Mad, Bad & Dangerous Read online

  Mad, Bad & Dangerous

  Cat Marsters

  Baelvar is gorgeous, charming, insane, childish and mildly psychotic. He’s also mated to Kett, who’s brilliant, bitchy, violent and more than a little psychotic herself. It’s a match made in heaven, except for one tiny detail…

  Kett doesn’t want to be mated to anyone.

  The Curse of Kett has befallen everyone she’s ever cared about, but impressing this fact upon Bael is a little difficult, what with all the terrifically explosive sex getting in the way. Oh, and the repeated attempts on Kett’s life from persons unknown are a bit distracting too.

  Still, if they can just stop shagging and fighting for their lives for two seconds, surely she can convince Bael they’re actually a match made in hell. Can’t she?

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Mad, Bad & Dangerous

  ISBN 9781419926594

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Mad, Bad & Dangerous Copyright © 2010 Cat Marsters

  Edited by Kelli Collins

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication February 2010

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Mad, Bad & Dangerous

  Cat Marsters

  Dedication

  To all at the Romantic Novelists Association, for actually believing I know what I’m talking about (even when I don’t). For the wine. For the shoe compliments. And for not thinking it’s weird to hear those voices in my head. I’m picking out shoes for next year’s conference already.

  And to Lexxie Couper, for writing really kickass heroines and for loving this book even when it was about a snarky bitch and a feckless psychopath. Oh, wait…

  Prologue

  About twenty years ago

  “Look,” said Chalia Vance, “just come and meet him. He’s your father. He’ll want to know you exist.”

  Kett, who had spent most of her sixteen years with people who wished she didn’t exist, didn’t believe this for a second.

  “If he wanted to know whether I existed or not,” she said, “he should have thought about it before he tumbled my mother.”

  Chalia rolled her eyes. “Thinking ahead isn’t really his strong suit. I know he can be a bit of an arse. Nevertheless, he is your father. You…belong to each other. You even have his eyes,” she added, peering at Kett’s silvery irises.

  “Well, then he can have ’em back,” Kett scowled.

  “Just come and say hello,” said Chalia. “You don’t even need to tell him who you are.”

  I’m his daughter. According to the faery stories, that should be enough to make him love her. But Kett had seen enough carelessness, enough casual cruelty, enough deliberate meanness in her life so far to know this wasn’t the case.

  And yet…

  Maybe he will love you, said a pernicious little voice in the back of her mind.

  She shrugged her shoulders and said carelessly to the older woman, “Okay, whatever.”

  Chalia’s face lit up and she grabbed Kett’s hand, towing her forward. They approached the door of one of the palace’s many salons, and heard the voice of a man talking into his scryer.

  “That’s him! That’s your father,” Chalia said, clutching Kett’s hand excitedly.

  “Whoop-di-fucking-do,” said Kett with all the ennui she could muster. But inside, hope was beating an excited tattoo on her heart.

  “Striker said he would call and tell him you were coming,” Chalia whispered. “We’ll just wait until they’ve…”

  But her voice faded out as Kett tuned her keen hearing to the conversation. She recognized Striker’s voice filtered through the tinny quality of the scryer, which must mean her father was on the other side of the door. Her actual father.

  “…don’t lay any claim to her, Striker.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Look,” said her father. “When women think I’m a highwayman or a mercenary or a fucking army deserter or whatever, all they want’s a quick tumble, and that’s fine by me, because you know what? As soon as they find out my daddy’s an earl and I’m actually the Honorable Tyrnan of Emreland, they suddenly discover all these poor relations who need sponsoring and you’d be amazed at how many of them suddenly come up with kids who just have to be mine. I’ve heard it all before, Striker. If a quarter of those women were telling the truth, I’d be setting some sort of paternal record. The kid is no more my daughter than you are.”

  “Believe me, mate, she’s your kid,” said the tinny voice. “I’ve met her. She’s just like you.”

  Tyrnan of Emreland laughed. “Then gods help her,” he said.

  She felt it like a punch in the stomach. Stupid, stupid girl for letting yourself believe anything else, she berated silently. You learned it years ago; no one cares about you. Try to remember it in future.

  Kett turned to the silent woman beside her. Chalia’s pretty face looked fixed and uncomfortable, but she attempted a smile.

  “I’m sure—” she began, but Kett cut her off with a sneer that came far too easily.

  “He’ll want to know I exist, huh?” she asked, and walked away, her footsteps getting faster as the tears began to flow.

  Chapter One

  About twenty years later

  Kett’s rational brain knew there was no way in hell she was waking up chained to a naked hottie, hanging from the roof of a cave by her wrist. Her rational brain told her it must be a dream.

  Her rational brain was usually wrong.

