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The following excerpts from NAKED SOULS are for readers 18 and over. Naked Souls by Kate Hill (Erotic Fantasy) From Ellora's Cave Blurb: Betrayed and imprisoned, Overlord Lysander is force to mate with beautiful Queen Flora. Lysander has never found a woman more desirable. Resisting her is impossible, especially when manipulated by carnal magic. Trapped in a loveless marriage, Flora has dreamed about Lysander since meeting him at the High King's gathering. She never imaged she would one day be forced into his bed by her maniacal husband. Damaged by an abusive past, King Typhon obsesses about two things—keeping his kingdom safe at any cost and the innocent maid who stirs his body and soul. Love is a luxury a leader can't afford, especially when he's consorting with the Fleshtress, a creature who thrives on mortal lust. Compelled to love a man she can never have, Crystal longs for brooding King Typhon. She sees past his madness and into his heart, but to save the man she must destroy the king. In a magical world at war, passion abounds as four people are stripped to their souls, but will love or lust conquer all? [Excerpt 1 - Flora and Lysander] [Excerpt 2: Crystal and Typhon] Excerpt 1 - Flora and Lysander: In the high king's great hall, surrounded by the wealthiest and most influential people in the known world, Flora felt bored and restless. Her husband, Typhon, ruler of Darridge, a kingdom on the southern tip of the continent, had sent her to this gathering in his stead. He disliked social affairs. Most likely he wanted to stay in Darridge, planning more ways to squeeze money from the common people to finance another battle with the kingdom of Aberhill. She sympathized with those caught in Typhon's path. All too often she had felt the sting of his wrath. Before her marriage, she hadn't imagined hating anyone as deeply as she hated her husband. She hadn't always despised him but over the past few months he had become unbearable. The only good thing about this gathering was that she had at least some freedom from Typhon. He had sent guards to watch her every move, but she preferred that to looking at his face, hearing his voice and enduring his loathsome touch. "Are you feeling well, My Lady?" asked the young woman beside her. She was the princess of…Flora couldn't recall. She felt almost guilty about paying so little attention to most of the introductions made tonight, but she couldn't seem to keep her thoughts from drifting. On such a beautiful spring night she wished she were outside, swimming in a moonlit lake or racing on horseback across an open field. "Actually, I could use some air," Flora said, offering the girl a slight smile. "Please excuse me." She stepped away from the corner of the room where she'd been talking to a small group of ladies. As usual, most of the men remained seated at the tables, drinking and talking amongst themselves. A select few had joined High King Nik at the stable where he had gone to inspect his new riding horse, a gift from one of the guests. Flora glanced toward the entrance to the courtyard and noticed that guests filled the sanctuary. She sighed. It seemed she'd get no privacy tonight, short of retiring to her chamber. Then she noticed a balcony across the room. It appeared to be empty, so she headed toward it, weaving her way around other guests. Her two guards followed. She paused and spun toward them. "Please wait here. I require privacy." They looked hesitant, but she stared at them with her sternest expression and they relented. "Yes, my lady," said one of the guards. "We'll keep watch from here." Of course. What did they think she'd do? Leap off the balcony, run to the woods and live like an animal? Compared to the life she had with Typhon, that might be the better choice. She stepped outside, walked to the carved stone railing and closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. The aroma of flowers lingered on the air and she smiled, imagining she were alone in a field of lilacs. No responsibilities. No guards and best of all no husband. A strange feeling swept over her, as if someone were watching her. The guards? Her eyes snapped open and she glanced around. Upon seeing a man standing at the far end of the balcony, half hidden in the shadows, she gave a little gasp of surprise. Tall and lean with broad shoulders, he had long, sinewy legs accentuated by his fitted ebony trousers and leather boots. