HeroRising

Anna
Alexander

Book five in the Heroes of
Saturn series

Ari Rayner’s fresh start in the
city is put on hold when her car breaks down on a mountain pass. Her savior is
a hooded angel with haunted eyes who gives new meaning to the words “smoldering
intensity”. Drawn to his strength, she revels in helping him succumb to his
illicit fantasies. Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she’s afraid to get
down and dirty.

Bale made a deathbed promise to
protect those who cannot protect themselves, a vow he’s done a damn fine job of
upholding, but the fire burning within Ari beckons him to play in the flames,
and the heat they generate brings the house down. But such brilliance sheds
light on past mistakes that Bale must now answer for. With his true nature
revealed, Ari uses everything at her disposal—whips, straps and a firm hand—to
convince Bale he is not a monster and is worthy of her love.

Inside Scoop:
Contains BDSM
scenes.

A Romantica®
paranormal erotic romance
from
Ellora’s Cave

Dedication

Till min familj, för alltid.
And for my sister Sarah.
You know I love you more than my luggage.

If you’re supposed to make lemonade when life handed you
lemons, what were you supposed to do when handed a sack of shit?

Ari Rayner slammed the door shut on her ’88 Toyota Corolla.
“Well fuck you too,” she shouted at the car, then reopened the door and slammed
it again. The
thwack
of metal on metal was slightly more satisfying than
screaming at the hunk of junk.

A peek to her right and left confirmed she was all alone on
a long stretch of a two-lane ribbon of road bordered by fir trees so tall and
thick she figured they had to have been there for centuries. Trees didn’t grow
so massive where she was from, and the terrain wasn’t as mountainous either.
She was used to brown, rolly hills of farmland, not the steep slopes of the
Cascade Mountains. The congested forest surrounding her was so dense she was
barely able to see through the foliage to discern if she was close to any sort
of civilization.

A fine mist of rain fell from above, not enough to form
definitive drops, but coating the earth in a layer of wet and soggy. At least
there was a sliver of daylight left. If one could call the endless expanse of
slate-gray sky daylight. Once the sun set, it was going to get cold damn quick.

From her jacket pocket she withdrew her outdated cell phone
and pressed the Power button. “Please, please, please,” she prayed, focusing
all her energy on the cold black square in her chilly hands.

A light flickered across the screen.
Find Power Source.
Then zilch as the image zapped away.

“Nooo,” she groaned and rested her head against the door of
the Corolla. If only the cigarette lighter hadn’t gone out a year ago, she
could have made sure the battery was fully charged.

“If ifs and buts were candies and nuts, we’d all have a
wonderful Christmas,” her grandmother used to say. In other words, suck it up,
sweetie.

Torn between laughter and tears, she settled on both. Her
shoulders shook as puffs of breath fogged the window and temporarily heated her
damp cheeks.

She just had to take that detour off the main highway to
visit that hole-in-the-wall drive-thru she’d seen featured on the food channel.
Was it the cheeseburger’s fault the transmission she had hoped would last until
she reached the city had finally blown? No. But it figured that would be the
icing on the proverbial crap cake after enduring the month of hell. All she had
wanted was a little treat. Just a small, tiny bit of goodness to kick off the
start of a new beginning. What could be more harmless than sampling the best
cheeseburger west of the Mississippi?

“Was it really too much to ask to have a little fun?” she
wailed to the heavens. The answering clap of thunder as the rain gained density
was a resounding yes. Apparently the powers that be felt she hadn’t been
punished enough.

Fine. So be it. If she was meant to walk, it was time to
march. Crying on the side of the road wasn’t going to do her a lick of good and
wasted valuable daylight, or light-grayness, as was the case. On the bright
side, she now had the opportunity to burn off the calories in that chocolate
shake.

She reached into the backseat and retrieved a navy hooded
sweatshirt, layering it under her denim jacket for another level of warmth.
Wherever she ended up next, an umbrella was going to be at the top of her
shopping list. She threw her purse in her overnight bag and slung it over her
shoulder. The rest of her luggage would have to sit tight until she was able to
have a tow truck sent out to retrieve her car. Ugh, a tow truck. Another
expense she couldn’t afford and didn’t want to think about.