  “Hey.” The hottie’s voice sounded very close to her ear. “Wake up.”

  She decided not to. His body was all warm and hard. And naked. And hot. And naked. All in all, a pretty nice dream, apart from the screaming pain in her right arm. She’d have to work on getting rid of that.

  “Wake up,” he insisted, his voice all warm and husky. Then he paused. “Are you even alive?”

  “I’m asleep,” she mumbled, snuggling a little closer. The bedclothes were trapping her other arm behind her back. “G’way.”

  “You know, I’d love to,” he said, his voice rough, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. “Sadly that’s not an option.” He moved, and there was a jangling sound.

  Dread stole through Kett as her rational brain gave up the fight and the possibility occurred to her that she wasn’t actually dreaming at all. She peeled open one eye.

  “Hi,” he said. He had green eyes and shaggy dark hair and he was still all warm and hard and naked.

  “Mmm,” Kett sighed. And then she blushed. Which she hadn’t done since…ever.

  He grinned, which made him
a little more delicious. “Nice of you to join us.” His smile faded a little. “Are you all right?”

  She took stock. The entire front of her body was pressed tight against his—shoulder to shoulder, breasts to chest, crotch to crotch. They were both completely naked. Even the feet that brushed against hers were bare.

  Kett shifted against him, and it was an entirely pleasant thing to do.

  A chain bound them together at the waist. Her right arm stretched way above her head, supporting her full weight from the chain that was suspended from the roof of what she suspected to be a cave. Her new friend’s arm was bound to hers, wrist to wrist, and while the chain that held their weight was of the heavy regular kind, the one that bound them together about their waists appeared to be silver.

  There was a trickle of blood between their bound wrists.

  Kett began to get a really bad feeling.

  “Five by five,” she murmured, rattling the chains experimentally. Her left arm was twisted behind her back by the waist chain—not by bedclothes, dammit—and caught tight enough that she couldn’t move it. From the looks of her handsome although irritatingly calm friend, his was too.

  “What?” he asked.

  Okay, Kett, stay calm. This probably isn’t as bad as it seems. Someone playing a joke on you, perhaps. Someone at Koskwim who still thinks it’s funny to torment Mad Kett. At least they chained you to someone really hot. You’ve been in worse situations. At least you’re not actually dead this time.

  For all her luck this was probably some screwy marriage ceremony. She’d probably met this guy at the Maharaja’s party and had too much to drink and forgotten that marriage was the worst idea ever invented. Even after years of fuckwits she could still be a sucker for a pretty face.

  “I’m okay,” she said, trying to see over his distressingly broad shoulder. “Apart from the fact that I have no idea how I got here, or who you are, my arm feels like it’s gonna pop out of its socket and, oh yeah, I appear to be naked and bloody and chained to a complete fucking stranger. What else could I be but fine?”

  “Whoa,” he said, “keep your knickers on.”

  “I’m not wearing any.”

  His grin said he’d noticed. “I mean calm down.”

  “Calm?”

  “Opposite of what you’re doing. I’m as much in the dark as you are. I haven’t a clue what’s going on.”

  She brought her eyes back to his—it wasn’t hard, they were about four inches away—and saw honesty in their warm green depths. Aware that her bosom was heaving against a complete stranger’s chest, she tried to take his advice and calm herself. If only because she’d never thought of herself as having a “bosom”, and it made her feel old.

  Only she wasn’t so good at being calm. She preferred totally and utterly freaking out.

  Right, Kett. What’s going on? A cave, silver chains, amnesia. She didn’t recall there being all that many caves in the Maharaja’s palace. Had she offended someone there? Possibly—Kett was good at being offensive—but the Maharaja’s court was into more public punishments.

  See, this is what happens when you extend the hand of friendship. Some bugger bites it.

  She went through a list of enemies in her head, but most of them were dead. Those Federación bastards were at the top of the list of the living, but she still couldn’t fathom why they might have left her here. A slow death, maybe. Pain and starvation.

  Maybe Striker was playing a joke on her. She couldn’t work out why, but then she’d never wanted to understand the innermost workings of his mind.

  “You have no idea where we are?” she asked, trying the calm thing.

  “A cave.”

  “You think?”

  “Ooh, tetchy. Don’t think there’s anyone else here. I called out but no one answered.”

  A hundred ideas came to her, none of them pleasant. They’d been strung up here to die, that much was clear—but were they being left as meat for hungry bears or dragons, or to wait for the tide to rush in or what?

  No, this place didn’t smell damp. If anything, it smelled like something had recently been burning here.

  Great. They were going to be barbecued. Back to the dragon theory. Well, at least Kett understood dragons, although unfortunately what she understood was that they liked fresh meat.

