Valen (Guardians of Hades Romance Series Book 2) Read online

  Valen

  Felicity Heaton

  Valen

  Prince of the Underworld and Lord of Lightning, Valen was banished from his home by his father, Hades, two centuries ago and given a new duty and purpose—to keep our world and his from colliding in a calamity foreseen by the Moirai.

  Together with his six brothers, he fights to defend the gates to the Underworld from daemons bent on breaching them and gaining entrance to that forbidden land, striving to protect his home from their dark influence. Cursed by Zeus to never know love again, Valen has brought up barriers around his heart to protect it, but with each new barrier he creates, the dark hold his power has over him grows, becoming all he needs.

  Until the night he finally crosses paths with the assassin who has been watching him from the shadows, a bewitching mortal possessing the name of an angel and the skills of a devil—a woman who awakens his passionate heart and stirs dangerous desires.

  Eva has built a fearsome reputation for herself in Italy’s underworld, but her latest job in her beloved city of Rome has left her feeling that she has stepped into a dangerous world and this mission might end in her death—either at the hands of her mysteriously seductive client or by the blade of the wickedly alluring warrior who is her target.

  As the threat from the daemons escalates and more than just the Rome gate becomes their target, will Valen be strong enough to face the fears in his heart and the ghosts of his past to claim everything he desires or will they lure him deeper under their spell and into the darkness?

  OTHER PARANORMAL ROMANCE BOOKS BY FELICITY HEATON

  Stories in the Guardians of Hades romance series

  Book 1: Ares

  Book 2: Valen

  Book 3: Esher - Coming in 2017

  Stories in the Eternal Mates romance series

  Book 1: Kissed by a Dark Prince

  Book 2: Claimed by a Demon King

  Book 3: Tempted by a Rogue Prince

  Book 4: Hunted by a Jaguar

  Book 5: Craved by an Alpha

  Book 6: Bitten by a Hellcat

  Book 7: Taken by a Dragon

  Book 8: Marked by an Assassin

  Book 9: Possessed by a Dark Warrior

  Book 10: Awakened by a Demoness

  Book 11: Haunted by the King of Death

  Stories in the Vampire Erotic Theatre romance series

  Book 1: Covet

  Book 2: Crave

  Book 3: Seduce

  Book 4: Enslave

  Book 5: Bewitch

  Book 6: Unleash

  Stories in the Her Angel romance series

  Book 1: Her Dark Angel

  Book 2: Her Fallen Angel

  Book 3: Her Warrior Angel

  Book 4: Her Guardian Angel

  Book 5: Her Demonic Angel

  Book 6: Her Wicked Angel

  Book 7: Her Avenging Angel

  Book 8: Her Sinful Angel

  Stories in the Vampires Realm romance series

  Book 1: Prophecy: Child of Light

  Book 2: Prophecy: Caelestis & Aurorea

  Book 3: Prophecy: Dark Moon Rising

  Book 3.1: Spellbound

  Book 3.5: Reunion

  Book 4: Seventh Circle

  Book 5: Winter's Kiss

  Book 6: Hunter's Moon

  Book 7: Masquerade

  Book 8: Hunger

  Books 1-3 are also available in one anthology ebook: Prophecy Trilogy

  Stories in the In Heat romance series

  Book 1: In Heat

  Book 2: In Heat: Mating Call

  Discover more available paranormal romance books at: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk

  Or sign up to Felicity's mailing list to learn about new titles, be eligible for special subscriber-only giveaways, and read exclusive content: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/newsletter.php

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  About the Author

  Paranormal Romance Books by Felicity Heaton

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  Whoever she was, she wasn’t being subtle.

  Valen had first noticed her when he had stepped out of his apartment building and into a nearby square right in the heart of Rome, and a jolt had run through him, a hot bolt of electricity that had lit up his senses until they had been singing a symphony, a cantata all about his little assassin tail.

  Gods, had he missed her?

  After his brothers, Ares and Daimon, had sent a message to their enemy by cutting down the daemon known as Trickster, everything had fallen quiet rather than imploding as Valen had been hoping. He had bet his left bollock to his eldest brother, Keras, that the death of one of their ranks would draw the rest of them out of hiding, allowing him and his brothers to see just how many they were dealing with as the calamity the Moirai had foreseen centuries ago finally kicked into action.

  The dumb bastards had done the opposite, showing just what weak-spined pathetic limp fucking wastes of blood and bone they were.

  Fuck, Valen had wanted a fight, had craved war with every drop of blood in his body, so fiercely that it had taken him weeks of hunting and dispatching daemons in Rome to finally find some balance again and master his power.

  Electricity arced across his fingertips, illuminating his hands as he strolled across the long square towards a narrow road at the southern end of Piazza Navona, luring his little friend with him.

