Authors: Carrie Ann Ryan
Her Warriors’ Three Wishes
Carrie Ann Ryan
Copyright Fated Desires Publishing, LLC
Carrie Ann Ryan
Cover by Scott Carpenter
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. 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 author.
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Her Warriors’ Three Wishes Blurb
Humans aren’t as alone as they choose to believe. Every human possesses a trait of supernatural that lays dormant within their genetic make-up. Centuries of diluting and breeding have allowed humans to think they are alone and untouched by magic. But what happens when something changes
Ambrose Griffin is older than most, if not all, civilizations. As each year passes, he submerses himself into his training, only relaxing around his protégée and friend, Shade. After losing his wife and children in the last Angelic Wars, he guards his heart and has no desire to share it with another.
Bookkeeper and romance novel enthusiast, Jamie Bennett dreams of being swept off her feet by a white knight. However, her life is no romance book. Since meeting Ambrose—a sexy, delicious angel—she’s been twisted inside out and doesn’t know why. Things are happening that she can’t control and now her life is in danger.
Balin Drake is stuck in hell, literally. His life of refusing to take souls, even though it’s part of his demon nature, has caught up with him. He’s dying and now must search for his true half, but even a mating may not save him. When he meets the two people who could fill that part, he’ll need to fight for something he hasn’t felt in over a century—hope.
Warning: Contains a rigid angel who needs a certain sexy woman to help him unwind, a book keeper who finds herself the creamy center of the best cookie ever, and a demon who has a certain taste for pressing them both against walls
To my Street Pack who wanted to know more about the Dante’s Circle world
Thank you Lia Davis for being by my side once again and letting me cry when I didn’t want to go on in this story. You totally rocked this one with me, thank you.
Thank you Fatin, Kelly, Kimberly, Devin, Donna, and Charity for guiding me along the way and being my right hands. And my left.
Thank you to my Pack who make what I do worth it. You guys are always right there helping out when I need it. And of course my hubby who when I said I’d be writing a ménage story about an angel, a demon, and a not-so-human, you said, “Of course.”
Also, thank you to my readers. You guys are amazing and make everything I do that much better.
It’s odd how a strike of lightning can change a person’s destiny, but it takes the decisions and strength of others to make it happen. The wind brushed against his wings and he brought them closer to his body, needing that ounce of control.
Ambrose Griffin looked out along the angelic enclave as he stood high on the cliff’s edge and inhaled the fresh, open scent. This was his home, or at least it should have been. It was more of a resting place for him now. He didn’t even know when the loss of home had come to him. Changes were coming, he felt them in every fiber of his being, yet he couldn’t see their outcomes. To be honest, he really didn’t want to. He might have been older than dirt, but he wasn’t a seer. He didn’t envy those who held that so-called gift.
Ambrose didn’t want the world like it was. He’d seen countless civilizations rise and fall, people live and die faster than the sand that drifted away with their ashes along the wind.
Frankly, he was tired, the aches in his bones not from old age, but from time itself—he was an angel, he
age—but from the weight of his past.
He was a warrior angel. One designed, trained, and delegated to hand out the justice of the angelic council. His blade was the final cut of judgment. His sword was that of law and order. He lived and breathed the duties set forth by the council, the same council that beckoned him to join their ranks each time he saw them—at their request, not his.
Each time they summoned him and begged him to take a place within them, he’d declined. He’d seen the depravity of power and wanted nothing of it. The council had changed in the past year, a short time for an angel, but the change had been needed.
After the Angelic Wars—the centuries’ long battles between two factions of angels—had ended, their council had been poisoned from within by Striker. The treasonous, brown-winged angel had started the Wars himself and had not stopped when the final blade had been lowered. No, he’d continued on in secret, almost killing Shade, Ambrose’s brother-in-arms, and Shade’s true-half, Lily.
They had persevered, and now Striker was no more—killed at the hands of Shade himself. Yet, with Striker’s death, the empty seat on the council beckoned him, or rather the other council members had. He wanted nothing to do with it. He had all the power he wanted and desired nothing more. He didn’t want to sit idly by and make declarations and decisions for others. No, he’d rather feel a blade warm in his hand as he fought for all that was right.
It was all he had done for his five-thousand-year existence and all he could see in his future. He needed nothing else.
No, it wasn’t the time to think of her. It was never the time to think of her.
He’d seen the worst in man and angel alike far more often than not. Angels weren’t the godly and holy beings people thought. Though those might exist—he wasn’t so sure—they did not enter this realm or any of the other supernatural realms.
Humans weren’t exactly as human as others would like to think. No, they were diluted versions of all things inhuman. Centuries of breeding with other supernaturals had created a supernatural without magic. Though, at first, the humans had known of magic and all it entailed, over time their true beginnings had been lost to them. Science and religion had warred with each other, erasing the true keystone to their humanity.
Now it was just as well. Humans weren’t ready for the existences of angels, shifters, brownies, demons, and so many others to become common knowledge. They feared what they did not understand, and a war to end all wars would be an inevitable outcome. Seerers had foretold it, and Ambrose knew it to be truth deep down in his bones.
