Behind the Throne: Book Two of the Morgan Crowe trilogy
Blurb:
Alone, pregnant and cranky, Morgan Crowe finds herself surrounded by enemies and with no one to trust when luck finds her on the doorstep of a friend long forgotten. Taken in by the daughter of a powerful King who would rather see her dead, Morgan relies on her instincts for survival and hopes she could live through the next few months in order to give birth, and then she would be up to her normal strength and skill.
As her rotten luck would have it an enemy has found itself in her safe haven and has taken revenge, by taking her only surviving friend and causing her to come face to face with her past. Court intrigue and danger rears its ugly head as the grip on her tightens, causing her to reach out for help and learn that to trust may not be as bad as she thought. Especially when that trust comes in the form a young Werewolf met once on a rainy night that seems so long ago.
But attractions are not that simple, especially when an old rival shows up and the heat between them flares. But Morgan has no time for macho games, especially when her friend’s life is in her grasp.
Excerpt:
Keeping Quicksilver’s attention on her, Morgan jumped back as the blonde assassin’s blade barely missed skewering her abdomen. Instead a sharp pain let her know how close his own deadly blades came to slicing open her belly. A quick glance down revealed her shirt neatly sliced opened, left to right across her midsection, as a thin line of crimson marked the area along the flat of her abdomen.
“Thou shouldst not have come back.” He warned, pinning her gaze with his strange eyes.
“Couldn’t help it, Slaine. I missed you too much.”
A faint smile crossed his face before he feinted to her left, then swung neatly around to stab at her right. Morgan smoothly danced out of the way, a smile creeping over her lips as she adjusted her blade to strike.
“Getting a bit slow? Could it be, you missed me too?” She teased as her arm snapped out to strike, leaving behind a slash of blood across Quicksilver’s forearm.
He glanced down at the wound, then back at her and shrugged. “I had been hoping to settle down, raise kids and all. Thou wert the only woman I thought would be perfect to share my life with.”
Keeping her eyes on him, Morgan circled slowly to the left. He turned, following her every move. “Thanks for the thought, sweets but I’ve been married to two assholes, not looking for a third. We could still have sex though.”
He seemed to ponder that for a moment before shaking his head no. “Sorry, beautiful. Not into necrophilia.”
With a lightning fast move, Quicksilver dodged her defense and slammed her back into the wall before placing the edge of his blade hard against her throat. Out of sadistic pleasure he pressed the sharp edge into the soft flesh, deep enough to draw a ruby of blood.
“I could slit thy lovely throat and it wouldst not cause me the slightest bit of unrest. But then, thou wouldst probably survive it.”
“Of course.” Morgan smiled, showing her teeth.
“And then thou wouldst probably just rip out my heart like thou tried to do to the Were, wouldst thee not? No need to answer, I already know.”
Keeping her gaze steadily fixed on her opponent’s, Morgan listened as the Sidhe who came with her bind up their prisioner before once more Slaine spoke. Leaning his face closer to Morgan’s, he dipped his head toward hers, until she could feel his warm breath on her skin.
“I take it Prince Khelvan’s ready to rescue his beloved Vivienne?”
With a shadow of a smile, she ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, causing him to watch with interest before his eyes flickered over to Pjetr. He eyed the Sidhe warily. “Who art thou?”
“Mind removing thy dagger from the lady’s throat?” Pjetr motioned with his head toward Morgan.
Looking back at the lovely Sidhe woman, Quicksilver grinned roguishly. “Think she might actually be enjoying this.” He lowered his dagger as he stepped back, only to feel the subtle prick of Morgan’s dagger against his spine. He looked down at his sides, only then noticing her arms loosely around his waist. Glancing back up, he raised an eyebrow in question.
Blowing him a teasing kiss, Morgan slowly moved her arms, removing the blade from his back before raised a hand to rub at her throat. The cut stung a little but nothing to worry her about, already she felt the wound healing, leaving nothing but a crimson stain behind.
Maggie Berkley 