Gemmas fate, p.1
Gemma's Fate, page 1
Gemma's Fate
Immortal Breeders Book 1
A. R. Vagnetti
Wicked Storm Publishing
Foreword
A Note on Content: This literary work delves into a variety of explicit topics, including violence, bloodshed, graphic descriptions of gore, references to rape (without involvement of the main male character), instances of kidnapping, torture, non-consensual encounters (not involving the main male character), consensual BDSM play, explicit language, and biting. If any of these elements are likely to trigger or make you uncomfortable, you are strongly advised to avoid this book. However, if you have a taste for dark and daring storytelling that pushes boundaries, you’ll find this book right up your alley. Enjoy your reading experience!
Dedication
Within these pages lies a gateway to a realm where raw passion intertwines with irresistible allure, beckoning you to surrender to its nocturnal charm. Open your heart and delve into a captivating narrative that will leave you yearning for more. Prepare for a thrilling ride if you dare to lose yourself in its intoxicating embrace.
Gemma’s Fate (Immortal Breeders Book 1)
Copyright © 2024 by Wicked Storm Publishing
Written by A.R. Vagnetti
Edited by Haley Willens & Dawn Huges
Cover Design by A.R. Vagnetti
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from Wicked Storm Publishing or the author, A.R. Vagnetti, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Also By
A.R. VAGNETTI
Storm Series:
Forsaken Storm (Prequel)
Forgotten Storm
Forbidden Storm
Fiery Storm
Fractured Storm
Fatal Storm
Final Storm
Stay tuned for more from Immortal Breeders!
Calista’s Destiny (Pre-order Now!)
Willow’s Doom (Coming September 2024!)
Layla’s Future (Coming November 2024!)
If you loved any of my books, please consider reviewing or recommending them to a friend—your reviews help indie authors more than you realize.
Contents
1. Prologue—What Hijacked My Soul?
2. Chapter 1—Snap Goes The Band
3. Chapter 2—You’re One Sick Pup
4. Chapter 3—Watch Out. The Past Bites.
5. Chapter 4—Are Those Handcuffs Multipurpose?
6. Chapter 5—Damn The Fates
7. Chapter 6—Nobody Loves A Grump
8. Chapter 7—Patience Is Not For The Weak
9. Chapter 8—The Devil You Know
10. Chapter 9—Way To Go Dumbass
11. Chapter 10—Shut Up Hormones
12. Chapter 11—Momma Knows Best
13. Chapter 12—Holy Shit That’s A Kiss!
14. Chapter 13—It Takes A Murder
15. Chapter 14—My Horny Gene Misfired
16. Chapter 15—A Vampire To The Rescue
17. Chapter 16—Special To Me
18. Chapter 17—My Choices Suck
19. Chapter 18—Werewolf My Ass!
20. Chapter 19—The Fates Can Suck My Dick
21. Chapter 20—I Want It All
22. Chapter 21—Security Breach
23. Chapter 22—The Hits Keep Coming
24. Chapter 23—Give Me Your Words
25. Chapter 24—My Werewolf Master
26. Chapter 25—His Cock Could Kill
27. Chapter 26—Drop To Your Knees
28. Chapter 27—Yes Ma’am
29. Chapter 28—Don’t Antagonize The Beast
30. Chapter 29—Snap Out Of It!
31. Chapter 30—I Belong To Him
32. Chapter 31—Did I Start A War?
33. Chapter 32—Do Not Push Me
34. Chapter 33—I Think I Love That Toy!
35. Chapter 34—It Was Just Sex?
36. Chapter 35—Do This For Me
37. Chapter 36—Are You Here To Kill Me?
38. Chapter 37—Shit. Now What?
39. Chapter 38—Feel Me My King
40. Chapter 39—One Day At A Time
41. Chapter 40—I’m Losing It
42. Chapter 41—I Failed My Mate
43. Chapter 42—Alfred’s Mine
44. Chapter 43—I Feel Nothing
45. Chapter 44—Take Back Your Power
46. Chapter 45—He Wins
47. Chapter 46—Don’t Be An Ass
48. Chapter 47—Be In The Now
49. Chapter 48—The Mating
Also By
About the Author
Prologue—What Hijacked My Soul?
Gemma - One Year Ago. Grand Forks, North Dakota
My internal organs stretch, scorching the margins and ripping me into shreds. My joints and muscles are ablaze with an all-consuming heat that permeates my entire being.
‘Stop fighting me, bitch!’
The inhuman growl restricts my muscles, holding me hostage more effectively than the spotless jail cell I’m currently standing in the center of, trying not to panic. My gaze darts around, seeking the source of the demonic voice.
Through the white-washed bars, an extremely tall, outrageously gorgeous man with long dark hair tied back at his nape and sporting a three-piece suit leans casually against the wall, examining a folder.
No way did the voice come from him. He’s oblivious to the turmoil percolating beneath my skin. The snarled command was right next to me. Or inside me?
The murky entity inside my chest seems to pulse with a life of its own. I struggle to keep the rising terror at bay as my mind is bombarded with a flurry of terrifying images.
Men and women lie face down on the polished floor of a bank with me lording over them, barking orders like a demented general.
