Deviant Knights Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Alexandra O’Hurley

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-045-2

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Marie Medina

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Foxy…thanks for the research help.

  And once again to my family…for putting up with my reluctance to leave the computer.

  DEVIANT KNIGHTS

  Knights of the Temple

  Alexandra O’Hurley

  Copyright © 2012

  Prologue

  Barcelona, 1560 AD

  He walked along the stone passageway behind the dark beauty, rushing down the narrow corridor seeking refuge outside the city walls. Barcelona had become a fiery hell on earth. The Inquisition was in full steam yet again. Just yesterday, four men had been burned at the stake, charged with heresy, sodomy, and witchcraft, while five others had been hung the day before. He knew it was just a matter of time before the church found him and began its torture campaign.

  Muslims and Jews were being forced to convert to Catholicism en masse. Had the Crusades not been bad enough? Tens of thousands had been killed over the years in the name of Christendom. Some had even died at his hand. That was something he was forever regretful of. His religion was based on love, peace, and openness…forgiveness. The power the Catholic Church had over the people was nothing like what the Christian religion professed.

  There was nothing about this Pope and his Vatican City that treated people with the compassion of true Christianity. People burned at the stake for speaking their minds, for having original thoughts? That was the real heresy, not the feigned ones the church forced the masses to admit to through the use of torture.

  He had given his oath to uphold the Christian tenants many years ago. He’d given his sword and his life over to protecting the weak and the persecuted. There was no way he could ignore the suffering and plight of those being incarcerated and tortured by the Inquisition. At once, he’d gone to Barcelona to free as many as he could from the shackles of the Pope and the Spanish king.

  One man was not enough. His friends had told him not to go. That the trip was suicide. Mayhap they were right. Especially as he and his woman now raced through the tunnels to reach freedom.

  Torches were sparsely lit down the winding tunnel, barely casting enough of a glow to reach the next. As they entered another darkened area, fear gripped him again. His senses told him that he could trust the lovely woman before him. They’d spent wonderful nights together, entwined in her bed, claiming love and discussing their future after the Inquisition was over.

  His Paloma.

  He would take this woman as his wife. He could even envision a future where her belly grew ripe with his child. Immortality through family. His heart was full for the first time in his very long life. There was something to make him rise each morning, someone to hold him when the sun went down.

  The light of the next torch glowed before them, and his love turned to look at him once they passed the blaze. He saw her regal nose, slender and pert, and her shapely lips, full from his kisses. She turned back, the glow of the flames casting glints of gold in her mahogany curls that dipped to her curvy arse. He had no doubt there laid gypsy in her blood. If the Inquisitors found her, she would surely be tortured.

  They had to persist, had to escape. This woman was a fire in his blood, and he needed her passion to keep him sane. Give him a reason to live. The long, lonely years had been harsh, but now she would ease the raging in his soul.

  “Not much further, my love. It’s only but a few hundred feet further.” Her rapid Spanish was breathy from their escape. He felt her hand shaking in his the closer they grew to the end of the tunnels. She had nothing to fear. He would do everything in his power to save her, give his life if needed.

  A light beckoned as they turned a corner in the corridor, and daylight splashed into the dank underground labyrinth they’d used to flee. The smell here was improving as clean air fought to flow in and mixed with the earthy odor below. The closer they got, the more the sun blinded him. He put his hand before him to cut the glare.

  They burst through the opening and into the verdant green of the hillside. Graceful Weeping Willows waved their long arms in the sultry breeze that came off the curves of the land. He took a deep breath, clearing the malodorous scents from his lungs.

  The sun shone down on them. He stretched in the light, letting the strong rays coat his skin, and felt the vibrancy swell over him. Looking over his shoulder, Barcelona was a distant speck on the landscape.

  They’d done it. Safety and their shared future were within their grasp.

  A smile formed on his lips as he recaptured Paloma’s hand in his and pulled her into his embrace. Stealing a kiss, he tasted her warm heat and let it wash over him.

  “We have a little longer to go before we are truly safe. We must go.” He felt her stiffen and pull away from him. Apparently, she still feared capture.

  “Paloma, my love, we are free. There is nothing to worry about. We’ve made it outside the city walls.”

  “The church’s reach is wide. We must continue on. Come!”

  He sighed, releasing her. She whipped around and started for the nearest hillock. Following behind her, he watched her curvy form before him and smiled at the thought of what he would do to her once they reached her uncle’s homestead. Her body was tense, her shoulders clenched as if she awaited attack at any moment.

  A gnawing sensation swirled in his belly.

  Once they crested the hill, he realized she had been right. City guards outnumbered the two of them fifty to one. The guards immediately pointed their blades at them both. Before he could unsheathe his sword, the captain grabbed Paloma and pointed a fine silver blade at her jugular. She struggled a bit and a tiny tear of crimson ran down her neck.