  And the blood. Didn’t seem like an accidental cut—wrist to wrist, that looked a lot like something ritualistic. She hated bloody rituals.

  Still. Kett had a trick or two up her— Well, she had a trick or two.

  She concentrated on thinning out her wrist and escaping the chains stringing them up to the ceiling.

  Nothing.

  She tried a little harder. Granted, it was harder to change a little bit of your shape than a lot, but she’d had a lot of practice. Kett shook herself and tried to wake up a bit.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Shh. I’m concentrating.”

  He frowned but said nothing. She still wasn’t getting anything from her wrist, so she decided to go for broke.

  “Don’t freak out,” she warned him, and changed her form to that of a snake.

  He didn’t freak. Probably because she didn’t change.

  “Uh, I’m not freaking,” he said. “Should I be?”

  Real panic was setting in now. “This ain’t working.”

  “What ain’t?”

  “I—” She looked at him, and knew she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She had no idea who he really was or why he was here with her. Chances were he had something to do with this setup, and she wasn’t about to give him any reason why he should keep her chained.

  “I was trying to get free,” she said. “Not working.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think that’s the point.” He glanced around the cave a moment. There was a faint glow from somewhere in the distance, but she couldn’t make out any details. Couldn’t even see the floor.

  “Bael,” he said eventually.

  She blinked at him.

  “My name,” he prompted. “It’s Bael. And you are…?”

  “Kett,” she said vaguely.

  He grinned. “Nice to meet you, Kett.”

  “Yeah. Real nice.”

  She tugged on the chains again, harder this time, then harder again. Every movement rubbed her body against Bael’s, which was damn distracting. He was pretty nicely shaped. Warm skin, hard muscles, his biceps bulging against her arm.

  She swallowed and tried to concentrate her mind. Why couldn’t she change her shape? Apart from those unfortunate stone years in her childhood, she’d always been able to change her form however and whenever she wanted.

  Only severe injury, enchantment or death had ever stopped her. And Kett wasn’t entirely sure which one of those was the most likely right now.

  “Look, Bael. Do you have any idea how to get out of here?”

  He glanced up at the chain as if he hadn’t really thought about it before and gave it an experimental tug. He frowned, tugged again, then gave her a sort of facial shrug.

  She gave him a facial slow-hand clap.

  “Well, I don’t see you coming up with anything,” he said defensively.

  Kett looked up again. “Maybe if we both pull together,” she said.

  He looked up at the chain again. It disappeared into darkness, the ceiling of the cave totally hidden. At least, she still assumed it was a cave. The echo suggested bare stone.

  Bael nodded, and she shifted herself against him to get a better grip. This proved to be a bad move, since it involved rubbing her naked self all over his. Which, ordinarily, would be a great thing. But right now she didn’t really need the distraction.

  Her nipples puckered against his chest and she knew he felt it. She licked her lips, tried to lean back a little, and succeeded in pressing her hips tighter against his.

  Oh yeah. He’d felt it.

  Stop, Kett, stop. Focus. Chain, cave, blood. This is all of the bad. Focus on getting out of here, then you can do as m
uch rubbing of your naked self all over his as you like.

  He cleared his throat and gripped the chain suspending them. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, tried not to think about the warm pulse beating there and made her eyes meet his.

  He gave a tiny nod and they both yanked down on the chain. The movement jolted her against him, rubbing her already-sensitive nipples against the light hair on his chest and nudging his cock against her.

  A shock of heat rippled through her. Bael’s body was hot, really hot. The roughness of his thighs abraded the soft skin of her legs. His chest rose and fell, rubbing her nipples delightfully. His penis swelled between her legs.

  “Again,” she said, and her voice came out breathier than she’d anticipated.

  He gripped the chain again, his eyes never leaving hers, and she grabbed his wrist and pulled. Again her body quaked against his.

  “Again,” he murmured, even huskier than before, and she shifted a little more against him, lifting herself up, resting one thigh on his hip—for a better grip, of course.

  Her face was a fraction of an inch from his. His breath was hot on her cheek as they tugged sharply on the chain and shuddered against each other. His hot cock slipped between her legs, rubbing against her suddenly slick folds, and she bit her lip, hard.

  “Again,” he said in her ear, and they pulled, rubbing against each other. “Again. Again.”

  She squirmed against him until she was making no pretense about it. His cock slid between her legs in strong strokes that could never have been accidental and she closed her eyes, the strength in her right arm fading out completely, forgetting all about escape. His hot, hard flesh stroked hers, nearly entering but not quite, and she moved harder against him.

  It had been so long. Too long.

  The chain around their waists was constricting and it might have even chafed a little but she hardly noticed. Completely senseless with desire, she bucked against this total stranger, unable to touch him with her hands, or be touched, but connected so intimately it made her gasp and shudder.