Under The Black Banners Read online

  CONTENTS

  Content Warning

  Bonus Material

  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

  K. Elle Morrison Links

  Thank You

  CONTENT WARNING

  This work of fiction has moments of coercive, or manipulated language or situations.

  There are violent interactions including weapons, blood, death, and grief.

  Adult dark themes are present in the form of sexually explicit scenes, and language.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are either products of author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Cover Designed by: J M Steger Fantasy & Coffee

  Proofreading by Norma’s Nook Proofreading

  Kellemorrison.com

  Copyright ©2021 K. Elle Morrison

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, expect for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Print ISBN: 978-0-578-94330-5

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-578-94628-3

  BONUS MATERIAL

  Follow The Black Banners Series through Amil’s eyes in the FREE Masked In Smoke: Amil’s Novella Series. Available through K. Elle Morrison’s exclusive newsletter. Along with this bonus series, you will be kept up to date on all new projects, releases, and advanced reader opportunities.

  Kellemorrison.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  His lips grazed my ear as his warm breath brushed against my cheek. “I finally have you all to myself.”

  I closed my eyes and tilted my head to rest on his chest to expose my neck to him. The palm of his hand slid up and over my shoulder; his lips moved along the sensitive crook where my necklace rested. A small wanting sound escaped my lips and a low rumble was his reply. A vibration from my skin, down through my tightening muscles, tumbled into a place deep in my stomach. I arched my back trying to will him into action, and my backside edged closer to his hips. The warm bulge in the front of his slacks pressed against me which answered my next question, but what kind of Temptress would I be if I didn’t ask?

  “Are you going to keep me waiting all night?”

  He let out an amused hum as the hand at my neck tightened and his other hand rose to my hip, squeezing and bringing me closer. Turning me to face him, he held my chin firmly between his fingers, lifting so our eyes met. His pupils dilated in the dim lighting, almost completely eating up his warm brown irises. Our lips danced closer together, but waited for the other to make the first move. It had to be him to strike first, otherwise, I’d lose all control over this situation. I wouldn’t let that happen.

  The flickering of a candle in the dim room popped and spit, sounding like encouragement or a warning. Cool, summer night air filled the room with the scent of jasmine from the creeping vines outside the open window of the great stone walled hotel. I tried to focus on the breeze coming in and not the heat that was pressing in on me. Jaara smiled and lowered his eyes to my chest, gliding a finger over the top of my shoulder, threatening to slide the thin strap of my dress down. I moved my arm back behind me, feeling for the bed and pulling away from his curious fingers. His eyes flicked back to mine, and I knew what was going to happen next, but I gasped nonetheless. In one smooth movement, he entangled his fingers into my brown hair, grabbing a full palmful and pulling my head back. His mouth connected with mine, hard and deep.

  I parted my lips to let his tongue in, coaxing at him with my own as both my hands pressed to his chest and pulled at his shirt. He stepped forward, forcing the back of my legs against the bed. His hands and mouth released me, the force of his body downward inviting me to sit rather persuasively. He stared down to me as I slid my hands over the smooth linen duvet and waited for his next silent command. I made to pull my high-heeled shoes off, but he grabbed my chin, tsking and shaking his head slowly. My eyes fell to his slacks then flicked back to his face. His full lips parted, his tongue pressed between his teeth, and I took it as permission and unclipped his belt, unbuttoned his slacks, and let the rich material fall and reveal his tight undershorts. Seeing the near-perfect outline of his excitement, my eyes widened.

  I cupped him briefly, feeling him pulse in my hands before I slid them under his shirt and up his coiled muscles. His skin tensed beneath my touch from anticipation or the chill that had found my fingertips. I lifted my eyes to his, waiting. He unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt, it found a place on the floor near his slacks, his gaze never leaving mine. He leaned down, curling his strong arm around my back, lifting and practically throwing us both to the middle of the bed. His mouth found mine once more as his hands explored the curves of my body—breast and hips lifting to meet his touch. The hem of my dress pulled up to give him a position between my legs where only thin layers of fabric separated us.

  Blood rushed to my head and pounded in my ears. It was now or never because he was going to find my blade any second. I pushed his shoulder up suggestively to the side then threw my leg over to straddle him. His expression quickly turned to awe and confusion at my display of dominance. I reached to my inner thigh, pulling a thin, small throwing knife from its sheath, and before he could see the candlelight gleam off the tip, his throat was slit. He grabbed at his neck wildly as blood began pooling on the cream sheets. I could see his mind trying to work out what was happening, the wheels turning and connecting the dots, stringing together the evening.

  Who was I?

  Who sent me?

  Then, he stopped thrashing, there it was. The realization flickering in his eyes. I leaned down, brushing my lips to his ear. It wouldn’t be long now.