  “Lay down your weapon, or I will flay her open and leave her for the vultures,” the captain spat at him in rapid Spanish.

  He gauged the men around him, knowing the odds to be too overwhelming to fight and have Paloma survive. His only chance would be to sacrifice himself to free her in hopes he could escape later.

  “Will you release her, allow her to go without harm, if I do not fight?”

  “Si.”

  He dropped his sword, raising his hands in defeat.

  “Smart man.” The captain continued to hold Paloma as his men swarmed in and cuffed him in irons. “But not too bright.”

  The man wrenched Paloma’s head around and his grotesque mouth descended on his woman’s. He felt as though he would retch at the sight, surging forward to stop the captain from harming Paloma. The guards surrounding him brought him to his knees as he was forced to watch the man fondle and kiss his Spanish beauty.

  But then he suddenly realized…she was kissing the captain back. She began to writhe against the obese man, undulating her hips against what he hoped was not the man’s erection. Bile rose in his throat. The captain separated from her and beamed down at him, insolence in his smile before he turned back to the woman.

  “Paloma, you have pleased me. You promised you could lead him here and you succeeded.” The captain stepped back and reached into his jacket, pulling out a coin purse, which he handed to Paloma.<
br />
  She grinned at the Captain and then looked down to the purse, opening it and eyeing the contents before tucking it into her waistband. Turning away from the captain, she glanced down at him and glared.

  “You disgust me, aberration. I despised touching your body. But it was worth the gold to see you in their clutches. Heretic!”

  He steeled himself when he saw her foot fly in his direction, catching him swiftly in the bollocks. Pain radiated through his body, but it was nothing to match the ache in his soul. The captain jumped atop his white steed with great effort and whisked the woman onto his lap. She grated her hips on top of his, punctuating her perfidy.

  They led him back to Barcelona, dragging him behind the woman he thought he adored and her lover. He began to wonder how they would end his life. Would it be the hangman’s noose, the guillotine? Or would he be burned at the stake?

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Kadence ran through the front door, tossing her pack and keys to the counter without looking to see where they landed. Her feet crossed the worn linoleum of her eighth-floor walk-up’s kitchen, crossing onto the worn parquet of the tiny living room. Eyes solely on her computer, she dropped into her oversized office chair, her one luxury in the tiny abode, and clicked her mouse. The large blank screen hummed to life, color bursting before her eyes, and she clicked on the Internet portal. Breath hitched in her lungs from her impatience. Another few clicks and she saw the email she’d been waiting on in her inbox.

  Hovering the mouse over the email, she paused. Nervousness swelled in her gut. What if he hadn’t liked it? What if he thought it was horrible? What if, what if, what if?

  Straightening in her seat, she shook her head to get the errant thoughts out of her mind. He’d loved every piece she’d shown him thus far, had eagerly purchased every single one. Why would this one be any different? She clicked the email link and settled back into her seat, imagining the sound of his voice as she spoke the words in her head. Of course, she assumed his voice would be deep and sensual, the kind a woman could listen to for hours and never get sick of. The kind that practically peeled the clothes right off their backs.

  In her mind, he was also tall and handsome. It was already apparent that he had no issues with money, as he’d spent well over five grand to buy her artwork. That still boggled her mind. Never in a million years had she thought anyone would be willing to purchase her hobby, and she was glad every, single day that she’d posted some of it on DeviantART. Six months after activating her account, a message had come with an offer to buy one of the first pictures she’d added.

  At first, she’d thought it was a joke. But the mysterious Michel de Saint-Omer had been quite serious. A few days after that message, she’d met a bike courier at a Starbucks twenty blocks from home. The delivery guy had handed her an envelope with five hundred dollars in cash inside and a note of thanks, signed in a strong hand with a simple “M” at the end. Kadence had handed over a cardboard shipping tube with her sketch inside and shook her head the entire way home, zipping and zagging in hopes she was not being followed. Freaks were everywhere in NYC, no reason to open herself up to chance.

  The whole experience had been surreal. But that five hundred had bought more art materials, as well as a nice night out for her and her best friend, Jane. They’d toasted “M” and danced the night away, sipping frilly, girly drinks as they moved their asses on the dance floor.

  Two weeks later, he placed another order for a painting she’d done. She had a lot of different art pieces, but Michel had requested to purchase a painting of the same subject as the first buy. It was then that she began to question Michel’s sexuality.

  All the pieces he requested were of her dream man, a male she’d dreamed of for over two years. She could see his face in her mind’s eye—as if she had a permanent photograph tacked to her pre-frontal cortex. Mr. Dreamy spent nearly every night with her, sensually touching her body, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She woke up alert and frustrated every, single morning. Nothing was ever consummated, though she really wished for some satisfaction after so many months.

  Soon after his dream appearances began, she’d started to sketch him.