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but so masculine that a shiver of passion rippled down her spine. Until this moment she believed she'd lost her ability to desire a man. "I thought I was alone," she said. "You surprised me." He stepped closer, out of the shadows and into the light of the full moon. Fascinated and aroused by him, Flora moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. He had an angular face with sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline and a longish but well- shaped nose. His mouth made her ache with need. She wondered how those chiseled lips, the top forming a perfect little bow, would feel against hers or even better teasing her nipples? In spite of his understated garments and rugged masculinity, he emanated good breeding. He was almost beautiful, but using such a feminine word to describe a man like this seemed insulting. By the way he stared at her with his wide-set blue eyes, he found her just as interesting. As he stepped closer, she noticed a leather strip bound his glossy black hair at his nape. His pale skin carried a hint of gold, as if it had been kissed by the sun. That light complexion and the black inner rims of his eyes indicated Fanticaun ancestry. Many people still practiced magic, but few displayed such obvious characteristics of that ancient race. At one time they were the most powerful race in the world and the founders of most other magical peoples. Pure Fanticauns now bordered on extinction and generally lived in seclusion. "That's why I came out here," he said, turning his gaze toward the starry sky. His blunt reply irked her and she said with a hint of sarcasm, "Excuse me for disturbing you." He didn't respond but stared at her with those compelling eyes. "I'm not much for crowds," she said, unsure of why she felt the need to keep talking. "Gatherings like this make me feel…trapped." The faintest smile curved the corner of his lips. "I understand. There are places I'd rather be." She didn't doubt it. In spite of his aristocratic appearance, this setting didn't fit him. He'd look more at home riding bareback through the wilderness or worshipping the moon on a snowy mountaintop. "That's exactly how I feel," she said, her voice scarcely a whisper. Sighing deeply she walked to the rail again and stared toward the silhouette of the dark woods. "You look like a caged bird." His words struck a chord in her, whether due to the way he spoke them or because they were too close to the truth, she wasn't sure. Her breath caught in her throat and she turned to him. "Who are you, Sir?" she asked, wishing her father had given her to a man like this instead of Typhon. Though she'd just met him, something told her they were a soul match. Both preferred the stars to the great hall. Each wanted to be somewhere else. Neither seemed comfortable with the life they had been born into. "Lysander of Aberhill." A feeling of dread tightened Flora's belly. Typhon sought to conquer Aberhill. Lysander, overlord of that kingdom, defeated him at every turn. "And you, My Lady?" he asked. "Flora of Darridge." He lifted a sleek eyebrow. "Typhon's queen?" She nodded, her gaze locked on his. This time the smile that touched his lips was nothing short of wicked. He approached and stood so close that she saw the fine lines around his eyes and the thickness of his lashes. He smelled like a fresh spring breeze laced with herbs. Those who practiced Fanticaun magic often carried the aroma of plants and incense. Typhon always did, but he had a bitter scent. Pungent. So unlike the crispness of Lysander. The Overlord of Aberhill lifted a hand to her cheek. A shiver darted through her, though she couldn't tell if it was one of fear or one of desire. It felt like the unsettling combination of both. She should move away but she didn't want to. The warmth of his calloused hand against her soft skin aroused her. When he trailed his long, slender fingertip down her cheek and across her lips, she resisted the urge to close her eyes and sway toward him. No one had ever touched her so tenderly, least of all the man who should have. It was completely improper for her to stand here, allowing her husband's worst enemy to caress her like this, but she wished he'd touch her even more intimately. She wished he'd kiss her with that fascinating mouth. It struck her that to touch the wife of his enemy, he must be as arrogant as his reputation indicated. "It seems Typhon is as lacking in the bedroom as he is on the battlefield." This statement forced Flora back to reality. Her teeth clenched, she knocked his hand away from her face. "How dare you!" she demanded. "How much would you like me to dare, lovely Flora?" "You must be mad. Do you realize my husband's guards are watching? A motion from me and they'll have your hide." "That's very doubtful." "Attacking another man's wife isn't something the high king will overlook." "If the look in your eyes is any indication, it wouldn't be an attack but a mission of mercy." Enraged, Flora drew back her hand to slap his face, but he caught her wrist before the blow landed and pressed a kiss to her palm. She hated how the sensation of his lips sent little thrills of delight through her entire body. Lysander dropped his hold on her, turned and stepped into the great hall. Her heart pounding with conflicting emotions, Flora strode to the edge of the balcony and took a moment to calm herself. No man had ever made her feel like this and something told her that no man ever would. These brief moments were burned upon her soul. Lysander's