The scene shifts, and I’m running down an alley, a heavy bag slung over my shoulder. Red and blue flashing lights follow me, striking the dingy bricks on either side.
The click of the handcuffs.
Inky fingertips pressed onto paper.
Dear God! Did I rob a bank?
The holding cell bursts open with a loud bang, and a hulking figure emerges, making his way toward the man in the suit with purpose. “Drake Silverton,” he informs him, shaking his hand. “What a damn clusterfuck, King Darath.”
“Indeed, Sheriff.”
I frown. The suit’s first name is King? Odd, but it fits him. I could envision the gorgeous giant on an unknown battlefield, an enormous sword clutched in his hand as he decapitated lesser men with a casual shrug.
The second my focus switches to the sheriff, my brain swells with a tremendous whoosh. Being near him makes me feel like I’m on a rollercoaster, my heart pounding and my gut erupting with sparks. I can’t look away. His features are captivating, from his plump lips to his striking gray eyes and the trim line of his beard outlining his firm jaw.
His voice is like warm honey, thick and smooth, with a hint of gravelly roughness. It wraps me in warmth, causing my shoulders to relax for the first time since I opened my eyes and realized I was standing in a jail cell.
My muscles tremble with the urge to run to him. I’m left awestruck by the man’s absolute perfection, trapped in my own body, unable to move or even speak. With his chiseled jawline and piercing eyes, he is the epitome of rugged handsomeness. His body language exudes a sense of calm readiness. I have an innate sense that he will approach this situation with deadly accuracy, regardless of the circumstances.
He’s not wearing the traditional sheriff’s uniform. Instead, his six-and-a-half-foot frame sports worn jeans, a dirty t-shirt, hiking boots that have seen better days, and a backward ball cap.
The raw animalistic pheromones he exudes are intoxicating, hijacking my brain and making it impossible to resist his allure.
The dark force within me surges forward, its grip tightening with each passing moment. My attention centers on the chiseled cowboy, and I draw on his strength to resist the internal turmoil that threatens to overwhelm me.
When the brilliant gray eyes land on mine, everything stops. Time. My heart. My breath. Tingles tiptoe across my skin, causing my nipples to tighten. A strange urge to rip my clothes off, kneel at his feet, and beg him to claim me swells in my overcrowded soul.
What is happening? Who is this man, and why does my body react to him on some molecular level? The destruction within my soul, my current residence, and why I robbed a damn bank should be my sole focus.
The sheriff breaks eye contact, and I feel the heat of his gaze dissipate, leaving me wanting. He converses quietly with the man named King, and I squint against the harsh fluorescent lighting. As if a direct link exists between my eyeballs and my ears, and if I squint hard enough, I can discern their conversation.
Unfortunately, a deafening buzz blazes through my skull, obscuring everything. My eyesight flickers every few seconds, and the weight of the massive elephant on my chest makes it hard to breathe.
Am I dying? Perhaps I’m suffering from a brain tumor, which is causing me to have a psychotic break. The memories of robbing a bank keep haunting me with their clarity. The silence of the jail cell is only broken by the indistinct murmur of the men conversing and my harsh breath.
I’m a good girl. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket. Yet here I am with two men staring at me
Darkness encroaches again, spreading panic through my chest. I weave on my feet as I fight to stay conscious.
“Hey.” The low, rich voice breaks through the tornado in my skull, and the blackness recedes.
As my eyelids flutter open, the man in the suit is nowhere to be found, and I am left with the overwhelming intensity of my cowboy’s gaze that liquefies my insides. I’m not sure when I started thinking of him as my cowboy. Maybe it was the urge to go to him, to stroke his tan skin, to beg him to… I don’t know... ease the shitstorm boiling me alive?
Something.
Anything.
My body yearns to be near him, but my limbs refuse to obey as I struggle to move toward the bars. All I can do is stare wide-eyed at him, since the link between my brain and mouth has lost the ability to communicate. My knees lock up, saving me from falling face first on the sleek concrete as I silently beg him to rescue me from my inner hell.
His gray irises, bright and pretty, even in the horrible lighting, shift to emerald. “You are mine, princess. Fight it. I promise to take care of you, but you must fight it.”
Fight what? What is he talking about?
My jaw pops when I open my mouth to respond. Unfortunately, no sound emerges. It’s as if someone has nailed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I shriek internally as my emotions build to a breaking point with no outlet.
‘Help me! Please help me!’ My scream reverberates in my head, causing my sight to blur once more. A scalding tear trickles down my cheek.
“Hey!” the sheriff shouts, never moving from his spot. “Fight it.”
A sob builds in my throat, and I finally croak out, “I can’t!” I’m not sure who or what I’m supposed to be fighting. My mind only comprehends that the sheriff is crucial to my survival.
“Yes, you can, princess.”
When Mr. Darath returns, the two men converse. My cowboy seems frantic, demanding the file the other man has clutched in his hand.
“You realize, once I pull the demon from her, she’s merely human. Right?”
The suit’s rumbled reply eases the tension in the sheriff’s shoulders somewhat. “Yes, but I still want to check in on her from time to time. To make sure there are no lingering side effects.”