Shake it off. Shake it off. One emergency at a time.
First priority, find a power outlet.

Twenty minutes later Ari slogged down the road with no hint
of a building in sight. Rivulets of rain trickled down her neck and soaked the
collar and shoulders of her jacket. The fabric of her black- and
red-floral-print cotton dress stuck like papier-mâché around her thighs and
strands of hair kept slapping her cheeks. It figured the only item she kept
from her jerk-off ex-boyfriend were the kickass Jimmy Choo Dash biker boots and
now they were being devoured by the mud and roadside sludge.

With each soggy step she cursed the day she met Anthony
Martinelli. Excuse her, City Councilman Anthony Martinelli. The, unbeknownst to
her at the time, very married public servant who she hoped at that very moment
was getting a good nut-roasting by his wife. Lord knows the woman spewed enough
hate in Ari’s direction in every newspaper in all of Jefferson County and most
of St. Louis. Let her blow some brimstone in the direction of her adulterous
hubby too.

How had she not known Anthony was a player? Was she really
so bowled over by a nice suit and impeccable table manners that she completely
missed the signs that he led a double life? She used to believe she was a good
judge of character. As a bartender the ability to read people was an essential
skill to possess. A gesture or tone of voice told her immediately who were the
cool customers and who she needed to keep an eye on.

For example, she didn’t need to be a psychic to guess that
the two guys climbing out of the truck that pulled off the road ahead of her
were bad news. Slowing down while doing a drive-by to say a fine how-do-you-do
was understandable, but both of them did not need to exit the vehicle.

Both men wore what she had noticed was the Northwest uniform
of scruffy beards, flannel shirts and work boots. Seriously, hadn’t male
fashion changed at all since the grunge-rock era? When the man on the right spat
a stream of tobacco she cringed. Oh yeah. That was attractive. Excellent first
impression.

Ari hooked her thumb under the strap of her bag, ready to
ditch the extra weight at a moment’s notice, and calmly crossed the road to the
other side and prayed. Please let them only be stopping for engine troubles and
not notice she existed.

“Hey, girlie.”

Fuck. Well there went that wish.

One steady step after another, she walked on by without
sparing them a single glance. The roller-coaster pitch in her stomach was
enough to convince her she didn’t need or want anything to do with them.

Through the pitter-patter of rain, the tread of booted
footsteps came up behind her. As they approached, she whirled around and braced
her stance for either fight or flight. Better to see the devil coming at you
instead of letting him take you by surprise.

“What?” she shouted, as if she didn’t have a suspicion.

“Whoa.” The spitter held up his hands. “I’m not going to
hurt you, little lady.”

Right. Her bullshit alarm clanged. She knew how to read
between the lines. They weren’t going to hurt her, if she went along with their
plans.

The spitter and Billy Bob Joe Willy weren’t large men, but
they carried enough bulk around their middles to make her think if they tackled
her to the ground she’d be down for the count.

As her gaze flicked from one to the other, she noted that
their eyes appeared clear of drink, but drunk with lust as they inched closer.

A good girl, a desperate girl, might have been tempted to
give them the benefit of the doubt. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean
they wanted to nail her like a two-by-four. But she was not an angel and not
nearly that desperate.

She’d been called pretty in the past, but she knew the only
thing that inspired such a look of desire in a man was the fact she had a
vagina and was handy. And at the moment, she was all alone. A neon sign
flashing “victim” might as well be hanging over her head. The female population
of their logging camp or fishing boat, or wherever the hell they were from, must
be low for them to think she was a tasty treat. Hey, she was from the Midwest,
what did she know about mountain men and their proclivities?

Billy Bob Joe Willy took a step closer. She countered with
one back. From the corner of her eye, she gauged the distance to the tree line.