  “Mr. Morganson sends his regards and is waiting for you in Sheol.” I kissed his cheek before raising off his body.

  I wiped my blade on the bed linens before returning it to the sheath and crossed the room to the small entry table to collect my clutch. I waited to hear the wet choking of his last breaths leaving his body. Looking over my shoulder to where the maid would find him in the morning, I couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth from rising at my quick work. In the small mirror on the wall of the entryway, I took out the tube of red lipstick from my bag and dabbed it to my lips, touching up the smudged pigment, then gave my hair a shimmy before leaving the room.

  In the light of the hotel hallway, I could see a damp circle of blood on my black dress. It was going to be hard to explain to the dry cleaner, but it was one of my most successful dresses. It hugged my body in all the right places and distracted the weak marks. When I reached the elevator and requested a lift, I checked the time. It had taken me thirty minutes to finish my assignment from the beginning of our “date”. I could still grab a drink at the hotel bar before heading home.

  The doors opened with a muted tone, but it wasn’t empty. A tall man looked up from where he’d been watching the floor, his thick black hair parted to the side revealing smoke-filled eyes. His da
rker irises and pupils like a ring of stormy grey. An Incubo; a nightmare.

  My spine went stiff, and I drew in a sharp breath as I stepped into the soon-to-be too small elevator and faced the doors. His gaze followed my every move as if he were watching for me to exhale. The relaxed posture he showed did little to ease me. His black suit jacket open to reveal a silk dress shirt embossed with golden thread that dripped with sophistication and wealth.

  “Rough night?” He moved his eyes away from me and looked straight ahead at the distorted reflection in the elevator doors as he spoke in a smooth, playful tone.

  “No more than usual.” I drew in a shallow breath but didn’t fully feel the air reach my lungs.

  He inclined his head to me subtly, but it was enough to show that he had marked me as the Temptress I was posing to be. The lift’s muted tone rang out as the doors opened again, and he took a step out and extended a hand to me.

  “Shall we?” he said coolly, waiting for me to obey him.

  His outstretched hand wasn’t an offer, but a command. If I didn’t oblige my cover would be compromised. I laid my hand onto his, and he gave me a small tug. He led me to his room around the corner from the elevator, about ten doors separating it from the traffic of other patrons. The door opened and he slid behind it, inviting me into the dimly lit room. It was identical to the one I had left minutes ago, except for the missing newly-drained body on the bed.

  I stood in the middle of the room for a moment, his body lingering behind me. I could feel his eyes scanning over my backside, possibly noting the throwing blades attached to my body which were not visible to the naked eye. But to his kind? I didn’t know. The Incubo were said to have different abilities that weren’t always easy to spot.

  His hand flattened at my lower back as he approached my side and nudged me further into the room. The pressure was brief as he moved to the bed directly in front of me and sat down, crossing his ankle over top of his knee. His fingers interlaced and fell to his lap as he looked up at me, his eyes rather unsettling, waiting for me to speak. But as a Temptress, I was supposed to only take directions, even when they’re merely implied. I shifted my weight to one side and crossed my arms right below my breasts. I cocked my head to the side trying to give the impression that I was bored.

  “Right then,” he began, amusement in his voice, “where should we start? I’ve not had a Temptress in my presence in ages. It’s quite the treat.”

  I've played this part many times. Posing as a Temptress often brought my targets closer quickly and gave me a reason to be alone with them without being questioned. However, this was the first time an Incubo had requested my services. They often kept to their own kind for good reason. Unlike most Fata, Incubo had Mortal features except for their eyes which varied in shades or hues of irises beneath the veil of smoke covering them. I had heard only rumors of their abilities—that other beings didn’t possess. Each Incubo was said to have unique attributes such as telepathy, or inhuman strength, but more terrifying was that there didn’t seem to be a limit to what they were capable of inflicting on other beings. Incubo were as beautiful as they were dangerous, which was almost tragic: otherworldly handsome, every single one of them. Lethal when Mortals or Fata stayed too close for too long in their small circles.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the honor of serving an Incubo, but I am yours for the evening,” I lied; I’d only ever met an Incubo once before in passing at a party.

  I drug my sight over his well-tailored suit, from his pressed collar to his lux leather shoe planted on the floor. When our eyes met again, I searched for a glimpse of intention. He had no business with a Mortal Temptress. He could have any woman or man eating out of his hand in moments at any establishment in the city. He gave a sly smile that pulled a dimple from his cheek before looking at the ground again.

  “You see, that is hard to believe.”

  “What’s hard to believe?” My brows lifted at his remark.

  He glanced back to me, and in one fluid movement that seemed to slow time, he was standing in front of me. An inch separated our chests; he was at least half a foot taller than me, even in my stilettos. He leaned in close to the side of my face and drew a long breath through his nose, smelling me.

