed winces like I punched him. “Y-You didn’t feel that? When we climaxed together?”

  Oh. That. “Would I sound stupid if I said I just thought you were that good?”

  Creed laughs, and it’s the best sound because, if he’s laughing, then I know I’m going to be fine. Well, relatively fine. I did recently learn that I’m part dragon and part Fae. Dharkling and Lightling. Whatever that means.