The Only Option
by Megan
Derr
Publisher:
All Romance eBooks
Date of
Publication: May 1st 2016
Cover
Artist: Erin Dameron Hill
Genre:
Gay Fantasy Shifter Romance,
From The Book Junkie Reads . . . The Only Option . . .
Intrigued. Allured. Sated. Drawn in to a world that held magic as an everyday occurrence. Where dragons, wyren, necromancer, gay/lesbian relations to be the norm. Same sex marriage common place.
A cold, dark night where food and rest are priority and something other was just a bonus. Rochus finds that the summons of his queen means something more than a leisurely visit to the castle. The bonus in his bed allows for a night of not thinking on what the queen may demand of him next. That was until he wakes to find his distraction is gone. The journey must move on.
Tilo has never seen a necromancer before. He finds that he is greatly intrigued by the man in the cloak. Sparks of desire. Boldness of youth. All allows for him to make the step to what he wants he claims.
Mystical battles. Raunchy encounters. Rochus and Tilo have so much to learn and so much to gain from their forced upon union.
**This ARC was provided
via Bewitching
Book Tours in exchange for an honest review.**
BLURB
A desperate dragon. A lonely
necromancer. A marriage neither wants.
When he is summoned to the royal
castle, Rochus anticipates nothing more than a particularly difficult
assignment. The bothersome journey is almost made worthwhile when he is
propositioned by a young, beautiful dragon, Tilo, who seems untroubled by the
fact that Rochus is a necromancer.
When Rochus arrives at the castle
he is ordered to marry the very same dragon he spent the night with. Though
Rochus would rather sign papers and return home, he is helpless against Tilo's
pleas for help, even if it means spending more time around a man he is
desperately drawn to but who doesn’t seem to want him.
Rochus
pulled off his spectacles and wiped them clean as the door of the tavern
slammed shut behind him. Noise washed over him, along with the smell of cheap
food and too many unwashed people, an undercurrent of smoke, and the faint
tingle of magic. He stared through the large, open archway into the dining
hall, the need for food warring with a need for solitude and a reluctance to
endure the stares that would come when everyone realized what he was.
But he
detested hiding in his room like he was something to be ashamed of, and hiding
wouldn't stop the rumors or whispers. So he slipped his spectacles back on and
approached the counter, pushing back the hood of his cloak. He set two worn,
gleaming coins on the counter, ignoring the wide eyes and gaping mouth of the
man behind it. "A room, a bath, supper, and breakfast."
"Supper
and—" The man snapped his mouth shut. "Of course, magus. Um…" He
picked up the coins, eyes flitting about nervously. So close to the royal
castle, one would think they'd be more used to the likes of Rochus, but then
again, most of his kind preferred to avoid undue attention, and the rest were
spoiled brats who'd never settle at a cheap tavern when the royal castle was
only a few more hours away.
Stifling
a sigh, Rochus answered the question the man couldn't quite get out. "Pig
or cow blood will work fine, and chicken or some other fowl if that's the best
you can muster. A full pitcher of it, though merely a cup will suffice if more
cannot be found. Not horse." They were far too expensive to drain, and the
taste wasn't worth it.
"Y-yes,
magus. Um." The man licked his lips. "Will you want to see the room
first or go straight to the dining hall?"
"The
room, and I'll take the bath after I've dined."
The man
murmured another affirmative, tucked the coins away, and slid a key across the
counter. "Up the stairs, all the way at the very end of that first hall."
"My
thanks," Rochus replied and resettled his saddlebags on his shoulder
before heading up the dark, creaky steps and down the long hallway. It branched
off in three places, but as promised, his was the room at the very back of the
first, main hallway.
It
smelled of dust and disuse, with a slight tingling-tang of old, faded magic.
Powerful magic, likely wards or some other cage meant to keep something in. But
the inn had once been a castle in its own right, before it had been torn down
and rebuilt, changed to something less expensive and more profitable than an
empty fortress. It wasn't surprising remnants of the fortress remained in more
than the old stones.
He
dropped his saddlebags on the bed and quickly sent his heavy travel cloak after
them. Removing his spectacles, he combed fingers through his short, sweat-damp
hair. In the dark room, with nothing but slips of moonlight to lend visibility,
his hair appeared black. Better lighting would prove it to be blue, so too his
nails and teeth. It was the teeth that always made people most
uncomfortable—dark blue, some more pointed than they should be, all the more
stark against his too-white skin.
Rochus
briefly considered changing into fresh clothes, but there was little point
until after he'd had a bath—and no telling what would happen in the dining
hall. It would hardly be the first time some country bumpkins or foreign
nitwits wailed superstitious nonsense and tried to kill him, nevermind he
reported directly to the crown.
He
smoothed out his robes, frowning at a small tear in the right sleeve. He'd have
to stitch it later after his bath.
For the
moment, it was time for supper, and hopefully he'd get to enjoy it in peace.
Heading
back downstairs, Rochus walked into and through the dining hall, keeping his
head up even when the whispers started.
Necromancer.
Half-dead.
Blood-drinker.
His lips
curled briefly when he heard someone ask their companion if Rochus was a
vampire. As though he was one of those needle-teethed, full-dead mongrels. He
drank blood and his teeth were meant for hunting, but it wasn't the same thing.
His teeth were more like those of a wolf—teeth he did not use thus because he
was a civilized, capable necromancer of forty-three, not some ravening monster.
Rochus
sat down at a table in the corner where he wasn't too close to the fire but
would still be warm and would be able to see anyone who tried to approach him.
A couple
of minutes after he sat, a pale-faced young man brought him a pitcher and cup
with faintly trembling hands. Rochus slid a coin across the table, nodding for
him to take it. The boy took it and skittered away, and the whispers increased
as Rochus poured himself a cup of blood and sipped it. Pig, which he preferred,
save for those rare occasions he was able to get something as decadent as human.
He took
several more sips, savored the way it warmed him through. There was nothing he
hated more than being cold, but it was the one thing he would always be due to
what was called his half-dead state. He wasn't actually dead, half or
otherwise, but necromancy demanded a high price, drained away half his spirit,
replaced it with those unique spiritual energies he needed to wield his strange
magic. The physical effects—the corpse white skin, the death-black bones, the
need for food replaced by a need for blood—were what earned necromancers the
reputation of being half-dead.
Author Info
Megan Derr is a long time writer
of LGBTQ romance and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it.
She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not involved in writing,
she likes to cook, harass her cats, or watch movies. She loves to hear from
readers, and can be found all over the internet.
For more information on other
books by Megan, visit her website: www.maderr.com.
Author Links:
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