  His thoughts returned to her, senses honing in on her location, easily pinpointing her despite the masses of mortals that moved around the popular tourist attraction, milling around the illuminated fountains and snapping photographs of each other in front of the elegant buildings, all of them taking advantage of the more clement weather as spring finally showed the first signs of warming up the city.

  The tiny bolts of lightning that leaped between his fingertips chased upwards and burrowed into his skin beneath his long black cotton coat, and his eyelids slid to half-mast as warmth suffused his flesh and sank deep into his bones.

  Sweet gods, it felt good.

  Always did. Always would.

  He let his power flow through him, coaxing it to chase along his skin just beneath the surface, cajoling it into doing his bidding in order to have that momentary high, that sweet, sweet buzz that he had come to crave ever since he had been banished to this fucking hellhole known as Earth, kicked from his home in the Underworld by his father.

  All because of the motherfucking Moirai.

  He turned his head to his right and spat on the worn stone paving slabs. The Moirai would know it was aimed at their ugly bitch faces.

  The lightning dancing just below the surface of his skin grew in intensity, until it lit up every nerve ending and became the one who coaxed him.

  Cajoled him into surrendering to it.

  He
wanted to. Gods did he want to.

  Fucking Keras and his other brothers would come down on his head if he let loose around so many mortals though. Hell, they would tear him a new one if he so much as stepped in front of a human, teleporting away and leaving a vapor trail of darkness behind him.

  Some bullshit about not being allowed to reveal there were such things as gods.

  Valen snorted, not quite a laugh but as close as he ever came to one.

  As if he had ever given a damn about the rules.

  His steps slowed at the junction in the road and he stopped without realising it, arrested by his own thought.

  Rules?

  He snorted again. Maybe he did give a fuck about those. Hell, he wasn’t turning his tail into mincemeat in front of all the petty little mortals now, was he? Rules were the only reason he hadn’t killed her yet, making an example of her to whoever had sent her to kill him.

  Weren’t they?

  She drew closer and he turned his head to his right, until the scar down the left side of his neck and jaw pulled tight and irritated the fuck out of him. He felt her still and then slink deeper into the shadows of the buildings, attempting to blend in with a group of mortals. Good luck with that.

  She couldn’t hide from him.

  He slid his right hand inside his long black coat and shuddered as his fingers found the cool metal of his black blade and tiny sparks of electricity leaped from their tips to the knife, warming it beneath his touch.

  He had been aware of her the moment she had stepped from the shadows to follow him, had been leading her on a dance all night without her knowing it. She had tailed him all across the city and into his favourite nightclub, Heavenly Body. He had pretended to chat to the women there, and a few of the men, but the whole time his focus had been on her where she had sat in a dark corner of the bar, her face in shadow as she spoke with two men, acting as if she had gone there to meet them.

  His little assassin probably thought he was unaware of her, blind to her dogging his every step.

  She was good, but not that good.

  In the short time he had been aware of her tailing him, before she had disappeared on him for three long months, he had grown attuned to her, as if she had burrowed beneath his skin just like his lightning to become a part of him in a way.

  It was the only way he could explain how he reacted to her without truly being aware of her.

  He was always watching for her even when he didn’t know it. He didn’t need to put his mind to it at all now, not as he had at first. No. Awareness of her was constant. Permanent.

  She was branded on him.

  Stamped on his black soul.

  He knew the moment she was near him, because she lit up his veins as fiercely as his lightning and made his body buzz just as addictively.

  Gods, he had missed her.

  Keras would call him sick if he knew, but Valen didn’t give a fuck what his brother thought. He didn’t give a fuck what any of them thought, and he hadn’t for a long time, not since they had stopped giving a shit about him.

  Valen shoved his arsehole brothers out of his head and focused on her where she lingered in the shadows, until she was all that he knew.

  Whoever she was, she was human.

  A little mortal.

  No trace of daemon in her.

  Did she know what she had gotten herself into or was she oblivious to what he was—a god?

  He wanted to turn around and ask her, but then the game would be over and where was the fun in that?

  Someone had hired her to kill him. He had zero doubt that she was a professional, and she was probably very good at her job when her target was a lowly human, without his heightened senses or abilities.

  Had she been hired by the same people who had sent a daemon to take down his brother, Ares’s, gate to the Underworld in New York?

  He would find out soon enough.

  He moved on, taking the road to his left and then banking right, and smiled when he sensed her following. He crossed the small square in front of the church and glanced at the ice cream parlour that was closing up for the night, the elderly owner bringing his signs into the shop. It was tempting to stop for a gelato and see what she would do. The weather hadn’t been nice enough for ice cream, but now the cold crisp morning air often gave way to a warm afternoon and that heat bled into the evening before the cold stole in again. It was almost gelato weather.

