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“You are not alone in this, Daniela,” Nicholas said in a voice that was surprisingly very gentle.
“I made an agreement with you and I will see it to its end. But you will have to trust me.”
The ache in her heart was overwhelming. She could feel Nicholas’s arms moving about her and soon found herself encased within his warm embrace.
Despite herself, she clung to him. In his arms there was a certain security she’d never experienced before. She felt safe and protected. And as she listened to his words of promise, she believed him.
She nodded. “I’ll try.” Before she could stop herself, she looped her arms about his neck and closed the distance between them. She’d never needed anyone before, but right now she needed his warmth, his comfort, his protection.
She needed him.
Dear Reader,
The Enemy’s Kiss is the continuation of a romantic saga that follows the Drakon clan. My passion for these dark guardians of the night—gargoyles—has compelled me to dig deeper into the complex and intoxicating lives of the Drakon brothers.
Not too dissimilar from my first book for Nocturne™ that featured one of the Drakon brothers, Heiress to a Curse, I found my inspiration for this romance in dark and ancient places. Of late I have been visiting an old convent that is seemingly nestled away from civilization. With its lonely gardens and stone sculptures, it is the perfect location to allow one’s mind to wander far beyond mundane things.
I also found that such a place would make an excellent backdrop for a scene in this novel, and thus incorporated a monastery into it. I trust you will find Nicholas and Daniela’s story as spellbinding as the first.
Enjoy!
Zandria Munson
About the Author
ZANDRIA MUNSON was born and raised in the Bahamas on a beautiful island called New Providence. Her early education was enhanced by history and folklore lessons on pirates, mermaids, the Lost City of Atlantis and other fanciful topics. As a child she spent lazy summer days slipping in and out of her imagination. She started writing at thirteen.
Zandria attended the College of the Bahamas, where she obtained her degree in nursing. Along with her passion for storytelling, she harbors a driving need to help others. She presently lives in Texas with her husband, Christopher, and kitties Munchkin and Chloe.
The
Enemy’s Kiss
Zandria Munson
MILLS & BOON
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For my adorable little mother, Martha.
Prologue
Romania, 1820
Fire raged throughout the city of Cetatea. The flames rose to scorch the midnight sky and choke the stars with its thick and blackened smoke. Nicholas Drakon stood on the rise that overlooked the large and once prosperous city. Shame enveloped him as he absorbed the cries of the innocent that were subdued only by the victorious shrieks of his clansmen; those who had gone against the principles set forth by Nicholas’s father, Lord Victor, leader of the Drakon clan.
Things hadn’t always been this way. There’d been a time of unity and peace, but that was long before they were all afflicted by the dreadful curse. The decades had passed and the rift within his clan had swelled, resulting in an outrageous battle of wills and the deaths of many innocents. Too long had these wayward members been allowed to proceed with mere warning and chastisement. The time had come to put an end to it.
Nicholas flexed his grip on the large sword he held. Over his shoulder he cast the thirteen warriors he led a look that warned them to be prepared. With the forms of hulking men and the faces of beasts, they were ready for the inevitable battle that lay ahead, dressed in heavy, intricately worked silver breastplates and bracers of matching quality encasing their wrists. They were slaves and lords of the darkness. Stone by day and gargoyle by night, they’d once been men, but were now damned for eternity.
At his back, Nicholas flexed great and taloned wings, ready for flight. From the hilltop adjacent to the one upon which he stood, his brothers Simion and Marius observed the holocaust. Simion raised a torch, signaling the commencement of the attack. Steel in his grip, Nicholas and his warriors took to the skies. Their mission was to capture as many of their own alive, but much blood would be spilled this night, he knew. His heart ached for the many who would fall dead by his hands, but this was no time for weakness. What had to be done must be done.
Fagara Castle, later
The vicious cries could be felt throughout the castle. They shook the walls and coursed through the stone floors. Nicholas, along with his father and brothers marched down the steps that lead to the dungeon entrance.
Chained to the walls were the remaining twelve defectors. Among them was the one called Gabriel. Once a man of honor and integrity, he’d become consumed by rage as the Drakon clan had been forced to abandon much of their lands and holdings. They’d been driven deeper into the forest to avoid being hunted by those who deemed their kind an abomination. His fury had swelled even more as Lord Victor had simply accepted this fate, choosing peace over violence. Gabriel had thus formed his own alliance with the intent to destroy any who threatened their family. He’d in turn become the greatest opposition of the Drakon clan; what was worse, he was the younger brother of Lord Victor.
Lord Victor moved to face his brother. With his massive wings beating against the damp air, Gabriel fought against the chains that bound him. But it was to no avail, for the chains, made from an alloy called titanium, had been purposefully fashioned for this function.
“Ah, brother,” Gabriel said with a venomous sneer. “I suspect you are pleased with yourself for slaughtering so many of your own.”
Lord Victor’s head fell a measure. “About as pleased as I am for what I am forced to do this night. I can no longer stand by and allow you to wreak havoc.”
Gabriel erupted in a loud, derisive laugh. “You speak as if I am at fault. Nay, brother. It is you who brought this curse upon us all.” He sobered, his eyes hard as he continued. “You and your lust for peasant flesh.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed upon his uncle as he steeled himself to remain as he was. It was no secret that the gargoyle curse had been brewed in a single night of lies and deception. Their mother had been a simple peasant girl when she’d captured Lord Victor’s heart, driving him to abandon a senseless betrothal. In a fit of rage, his wealthy and greedy intended bride, Lady Vivian, had spun a web of lies to her cousin Necesar, a powerful sorceress. Vivian had pleaded for vengeance, but even that hadn’t been enough to remedy her discontent. Anger had compelled her to a point of insanity,