kiss on her palm had been more passionate and satisfying than her husband's fucking had ever been. Excerpt 2 - Crystal and Typhon: Someone tapped on the door and Typhon's brow furrowed. "Yes?" "Your bath is prepared, My Lord," replied a soft voice that he knew well. Crystal, Flora's maid. A spark stirred deep inside him but he doused it quickly. He didn't need this young, pretty maid distracting him. "My Lord?" she called, a note of hesitance in her voice. He stood and strode to the door, angry that his heartbeat quickened and his cock sprang to life at the sound of her voice. He opened the door, a scowl on his face. Crystal's large, slanted eyes stared into his. Meeting her king's gaze was improper, yet he liked her directness. An almost sinister smile tugged at his lips and Crystal averted her gaze. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I thought after your training you might like to refresh yourself." "How thoughtful," he said coolly. "But that duty falls to my manservant, to whom I've given a few hours of leisure time because I don't want to be bothered." Tension shone in her face and color rose in her beautifully rounded cheeks. Impulsively, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look into his eyes again. "Forgive me for overstepping myself," she whispered. "I'm prepared for punishment." Punishment. The image of the little maid sprawled naked on his lap as he slapped her lovely backside sent another jolt of desire through him. His teeth clenched a bit and his free hand curled into a fist. With Flora gone, abandoning him and Darridge, perhaps he should indulge his passion and fill this maid's cunt with his cock. Since Crystal had come to the palace, he'd imagined doing that. He remembered the first time he saw her almost a year ago. She'd been carrying an armload of wood to the kitchen when their paths crossed in the hallway. The girl had stumbled and dropped the wood. Impulsively, Typhon had bent to catch her before she hit the stone floor. Their gazes locked and he'd nearly forgotten she was a mere peasant. Never had he seen such untainted eyes. This woman wasn't harsh or cunning like most people he'd known. Typhon had summoned a serving boy to gather the wood and carry it to the kitchen. Crystal had apologized profusely for stumbling. Typhon interrupted her, wanting to know where she'd come from since he'd never noticed her at the palace before. Her aunt, who was in charge of laundry, had gained employment for her through her friendship with the head cook. In the kitchen, a girl this young and pretty would soon lose her innocence. Male servants and even guests to the castle often took the serving wenches to satisfy their desires. Strangely, Typhon didn't like the idea of Crystal enduring this fate. He had her duties changed so that she would serve as a maid on an upper floor. The head housekeeper who looked after Typhon and his advisors protected her staff well. Working upstairs was preferable to the kitchen but it also meant that Crystal's path would be more apt to cross his. For any other man, this would be a dangerous temptation, but not for Typhon. He lived a disciplined life. Or so he'd thought. Resisting the gentle maid had been more difficult than he'd imagined. After his marriage it had only become harder. Rather than fill a void, Flora had only deepened it. Obviously she felt the same. Why else would she have left? Even worse, she had probably run off with his greatest enemy. She'd certainly enjoyed fucking Lysander of Aberhill. Maybe Typhon should seek some enjoyment as well and not with the repulsive fleshtress but with a human woman. "My Lord?" Crystal pressed. She moistened her plump, pink lips with the tip of her tongue. He imagined that tongue swirling around his cock head. No. This maid distracted him from more important duties. Fucking her would pacify him and drain his energy, but fucking the fleshtress would feed his power. The fleshtress could help him defeat Lysander and claim Aberhill. A peasant girl could do nothing except sate his momentary lust. "There's no need for punishment," he replied, dropping his hand from her face. "And a bath might be welcome after all." She curtsied low and turned away. Typhon followed her to the adjoining chamber where his square marble tub had been filled with steaming water. "Shall I call a male servant to help you undress?" Crystal asked. "No need." "Would you like a male servant bathe you?" "Close the door," he ordered. She curtsied again and turned to leave. A strange, wicked sensation swept over him. This bold little maid who had interrupted him needed to be taught a lesson and by the way he'd allowed her to distract him, he needed punishment as well. "I said close the door, wench, but I didn't tell you to leave," he stated. Crystal's cheeks colored again and she seemed to stop breathing, her hand curved around the doorknob. "My Lord?" she asked softly, a tremor in her voice. "Close the door, then come here. Since you've taken it upon yourself to act as my