  It was a little obsessive. Okay, it was a lot obsessive. The only person who knew anything about it was Jane, who still thought it a bit odd, but let it go because she loved her like a sister. And the fact that Kadence was absolutely clear that the man didn’t exist. At least outwardly. Inwardly, she wasn’t so confident. Was it just her overactive imagination mixed with a little dry spell in her love life? Well, a big dry spell. She hadn’t been laid in over two years, since moving into the city. Since the dreams had begun.

  Not for lack of trying, but all of the guys she seemed to run into seemed to be at polar ends of the dating spectrum. Either they were ready to settle down, as in immediately, or they only wanted a piece of ass. Kadence wasn’t any man’s booty call or one-night stand, nor was she ready to slip a diamond on her finger. It just wasn’t her style.

  Where, oh where, was Mr. In Between? But at least she had Mr. Dreamy. He’d been in her head for so long that she was starting to blur the lines between reality and the surreal. She knew he didn’t really exist, but he was just there. Always there. When she was lonely. When she was sad. He was there for her every single night. Holding her and making everything feel better.

  Of course, they never talked in her nightly strolls through dreamland. He held her in his arms, kissed her neck and shoulders. Perhaps caressed the swell of her breast as he lay close beside her in her bed that wasn’t her real bed. It all took place in some surreal baroque bedroom with swirls of red smoke surrounding them. Like a bad acid trip, not that she’d know what one of them looked like, but she could imagine it was awfully close.

  Kadence wasn’t sure if making him the star of her artwork was good or bad at this point. It had started as a way to potentially stop the dreams, a way to excise whatever demons she had in her psyche. Not that the dreams felt in any way malignant, but the constant state of sexual frustration she woke up to had gotten old a long time ago. Yet the artwork hadn’t seemed to rid her of her curse, only strengthened it. And now, she was so used to drawing the sculpted lines of his handsome face, that no matter what she began to draw, it always seemed to become about him.

  Expressively blue eyes were framed by a strong brow and a straight nose. His cheekbones were high, but the firm, chiseled edge of his chin didn’t allow his face to look feminine in any way. Light, brown hair was longer than what she usually liked in a man, but it looked right for him. The soft curls ended just below the nape and would cover a collar, if he’d ever been dressed in any of her dreams. A very tall, thick, muscled body was something hard to rage against her softness.

  The small smattering of chest hair sprinkled between his flat, hard nipples and then started again around his navel, trailing down to his substantial, erect cock. Not that she’d ever been able to enjoy the organ. At times she even wondered if it would fit had she the chance. He was perhaps around thirty-five, with tiny fine lines around his eyes and mouth, perfect for her at thirty. He was utterly and completely exquisite, the perfection of masculine beauty.

  Michel apparently felt the same, because over the last couple of months, he’d bought a grand total of six pieces, spending a good deal of money to acquire them. The last one had been a work he’d requested, her first commissioned painting. If she could focus on the email at hand, she’d know if he liked the second custom-made piece. She dug down deep to find the baritone voice she’d attached to Michel in her head. Too bad he was gay, because the image of him in her head was exhilarating and sexy.

  She read and re-read the missive, a pang of fear spiking through her.

  The work is exquisite. You really are quite talented. I think it’s time for us to meet in real life, and we can make the exchange over dinner. Interested? -M

  The idea of going to dinner intrigued her, to see if the face and voice she’d imagined was a
nywhere close to what Michel looked like in real life. But he was a virtual stranger, heavy on the virtual. Yes, he’d been in contact with her on and off for over five months, and was a client, but he could be anyone. Thoughts of a serial rapist or axe murderer wafted through her head and all the urban myths and legends she’d heard over the years came crashing down on her.

  But their many emailed conversations had been full of charm and hadn’t brought on any thoughts of weirdness or oddity. There’d been no vibe of danger, and the man had spent a lot of money on her. He was helping her to live out a life’s dream. Didn’t that deserve a go-see and a handshake? Some gratitude for making her feel for once that there was a future for her that consisted of something other than slaving away in a job she hated?

  Clicking on the reply button, she thanked him for his kind words and agreed to dinner. She hovered again on the send button, considering everything once more before clicking the button firmly. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, her nerves getting the best of her.

  Surprise filled her when she got an almost immediate response.

  Great. Nine o’clock, tonight. Per Se in the TimeWarnerBuilding. See you there.

  Kadence looked at the screen, dumbfounded. Ignoring the high-handed, near-demand for her presence without asking if the day and time would work, she focused rather on the fact she’d be going to one of the hardest restaurants to get a table at in the city. Per Se was extravagantly expensive as well, but she’d heard the food was to die for. She wondered how many people keeled over from the bill alone.

  Mentally running through her tiny, overly full closet considering her options for the last minute invitation, she answered Michel’s email with her agreement and then stood, seeing she’d left her front door wide open in her panic to check her email. Not a smart thing to do in the city. She hoped it wasn’t the only stupid mistake she’d made today.