The gods, or whatever others called them, had other things in store however. A year before they’d struck seven women, seven close-knit friends, with a lightning strike that had unleashed the supernatural DNA within their genetic makeup. Each woman might or might not unleash the most prominent supernatural strain of DNA in their own code, though for their sakes, Ambrose hoped the latter. A change such as that would be a shock—no pun intended.
Lily, the first to change, had made it through and was now a brownie because of the lightning and the fact that she was stronger than she thought and had Shade by her side. Of course, it was also Shade’s fault that her powers had been unearthed to begin with. Even with the lightning, it had taken their bonding and making love for her powers to be fully unleashed. A simple meeting with Shade had brought her powers to the surface, even though they had not been fully realized. It took that mating of a true half for the change to be complete.
It would be like that for the other six of them—if they met their true halves.
Any one of the other girls could be going through that pain that unsettled feeling that came with finding their true half but not completing the mating.
Ambrose gave a long sigh, one filled with an eternal memory that seemed to bear down on him with each passing day. With a swift intake of breath, he leapt off the edge of the cliff, his wings spreading wide, catching a wind current. He flew down to the ravine, following the river’s path, the wind lashing through his hair. He never felt as alive as he did when he flew amongst the clouds and then again with nature. This was why he loved being an angel, even though the weight of the years felt heavier as time moved on.
He landed on the edge of a cliff that gave way to a marketplace. He’d told Shade and Lily he’d meet them on the other side of it, and he didn’t want to be late. We walked past a grouping of younger female angels, and they each gave tentative smiles in his direction.
Well, they were younger to him. By the taste of their powers as they seeped off them, he knew them to be at least a few hundred years old. Babies to an ancient like him.
And if they were considered babies, then she—
No, he couldn’t think about her. Not if he wanted to remain sane. He’d spent the past year in the angelic realm dealing with the aftermath of Striker’s betrayal—away from her.
The girls—no, women—flexed their wings, each a painting of beauty and fragile elegance. Cool in their portrayal, iced in their immortally.
Not for him. No one was. Not even her.
Ambrose knew what the others saw. White wings, not as plain as those in the drawings by humans, but almost crystalline in nature, gleaming in the sunlight. He had the body of a warrior, one strengthened over eons of war and dispensing justice. His white hair ran straight down to the middle of his back, slightly mussed from his flight. He usually wore it tied back with a leather band but had opted to let it go free to feel like a younger man, a freer one.
What had he been thinking?
From the women’s stares, he may have made a mistake. He didn’t want their attention. He’d had his angel a lifetime ago and didn’t want another. He knew what
be his fate, and the angels fluttering their eyelashes and wings were not it. He gave a regal nod and a cool stare. Their smiles vanished, but their gazes didn’t waver.
Apparently, they liked the challenge?
No thanks. He didn’t desire their attention, didn’t deserve it. He was just a warrior angel, not a man to be admired.
He left them where they stood, their discontent clear, but he let it wash over him. The market was filled with the hustle and bustle of activity. Mothers held their babies close because a child was a prized gift in their culture. Children played in the street as there were no cars needed in their lands. Merchants sold goods as though it were a long-ago time in the human realm. The angels moved at a slower pace, though they held the technology to do anything. They were a mismatch of cultures and times. Some wore robes, while others, like him, wore jeans and other items of the modern movement.
He’d hated the robes anyway. The wind would always leave him feeling a bit breezy and exposed. He bit his lip to hold back a smile at the thought of what others would wear under those robes, didn’t want to scare anyone today.
Ambrose walked past a group of young males play-fighting with wooden swords. Although a bullet could pierce a body, angelic or not, most angels preferred the more elegant weapon to fight, and for a warrior, it was a must. These young boys had their sights on the warrior class, one that would take much effort, but he’d help them when it came time for their mentoring—if they made it that far. Wordlessly, he walked up to one boy and adjusted the grip of his sword before moving on. He stopped abruptly when he noticed they were all frozen in place, their mouths open in shock.
“You need to be sure you handle your weapons with care,” he advised, his voice deep and rough with lack of use. He only spoke if needed; there was no use in wasting words when actions would prove just as useful, if not more so. “Your opponent will be stronger than you in some cases, and you need to rely on your skill, as well as what’s ingrained in you. Be aware.”
With a nod, he left them in silence. Behind him, he heard murmurs of his name, whispers in reverence. He’d done that boy a favor, something the boy’s father should have done. Though Ambrose was a warrior, he was also a mentor and a weapons enthusiast. Weapons were his passion.
His only passion these days.
His collection rivaled those of the best museums, if not surpassed them. Scholars would envy it had they known it existed, but his life was shrouded in secret from the humans, as it should be.
“Scaring young children, are you?” Shade Griffin said as he walked toward him with his arm around his true half and wife, Lily. Shade was his brother-in-arms, his partner in justice, brother by choice and not blood.