Free Kisri: ... and the Beast, Book 2 by Moira Rogers Page B

an empty bed and a court with no recollection of the woman he loved. Following her long-cold trail proves far easier than facing what awaits him at the end.
    Sabine’s first instinct is to beg her beloved to leave. The High Lord’s mother hired a witch to curse Sabine, desperate to wipe the lowborn wolf from her son’s mind. But the spell worked too well, and Sabine has vanished from the thoughts of everyone who sees her. Including her own family.
    The edges of his memory already blurring, Ciar and Sabine must race to find a way to reverse the spell. Yet every searing moment together is not enough to stop the curse’s inexorable progress. His only chance is to bind Sabine to him too tightly to be forgotten, before she disappears once and for all.
    Warning: This story contains cruel betrayal, destined love, vile curses, smoldering reunions, wicked deeds between wanton shapeshifters and a happily-ever-after worthy of any fairy tale.
     
    Enjoy the following excerpt for Sabine:
    When the innkeeper had gone, Sabine wrapped her arm around one of the bed’s four posters and smiled ruefully. “He probably thinks I’m another man’s wife, you know.”
    “Perhaps.” Ciar closed the door and turned the giant brass key for good measure. If Nadia arrived and found the door locked, she would leave the food, knowing better than to disturb him. “Were it mine to choose, you’d be naked already.”
    Her breath hitched. “You are the High Lord, leader of all the wolves. I imagine everything is yours to choose.”
    “Is it?” Oh, what a dangerous game he played—but what could brand her in his memory more fully than the sight of her lost in ecstasy? “You never bent to me unless it pleased you, sweet Sabine. And you never let me forget the power you could wield from your knees.”
    She toyed with the end of one blonde curl. “Was that what enchanted you, Ciar? That I never gave a damn about your birthright? That I only wanted you?”
    Enchanted him, bewitched him. “It’s a heady thing for a lord, to be craved as a man.”
    “Yes, I craved you.” Her fingers trailed from her hair to the laces of her bodice. “I dreamt of you. Your hands on my body.”
    He couldn’t have the triumphant homecoming he’d dreamed of, but he could have her. He backed up, dropped onto a padded chair and reached for the laces on his left boot. “Show me,” he commanded. Not the High Lord to a subject—a man to a woman. A strong wolf to his mate.
    “You will not touch me?” She seemed torn between relief and disappointment.
    “You will touch yourself at my command. Your hands, my will.” He smiled at her as he tugged his boot free, a wicked smile with a feral edge she would recognize. He had taken her so many ways, and this was just one more. A game to be played, until the pleasure made the rules irrelevant. “Unlace your bodice, my love.”
    She swayed as if weak-kneed, though it took her only a moment to steady herself. “Say it again,” she whispered as she unknotted the lace.
    “My love.” He traced her features, studied the sweep of her pale brows and her high cheekbones, how color flooded her cheeks when he watched her. It was impossible to believe that magic could erase this beloved face from his memory when the years and endless bloody battles had not.
    Her bodice loosened, and she let the dress billow to the floor before reaching down to gather her gauzy shift in both hands. “I remember your smiles,” she whispered. “The way you held me. Even the way you would stroke your thumb over the back of my neck as you rested your hand on my shoulder. Everything. And you’re beautiful.”
    She kicked off her slippers, stripped the shift over her head and stood there, naked and waiting.
    Three years had changed so much and yet nothing. She was still gorgeous, lush and desirable. But her curves were more pronounced now, her hips more rounded, her breasts fuller. He ached to touch, to trace his fingertips over every inch of her.