  Could he smell my previous companion? The blood on my dress?

  “It’s hard to believe that I am an honor to serve. You haven’t asked how to address me. You also haven’t offered me your limitations or payment expectations.” His voice was clear but only above a whisper.

  How could I be so stupid?

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m nervous.” I turned my face away from him in an effort to appear coy as I internally cursed myself.

  “You will address me as Talos.” He traced the edge of my cheek, jaw, and neck with the back of his slender fingers. “What may I call you, Temptress?”

  I tried to swallow, but only struggled to form and push words out of my mouth as his touch grazed the sensitive groove of my collarbone.

  “You may call me Isa, si—I mean, Talos,” I corrected myself, but I needed to get myself together.

  I gave him my real name and perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I was having a hard time breathing and thinking of a fake name on a whim. If he had any suspicions, they’d be validated if I didn’t calm myself.

  “Good girl, Isa.” He practically purred. The sound dangerous and tugged at a knot inside my chest.

  He moved back to the bed, this time walking to the head of the right side, flinging the extra pillows to a chair nearby. He pulled the corner of the linens back and began to shrug off his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on top of the pile of pillows. Casually, he inclined his head and swept his hand over the space on the bed as an invitation to sit. I tossed my clutch on a table near the door, a sense of deja vu hitting me as I made my way over to the spot Talos had indicated. I sat and waited for his next command.

  Talos moved past me, his slacks brushing my knees as he did so. He sauntered to the foot of the bed and faced me, and I watched him closely. He seemed so relaxed, almost as if he’d known he’d run into me in the elevator. But how could he have known about Jaara?

  I steadied my breathing, still staring and still waiting.

  “Isa. That is a beautiful name. Have you had it long?” His hands busied themselves at his sleeves, uncuffing his cufflinks and rolling them up in smooth motions, exposing his forearms.

  “Of course, Talos. All twenty-six years of my life.” My voice sweet, but low.

  “Of course.” He echoed slyly.

  Sliding his hands back into his pockets, I could now see a tattoo on the top of his forearm. A plump bird holding a branch of a plant, the leaves and flowers bright against his bronze skin. The wings of the bird looked almost animated, so realistic that I thought the tiny thing would, at any moment, start flapping.

  “Would you like to join me on the bed, Talos?” I smoothed my hand across the open sheet.

  He tilted his head to the side, continuing to stare at me for a moment longer before speaking in a velvety smooth voice. “There is nothing more that I would rather do than join you in that bed, Isa. But I worry that I wouldn’t see the light of morning if I did, and I have many people to meet with tomorrow. They would be very disappointed.”

  I stood up and grabbed one of my blades from my thigh in a smooth motion. I let the blade fly, aiming between his dark eyes, but he simply stepped out of the path of the blade and it pierced into the wall behind him. Before I could blink, he was standing in front of me once again, only a heartbeat away. His body boxed me in between the bed and the wall, his hands quickly pinning my wrists to my sides before he brought me a little closer to him.

  “Now now, Isa,” he cooed, “That was not very subservient of you. What would your Mistress say?”

  He knew I didn’t have a Mistress; he knew I wasn’t a Temptress. But what else did he know of me? Had he been following me all night? Was Jaara an associate of his? So many questions. I needed to get out of t
hat room before I also became a mess for the maids to clean up in the morning. I twisted my arms in a cross, pulling his body toward the bed, then broke free of his hold by kicking at his shin with my stiletto heel. He cursed out loud as I darted to the door, but found it locked. I turned around to scan the room, but he was already blocking me...

  In a fast motion, much too fast for me to anticipate, he bent down and grabbed the back of my legs. He hoisted me up and slammed me against the door, pushing himself between my legs. I thrusted my upper body upward, wrapping my arms around one side of his head and neck. I pulled and he let go, dropping me to the floor between his parted legs. I kicked up towards his very sensitive undercarriage, but he was quicker. He grabbed my ankle and pinned it to the ground. He was practically sitting on top of me, putting his weight on my body to hold me still.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you keep fighting, I will have to show you a side of me that not many have seen in a long time.” The casualty in his tone told me that I hadn’t even caused him to break a sweat.

  I stopped fighting. He lifted his body off me and extended his hand to assist me to my feet. I hesitated for a moment but took it as a gesture of good faith that we wouldn’t try to injure each other.

  He reached up to where the blade was sticking out of the wall next to us and pulled it out with little effort. The small knife made a soft clunk when he set it down flat next to my bag. He made another sweeping motion over the bed, but I didn’t oblige this time. There was no need to pretend to be obedient now. The door may have been blocked, but I needed to remain standing. I needed to find another exit route. I’d been stupid in not finding one before stepping into this room. It was as if I had gradually stepped into a fog, had adjusted enough, but was still disoriented.