To Toran, fate means everything. Unfortunately, his fate has him squarely by the balls. Cursed by a long-poisoned life force that teems within him, the daemon prince is powerless to do the one thing he’s bound by fate to do: safely impregnate his intended Vimora bride, which will deliver his crown while triggering a prophecy that promises his people’s salvation. His only hope is finding his faine, a rare vampire who feasts on energy––and the only creature strong enough to tame his own.
As the last living faine, Liv owes the daemons and Toran nothing. After escaping certain death at the daemons’ hands, Liv’s entire existence has been a battle to harvest just enough energy to carry on. When she’s at last discovered, she’s powerless to stop Toran from enslaving her to achieve his endgame. But long starved of energy thus benumbed to tactile sensation, Liv soon finds her senses, and her desire, roaring to life at Toran’s touch. And rocked by their intense connection, Toran is ensnared in a vicious struggle between love and duty, prophecy and the promise of happiness.
With the fate of a world on the line, will Toran give up his destiny to have her?
“My lord, we have found the faine.”
The words crashed through the mind of Toran the Tenn, the heir to the throne of the Vimor daemons.
His heart began to thunder with such force that he feared the sound would fracture the thick stone walls of the ancient castle he called home. Taking in a calming breath, he willed his face expressionless to mask the turmoil raging inside. The only outward sign of his distress was the faintest sheen of venna shimmering just above his skin.
Turning sharply towards the fire, Toran allowed himself a moment to breathe in this new reality. The red flames flickered in his ebony eyes as he contemplated nearly six hundred years of waiting, six hundred years of aching futility. All was behind him now that the faine––the last remaining pureblood in existence––had finally been found.
Toran turned to face the daemon warriors who had gathered in his chamber to deliver the momentous news. “Where?” he demanded, his rough voice matching the intensity of his feelings.
Two of the three battle-hardened males shifted in their boots. The third, his cousin and trusted second-in-command, stepped forward, unfazed, to answer.
“We found her on one of the human parallels.”
“You disobeyed my wishes?”
Thorny silence filled the air.
“Your wishes, Tor?” Merus bit out as an age-old disagreement threatened to erupt once more between them. “What? Are your wishes now commands?” he said. “You know our soldiers face no trouble on the mortal ‘els.”
Toran’s venna hissed with bitterness.
“Besides, we have searched the entirety of the Mythos for centuries. She is not among the Strong,” his cousin added, his blond brow arched in perfect punctuation.
Toran screwed his eyes shut, his hands balling at his sides. He knew there was no room for his petty anger––especially on the night his fated faine would be returned to him. She was, after all, the only creature alive strong enough to bring his long-poisoned life force to heel.
With unaccustomed optimism, Toran shrugged aside the sting of his venna. He stepped forward to shake the daemons’ hands. “I apologize, brothers. It is because of your efforts––on this parallel and others––the faine has been found. I owe each of you much.”
Toran thanked Merus last. He clasped his oldest friend’s hand, his dark eyes meeting the other male’s lighter ones with purpose. “This has been a long time coming, cousin.”
Merus held his gaze. “It has indeed. We will bring her to you.”
“No.” Toran nodded, his voice steady and determined. “I’ll bring her home myself.”