manservant, you will assume all his duties. You will bathe me." Not that Typhon's manservant actually washed him. He preferred to do that in private--until now. Having her hands glide over his wet body would be a delicious torment, and they both deserved it. Crystal closed the door and turned to him. Her small breasts heaved and her eyes gleamed in a way he'd never seen before. "As you wish, My Lord," she said, her voice just above a whisper. Typhon walked to a high-backed chair by the fireplace and sat to remove his boots. Crystal approached and Typhon said, "Remove your overdress so that it doesn't get wet." Crystal's lips parted as she drew another deep breath. Her hands lifted to the simple metal brooches that fastened her overdress. As she removed the brooches, her hands trembled visibly and he wondered if he frightened or aroused her. Barefoot, Typhon stood and approached. He took her hands and guided them away from the brooches, then he unfastened them. Though he focused on his hands, he felt her gaze upon him and heard her swallow noisily. She held out her hand and he dropped the brooches onto her palm, then slid her dress down her shoulders. The fabric pooled at her feet and when she bent to pick it up, Typhon stepped behind her, gazing at the gentle curve of her backside in the thin shift. Resisting the urge to grasp her bottom, he occupied his hands with undressing. He tugged off his clothes, still damp with sweat from training, and dropped them on the floor. When Crystal went to pick up his clothes as well, he said, "Leave them. Come to the bath." She dropped her dress beside his shirt and trousers and stepped closer as he sank into the hot water. It soothed his sore muscles. He ducked under the surface, wetting his hair. Then he sat up again, wiping rivulets of water from his face. "You're cut," she said, trailing her fingertips along the back of his left shoulder. "It can't be bad. I scarcely felt it." He closed his eyes and bent his head forward since she had dipped the cloth into the water and began washing the injury. Her fingertips trailed over the many scars on his back and she asked softly, "Are these all from battles?" Why did her question take him off guard? After a moment's pause, he replied coolly, "No." Some of the scars were from battles, others from training but most from his father. The old King had been a firm believer in strict discipline for both children and warriors. Crystal rinsed out the cloth again and ran it across his shoulders. Typhon's eyes closed for several heartbeats while she swept the cloth over his chest. Grasping her hand, he guided her to the side of the tub. This time she didn't look at him but kept her hands focused on his chest which she continued washing for much longer than necessary. Typhon drew a deep breath, relishing the sensations. She ran the towel over his nipple and swept her thumb over the stiff nub. He couldn't tell if the caress was accidental or deliberate. It didn't matter. He liked the way she touched him. Gritting his teeth, he realized he liked it too much. Her slender arms, curved with small yet firm muscles, gleamed with water and the front of her shift had also gotten quite wet. The fabric clung to her pert breasts, the stiff pink nipples visible and seeming to beg for his touch. "Raise your arm, please, My Lord," she said, her voice a bit unsteady. He obliged and she ran the cloth down the length of his arm, then dipped it in the water again and swept it over his underarm. She walked around to the other side of the tub and repeated the motions on his other arm. When she reached for the cake of soap, it slipped from her wet hand and disappeared beneath the water. Their gazes locked and Typhon smiled wickedly, enticing her to reach for the soap. "My Lord?" she said, a tremor in her voice. Her eyes glistened and her breathing had increased. Typhon's heartbeat also quickened. He and this peasant had scarcely touched, yet she aroused him more than Flora ever had even in their most intimate moments. "Yes?" he demanded. "The soap--" "Is within easy reach." She drew a sharp breath and her eyes widened with surprise. Taking her lower lip between her teeth in a manner he found most endearing, she reached into the water. Her hand brushed his leg and Typhon's stiffening cock swelled to even greater proportions. Crystal's palm swept over his inner thigh before she searched the bottom of the tub for the elusive soap. Her forearm brushed his cock and he resisted the urge to groan. The pretty maid had leaned so close that he felt her warm breath against his chest. Again her hand caressed his inner thigh and her lips hovered over his chest, her eyes half closed. "I can't find it, My Lord. Perhaps you could tell me if you feel it?" Typhon reached down and grasped the soap. The maid sat back, extending her hand. He grasped her wrist and placed the soap in her palm. When she tried to pull away, he tugged her even closer, their lips almost touching.

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