Paranormal Erotica. Elizabeth Coldwell

      

      PARANORMAL EROTICA

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

The Alchemist’s Apprentice – Rose de Fer

The Candidate – Rhyll Biest

Laura May’s Candy Man – Giselle Renarde

       Demonbound – Ellen Heights

       The Man at the Window – Elizabeth Coldwell

       The Girl in the Stable – Scarlet Rush

       For One Night – Torrance Sené

       Otherworldly Seductions – Kathleen Tudor

       The Best of Both Worlds – Morgan Honeyman

       Taste the Blood of Dracula – Chrissie Bentley

       More from Mischief

       About Mischief

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       The Alchemist’s Apprentice Rose de Fer

      Auren knew from her master’s frown that the potion hadn’t done what it was supposed to. It had smelled foul, like zombie flowers, and it had tasted even worse. But she’d obeyed without question when he gave it to her to drink.

      Although she was always curious what new magic she was participating in, it wasn’t her place to ask and wouldn’t be for quite some time yet. When Valtiori was feeling generous he shared his thoughts with her, and sometimes taught her how to mix simple potions. But she had learned early on not to ask, and his riding crop had reinforced the lesson.

      The first two years of apprenticeship involved building a relationship of absolute trust and obedience with one’s master. An alchemist had to know his secrets would be safe with the one who sought to learn them. So in the beginning an apprentice was merely an experimental subject, one to test spells and potions on. It was a dangerous business, meant to prove the mettle of the one seeking instruction and weed out the timid or unworthy. For Auren it was exhilarating. She loved the uncertainty, the frisson of risk involved in every new experiment.

      She’d always been adventurous, often even reckless. And her decision to train as an alchemist instead of becoming a temple priestess like her sisters had been accepted with disappointment and confusion by her family. Most baffling of all for them was her choice of teacher.

      Valtiori was not renowned for his kindness. He lived by himself high up on the mountain. He rarely ventured down to the village and when he did he never exchanged pleasantries. He conducted his business briskly, with cold politeness, and went on his way as soon as it was completed. There was always a ripple of unease whenever he appeared and a palpable sense of relief when he left. The townspeople spoke of him in whispers.

      Auren had loved him from the first moment she saw him. His scarlet robe swirled about him as he strode through the marketplace, examining calcinators and alembics and other tools of his trade and finding them wanting. He finally found a seller whose wares didn’t seem to disappoint him and he spent some time checking the glasswork for imperfections. The seller took a step back from his table, as though repelled by the sheer force of Valtiori’s presence. The alchemist had an energy about him, a quality of authority that had made Auren tremble as she passed by behind him, unable to tear her eyes away.

      She stumbled over her own feet and Valtiori turned his head slightly, to regard her as he might a tiny mouse that had scampered through his dining hall. His eyes were the arctic blue of glaciers, piercing and compelling even in their complete indifference to her. She felt pinned to the spot by his scrutiny. A little throb of heat went through her and she imagined that he could see right through her dress, right through her skin and even into her very thoughts.

      At last he turned his attention back to the table to inform the seller that his work was just acceptable. Auren felt abandoned, released from the bondage of his gaze. With a heavy heart she went about her own business, feeling morose and sullen for days afterwards.

      Something had passed between them in that single glance, something profound. She’d seen her fate in it. At first she dismissed her feelings as girlish fantasy, something Valtiori would be amused by. Or, worse, disdainful of. But then she recognised the moment for what it was. Destiny. They were meant to be together, as mentor and protégée, as master and servant.

      Something hot and hungry coiled in her belly, sending tendrils of pleasure through her limbs and into the damp hollow between her legs. It was a sensation she had never experienced before. She suddenly understood what her sisters had been trying to explain to her through their bashful giggles. They’d often teased her for her dreamy submissive nature and they’d tried to describe the feeling of lust, the burning in one’s loins. They told Auren she should submit herself to the palace to be a pleasure slave, that it would suit her more than temple work. And she had considered it. Until she locked eyes with Valtiori.

      The very next day she’d followed the long winding path up the mountain to the grand and forbidding house on the cliff. Valtiori had opened the door to her timid knock and regarded her sternly as she lowered her head and asked him in a meek little voice to accept her as an apprentice. She was sure she’d seen his lip curl slightly in a hint of a smile as he told her to come inside.

      The house was both austere and luxurious, with rich dark wood furniture and lavish soft rugs. She was taken to the laboratory, a vast room lined with high shelves that contained books, jars, bottles and boxes of raw ingredients. A scattering of dried herbs and dead insects covered one table where liquids bubbled and steamed in several glass containers. A barrage of strange smells assaulted her and her eyes were soon streaming with tears, blinding her with pain. That she bore it anyway was her first test, Valtiori had later told her.

      She was given a pallet in a corner of the room to sleep on, humility being one of the things expected of any apprentice. When she slept it was often with a heavy book in her arms, names of plants and their uses swirling through her dreams as she struggled to memorise them all. Valtiori would ask her about them in the morning and she would invariably confuse morticlaw with mandrake or moth venom with butterfly semen and he would tell her icily to raise her skirt and place herself across the table.

      He was a harsh taskmaster but in truth she savoured every stinging kiss from his riding crop. The punishment had a strange alchemy of its own, transforming pain into pleasure. She felt herself grow hopelessly wet each time she was made to expose herself and she couldn’t help the way her hips rolled in response to the pain. She absorbed it, felt nourished by it, and she found