Mr. Darath’s lips lift in a knowing smirk, but he hands over the folder. Then the sheriff pivots, shoves a key into the lock on my cell door, and swings it wide.
As he enters, Mr. Darath chants something in a strange dialect, causing the demented dragon holding my soul hostage to go ballistic. It surges to the forefront with such force that my vision dims and my limbs tremble.
My traitorous lips serve as the gateway for his demonic voice that’s blasting through my skull. “No! Do not force me to return, Lucifer. The bitch is sturdy. She can handle my essence.”
“The woman is a human, Mammon. No matter how strong, you will eventually kill her.”
I watch the tall one’s lips move, not understanding what they mean as the roaring in my skull amplifies. I refuse to allow whatever controls me to have its way. Despite the throbbing in my veins, I grit my teeth and battle the entity, forcing it as deep as possible.
“Help me, please,” I whisper through chattering teeth, my body shaking with cold and fear.
The sheriff bares his teeth and growls at Mr. Darath. “You harm her, and I don’t care who you are. You will suffer.”
The lethal tone reverberates through my chest, sending a calming wave through my soul.
“You dare threaten me?” The suit responds with obvious irritation, the strange red irises almost blinding in their intensity. “Over a human?”
“She’s more. Can’t you feel it?” the sheriff demands, and my brows pinch in confusion.
“No harm will come to the mortal. This I vow, pup.”
The entity slams against my ribs, and I nearly black out.
“How old are you, Drake?” Mr. Darath questions the sheriff, oblivious to the battle ensuing within me.
“A hundred and fifteen. Why?”
Is the devil inside me messing with my hearing? There was no way my sheriff said he was a hundred and fifteen years old. The buzzing and pain must have distorted his reply.
Mr. Darath’s eyes blaze, causing a warm red glow to illuminate the sheriff’s face. “You will not remember coming back to the precinct. Instead, you cut your trip short due to weather and went home.”
The sheriff’s eyes lock onto mine until Mr. Darath steps closer and places his palm on the side of his neck, causing him to jolt at the contact.
“According to your deputy, an unknown perp robbed the bank and got away. Do you understand?” The sheriff’s tense demeanor indicates he is actively fighting against the effects of the suit’s mental hold. “Do you understand?”
The sheriff’s broad shoulders relax as the tension dissipates, and he nods in agreement. “Yes. I understand.”
Mr. Darath slips the folder from the sheriff’s grasp.
“One more thing,” the suit grins wickedly. “On your next vacation, you will feel the urge to go to Devil’s Lake. Find the best steakhouse in town for dinner. When a blonde with striking blue eyes walks in and looks at you, seduce her. Do not rest until you have fucked her into the middle of next week.”
The moment the unholy red eyes lock onto mine, my inner beast stirs violently. The darkness envelopes my sight, and I relinquish control, letting it take over.
As I become more aware, a dull ache radiates throughout my entire body, increasing with each passing moment. The fatigue and soreness are so intense that I can barely move, as if a train ran over me. Twice.
“Where am I?” I croak, my throat raw.
“Do not worry, human,” Mr. Darath reassures, easing me into an iron chair centered in a strange room. “Soon you will be home and will remember none of this.”
“Where is the sheriff?”
“The sheriff released you into my custody, Gemma. I am going to remove the demon possessing your body.”
“It forced me to do horrible things,” I whimper, tears burning my eyes. “I stole, not caring who I hurt to get what it wanted.” My eyes widen with a gasp as the memories come flooding back. “Oh, God. I... it made me rob a bank.”
“None of that was your fault, and soon you will not even remember what happened.”
“I’m a good person,” I whisper. “Why me?”
“Are you psychic, Gemma?” he asks.
“No,” I say, surprised by the question. “I’m a reporter for a small local newspaper, nothing more. My fiancé must be out of his mind with worry.”
“We will have you home in no time,” he reassures me. “Please relax and allow me into your mind.” The seven-foot man, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my car, kneels on the dingy floor and secures shackles to the arms of the chair and around my wrists.
I struggle, panic taking hold. “What are you doing?”
“This is for your own protection. The demon inside of you is powerful and does not wish to give up your body. He may hurt you in retaliation, and I promised the sheriff I would keep you safe.”
At the mention of the big, burly sheriff, my nerves settle. “I want to go home,” I whisper.
“And you will, but you must trust me for a little while longer. Can you do that, Gemma?”
“What’s your name?” I ask, uncertain if his name is actually King.
Mr. Darath seems startled by my question. He peers up at me for a second while he binds me to the chair. “Jag,” he finally says.
“Well then, Jag, since I want this damn thing out of me, I guess I have no choice but to trust you.”
He grins. “You are resilient, young Gemma. I see now why Mammon picked you to become his vessel.”
“Mammon is the demon inside me?”
“Yes. A formidable Prince of Hell.”
“And you’re confident you can get the bastard out of me?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you, Jag? Your eyes are red, and you possess the ability to cast out a powerful demon.” I focus on him, keenly observing every change in his demeanor while the hidden force inside remains surprisingly unresponsive.