  Gods bless the Italians. They knew how to cook.

  Gelato, pasta, pizza, and desserts. They made the best damn food. He glanced at the ice cream parlour again, sorely tempted to grab a cup to go, but managed to resist. Once he was done playing with his little assassin, he would find somewhere to indulge his new craving.

  That was the other thing he loved about Rome. The clocks were striking midnight around him, but he knew without a doubt he would be able to find somewhere to eat well into the morning hours.

  Valen forced himself to move on, taking the next right and then banking left, heading down a narrow street between the old buildings, leading his tail onwards to their final destination.

  The streets were growing quiet now. By the time he reached where he was heading, they would be in that strange period of emptiness between the tourists heading to bed and the clubs kicking everyone out.

  What would his little assassin do then?

  The corners of his mouth quirked. He really wanted to know.

  He headed left again, down another narrow street, slowing his pace to allow time for the square ahead to empty. He could see it just in the distance, the rear of the circular building still illuminated by yellow light. Beyond that, the huge open square would be quiet, the restaurants and cafés closed for the night.

  They would be alone.

  Electricity coursed through him at just the thought, sending a pleasant hot shiver over his skin.

  He wanted to pick up the pace, wanted to reach the square and finally meet his little assassin, but somehow kept his steps slow and measured, the thought of arriving there and not finding the piazza empty because he had rushed tempering his urgent need.

  He didn’t want this moment spoiled.

  He wanted it perfect.

  His mother’s words rang in his mind, a warning she had issued when she had visited him months ago.

  She is a storm born of the earth, bearing the name of an angel but the skill of a devil.

  Gods, how many days since he had heard those words had he lain awake thinking about them.

  Thinking about her.

  He was sure his mother hadn’t meant to make the assassin sound alluring, hadn’t meant to weave an image of her that teased his imagination, but she had and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since that day.

  It had been hell when she had disappeared. At first, he had been convinced it would be only a day or maybe two without her familiar presence in his life as he patrolled Rome’s streets. When she hadn’t shown up after three, he had told himself it would be only a week. And then two weeks. Then a month.

  Three had passed.

  Now part of him wanted to confront her and ask her where the fuck she had gone.

  How the fuck could she leave him alone for so long?

  He snorted at that, this one filled with self-contempt. Idiot. She was an assassin. He was nothing to her. A mark. A contract. A pay-day. That was all he was, and it was stupid of him to think any differently. It was foolish to let her sink this deep into his skin, burrow this far into his black soul.

  He had learned his lesson about what happened when he succumbed to such behaviour long ago.

  Had even vowed that it would never happen again.

  Yet here he was, casually strolling down the slope into the Piazza della Rotonda, following the graceful curved side of the Pantheon, being a fucking fool all over again.

  Valen closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and shut down that weak part of himself, slamming the door shut on it and locking it back inside where it belonged.

/>   When he opened his eyes again, he was passing the three rows of thick towering Corinthian columns that supported the triangular pediment at the front of the Pantheon. He cast his gaze over them as he walked around towards the front of the ancient building, acting absorbed in their majesty even as his senses shifted back to his assassin. She had slowed, lingering in the shadows again, hiding from him.

  He would know her face.

  She would know his.

  It was the last thing she would see.

  He pulled the two sides of his long black cotton coat back, flashing the gold lining that matched his eyes, and jammed his hands into the pockets of his equally dark combat trousers, careful to keep his blades hidden from the few stray tourists that were leaving the square. Their paces quickened as they caught sight of him, their eyes darting to his scar and widening before they leaped away and their owner hurried in the opposite direction to him.

  He had that effect on people.

  Valen shrugged it off and stopped in front of the fountain in the centre of the quiet square. He scanned the old, shuttered buildings that surrounded him, feigning interest in their pale blue, terracotta orange and cream façades as he made sure he was alone with his little assassin now. The last of the tourists slinked away into a side street and he waited until his senses said they were far away before turning around, resting his backside against the curved marble base of the fountain, and staring at the columned façade of the Pantheon.

  He sighed.

  It was beautiful, and older than he was.

  That was the greatest thing about Rome. Most of it had been stuck on Earth for longer than him, and half of it outstripped his tender eight hundred and forty-four years in age by at least a thousand more. The crowded city centre overflowed with such places, a mixture of old Roman buildings and ancient sites dedicated to a pantheon of pathetic gods.

  Movement to his right snagged his attention and he dodged left, and frowned as something zipped past his head and splashed down in the water behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at it and his frown hardened, his lips flattening as he spotted the small feathered dart sitting in the bottom of the fountain.