Dark Mating

DARK MATING PROTHEKA WORLDS CYN BLADE CONTENTS About the Book Dark Mating 1. Tessa 2. Tessa 3. Varzig 4. Tessa 5. Varzig 6. Tessa 7. Varzig 8. Tessa 9. Varzig 10. Tessa 11. Tessa 12. Varzig 13. Tessa 14. Tessa 15. Varzig 16. Tessa 17. Varzig 18. Tessa 19. Varzig 20. Tessa 21. Tessa 22. Varzig 23. Tessa About the Author ABOUT THE BOOK I never thought a book could change my life. Finding a mystical tome that controls the future? That’s harder to believe than living in a world filled with Orcs. But I used the magical book. I summed a Knight…or so I thought. I got a demon instead. A big, strong, sexy demon I’m feeling conflicted about. He’s here to help me. And brought armies with him. Together we’re using the book to save my village. Now we have to face the impossibility of our emotions. We will have to choose between the duty to our people and a love we can’t deny. DARK MATING NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR MILLY TAIDEN writing as CYN BLADE This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. Published By Latin Goddess Press Winter Springs, FL 32708 http://cynblade.com Dark Mating Copyright © 2023 by Cyn Blade All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Property of Cyn Blade May 2023 Created with Vellum —For my readers, Careful what you summon lol you might end up with a big, strong, sexy monster. ONE TESSA I don’t shy away from hard work. I believe, though, it was born in me rather than raised. Both my parents were also born with an affinity toward hard work, a generational curse, depending on who you ask. So the reality of my life was that the hard-working, practical way of thinking always summoned me to my feet at daybreak. It was comforting to know that I had an endless amount of work to do the next day. It kept my hands busy and my mind focused like a pointed knife at the throat of existence, especially since my parents were foraging in the desert for the herbs and plants we use in medicines and cooking. The moat that was drawn to sequester me in the place of the living was and is my parents and the homestead, along with something far more magical, empowering, and infinite in its ability to encourage hope … storytelling. It’s a secret weapon I usually keep to myself, beyond the time I spend with the children in the village, who were searching for their own inspiration, a dream to hold onto while this wretched place grows greyer by the second. I adore the look in their eyes, transfixed and marveling at the world I can construct with my words, gestures, voice, and mind. The orcs aren’t fans of this, though. In this area of Protheka, they run things, which often means shutting down storytime when they catch word of me or an elder performing. They aren’t the smartest of beings, but they are clever enough to understand the power of such an art. Storytelling gives fresh, vulnerable minds permission to explore, to dream, and sometimes, to betray. There have been a few occasions when a storytelling session has been ruined by the orcs. Since then, I have tried to keep it subtle, going by word of mouth to the neighbors and their kin about small gatherings by lantern light. It's something that I don’t brag about, but if anyone were to inquire or search a bit deeper than the visage of my stoic exterior, I would say that storytelling has been the remedy that saved me from the abyss of my sorrow in a town now run by the orcs. But I go on, helping take care of the farm the way my parents raised me to do. It’s an average day. The sky is the color of an old bruise. Neighbors and orcs alike are rustling by, eyes lingering out of boredom and curiosity. I was busy pulling up weeds in my work clothes, standing above the more embedded ones with the green between my feet, yanking upwards with the pads of my work roughened hands. Every time I see the callouses, I think of the time a man at the tavern in the village, one gloomy night, said that my hands weren’t that of a lady’s. I told him that my fist wouldn’t be either if he kept talking. I grinned to myself as I pulled upward, the stubborn weed slowly loosening from the cold, semi-frozen soil, and I felt it come loose all at once. I fell backward onto my rear, which isn't an uncommon occurrence, and I placed the weed in the nearby bucket. I will do this for a few more hours before I go and tend to the animals. The tauras, thistles, and capra all need their own special attention. I rose up to my feet and wiped my skirt off when I heard someone in the distance calling out my name. “TESSA!” I recognized the voice immediately, but not the concern in it. I squinted and saw Demi, who’s been a friend of mine since we were small, running toward me like she was competing in a racing event. If the blazing look in her eyes didn’t seem so dire, I would think she looked a tiny bit comical. I kept my lips from trembling with amusement as she nearly crashed into me, taking hold of my biceps as she breathlessly repeated my name. “Demi,” I said with a scoff. “What in the Holy Maws is going on?”