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Watcher Compelled

Watcher Compelled

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After countless years of violence, Lady Divinity bestows a precious reward upon the Watchers: the ability to experience love. For Bo, an immortal Viking, this grants him a second chance at love, but the woman he's falling for is both his enemy and a tool to dismantle his brethren. Layne, belonging to the Djinn royal family, is determined to bring down the Watchers, even if it means using the affections of the man she's drawn to. As alliances shift and loyalties are tested, their emotions become entangled in a complex battle. 

Main Tropes

  • Enemies to Lovers
  • Guardian/Ward
  • Fated Mates

Synopsis

After millennia of death and violence, Lady Divinity has granted the Watchers reward for their servitude, a gift that makes her mighty warriors stronger than ever—love. Before his transition, Bo, the immortal Viking, had love brutally stolen from him. Now, over eight hundred years later, he has a second chance. The only problem? The female he’s falling for is not only the enemy, she’s also using him as the weapon to bring down his brothers.

Layne understands what it means to be a member of the Darkworld, something her brother, the king has forgotten. Instead of the Djinn standing with the Red-Metal Rebellion, he’s joining a stupid Otherworld Council to plan with Watchers and Lightworlders. It makes her sick. As a member of the Djinn royal family, Layne vows to take down the Watchers at any cost and will use any advantage available to her—even the betrayal of the male she’s drawn to.

Intro Into Chapter One

“My cock and I agree. We never want to have sex
again.” Bo eased his ass onto one of the bar stools in the man cave of their
ranch home and ignored the snickering of his brothers. Born in AD 845, it was
the first time he’d ever felt his age. He squinted against the bright faces of
his brothers-in-arms and fought the urge to cover the shiny surface of the bar
with vomit. “Seriously, I’m swearing off the entire interaction.”

Kyrian snorted and poured another round for himself
and Zander. “That’s because you’re afraid your dick will fall off.”

Bo glanced down and worried about the long-term
effects of the weeks he’d spent attending the Dark Prince’s orgy. “It’s not
natural to take such a beating. Shayton is a beast. He never tires, and he never
sits out. Despite pounding back alcohol non-stop, I swear I lost thirty pounds
in fluids. Fuck, near the end, I collapsed on top of a female and nearly
crushed her from sheer exhaustion.”

“In a few weeks, things will return to normal,” the
Greek said, his tone more supportive. “Feeling will return to all your favorite
bits, females will interest you again, and your strength will revive with a few
of Austin’s home-cooked meals. Trust us; you’ll survive. Zander and I are
living proof.”

“Living proof of what?” Tanek said, ghosting through
the black walnut bar to join them. 

Bo reached up and clasped his brother’s hand, his own
issues suddenly seeming petty. “Welcome home, my man. When I heard you
were back as part of the garrison, I couldn’t believe it. It sucks ass
that you’re anchored here but better to have you with us than to not—by a long
shot.”

“Blessed Lady,” Zander said, toasting his words.

“Blessed Lady,” the three of them echoed.

Bo studied his former commander. Other than him fading
out a bit around the edges and not having an aura, he remained the Tanek of
old. After the silence got awkward, the guy broke away and reached to the
back-lit glass shelves for a glass. “So, what were we talking about?”

Kyrian topped Tanek’s glass and broke out in a smart-ass
grin. “The Viking is feeling the aftereffects of Shayton’s latest social
event.”

Tanek’s chest bounced. “Ah, yes, the hangover, the
wrung-out muscles, the numbness, the awkward glances. Don’t worry. It
dissolves, and after a few weeks, you’ll be able to meet Brennus eye-to-eye
again.”

“Weeks?” Now it was Bo’s turn to laugh. “After
what I did and saw him do, I’m thinking years—maybe decades. Damn, how many
times have you three partied with the Prince of Hell over the millennia?” 

Zander sipped at the edge of his tumbler and used his
glass to hide his amusement. ”Enough to know Tanek’s right. Soon enough,
it’ll fade to the forgotten and things will return to normal. What happens at a
drunken Purgatory orgy, stays in the vault.”

It better.

Bo wasn’t sure if it was the Dark Prince’s booze, the
other attendees, the music, or the general atmosphere of sexual debauchery, but
he surprised himself with what went on—and wasn’t sure how he felt about his
part in it.

“Now,” Zander said, finishing his drink and pushing
off the bar, “I had Storme infuse a box of bath balm with healing energy for
both you and the Celt. Yours is in your suite next to your bathtub. Do yourself
a favor and take a long, hot soak before dinner.”

“Bless you.” Bo eased off the stool and winced as
things shifted in his jeans. 

Kyrian and Tanek burst out laughing, and he flipped
them the bird. “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, assholes.”

* * *

Layne, third born to the royal house of Djinn, second
sister to the current Djinn Master, navigated the dark alleyways of
Cabbagetown. Keeping to the shadows, she pulled her fur-trimmed hood up to keep
the winter bite at bay and ensure her face remained well out of sight. Not that
many gawkers ventured out on a night like tonight anyway. February in Toronto
made a Darkworlder long for the stifling heat from the acid-dripping skies of
Hell.

Avoiding the pool of light from the street lamps, she
hugged tight to the tree-lined sidewalk and headed for the iron gates off
Winchester. The spear-tipped iron railing created nothing of a deterrent for
entry. Mid-step, she pulled her hands from the warmth of her pockets and faced
her palms towards the ground.

The magic that ran in her veins, in the veins of all
her species, levitated her the six feet needed to gain entrance to the Toronto
Necropolis. This 19th-century burial ground featured some damned impressive
Gothic architecture, tombs of many prominent Torontonians, and tonight, it
served as a secluded meeting place among the dead.

She passed by the headstone of George Brown and headed
over to William Lyon Mackenzie. A blistering wind buffeted her in the face,
forcing her to turn her shoulder to the gale. Why hadn’t her family settled in
California or Miami or somewhere like that? A huge community of Darkworlders
lived in Atlanta. Why was she out freezing her nipples off?

Before she rounded the last crumbling monolith, she
raised her arm over her head and completed one full circle. “Let what is seen
be unseen and what is imagined be true.”

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