“Easy, girl,” he drawled. “Was that your sedan back there on
the road?”

She lowered her head and gave him the fuck-off stare she
used on grabby customers.

“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be walking in the
rain. Where’ya heading?”

With one eye on the spitter and the other on BBJW, she
countered their every step.

“Kitty cat got your tongue?” The spitter chortled and wiped
at his mouth. A fine trail of chaw remained on his hand.

“I don’t talk to strangers.”

“Well then let us give you a lift. We can become friends on
the way.”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

His smile turned icy. “Get in the truck.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t clear. Fuck off.”

The smile disappeared altogether. “Fuck is right. Get her.”

Well hell.

Her bag hit the ground with a wet
thunk
as she turned
and raced down the road. She ditched the idea of trying to hide in the woods.
If they attacked her, she wanted to be out on the open road where it was more
likely someone would see them. God, let someone else see her. Like a family.
With teenagers. And a big burly husband.

The rain-cloaked air burned her fast-moving lungs and in her
mind she chanted,
Big dogs. Big dogs. Big dogs
just like when she was a
kid playing softball and trying to reach base. Of course, she was eight then
and her running skills hadn’t improved much since.

A tug at her hair almost brought her to her knees, but she
kept going, pumping her legs like the Little Engine That Could. The unseen
fingers grabbed for her shoulders and yanked on her jacket. She fought out of
the sleeves, slapping at whoever was behind her in a last-ditch effort to trip
up the impending attackers.

Her brain sent the signals to her limbs to stop fighting.
What was the use? She was toast. But her heart shouted “fuck that”, so she dug
deeper. If she was going down, she’d do so with blood under her nails and a
throat raw from screaming.

One of the losers whooped with triumph as burly arms wrapped
around her middle. Down they fell, both fast and in slow motion as the world ground
to a halt around her. Fire raced up her legs as her knees hit the ground first
and asphalt rushed toward her face. Imaginary pain exploded in her head in
preparation for impact.

The hit, when it came, was nothing like she expected. Yeah,
it hurt like hell, but where was the harsh scrape of concrete against her skin?
Where was the crushing weight of her assailant on her back? All she felt was a
lumpy hardness underneath her cheek.

She’d died. Holy shit. The blow to the head was so severe it
killed her!

No. No, no, no. This could not be the end. Her eyes flew
open and she tensed, ready to battle whatever god had decided this was to be
her fate.

What the hell?

Her vision blurred like the lens of a camera trying to focus
until the image settled and revealed a long length of arm stretching out before
her. Up the black-denim-covered appendage her gaze traveled to a set of
mile-wide shoulders that blocked out the sky. A black hood covered the
stranger’s head, leaving only the chiseled, whiskered chin and a firm set of
lips exposed to the elements.

Her gaze flickered about, struggling to comprehend that it
was his hand she felt under her cheek. How did this man manage to slip his hand
under her head before she crashed to the pavement? Even more mind-boggling was
that in his other hand he had Billy Bob suspended above her by the back of his
jacket.

The stranger gently lowered her head to the ground then
stood, lifting Billy Bob higher until his feet dangled in the air.

“Hey, man,” the spitter shouted. “Put him down.”

Despite the haze clouding her mind, she had to laugh at the
ridiculousness of the command. This man was a grade-A badass. No one was gonna
make him do anything he didn’t want to.

Apparently the spitter had missed body language lessons as a
child for he rushed the giant, who rounded about with a kick, connecting
solidly to the stupid man’s ribs. The crack of bone made the bile rise in her
throat, even as she silently cheered. The spitter sailed through the air then
landed in a heap in the gutter.

Holy shit! Was he dead?

Billy Bob was hauled within millimeters of the newcomer’s
hood.

“Shall I grant you the same courtesy you were showing the
lady? Shall I?” he shouted in voice so deep, her throat ached in sympathy. “Who
will mourn you when I kill you?”

Ari’s jaw dropped at the cold, sinisterly rasped question.
Not for a second did she believe the threat was said in jest.

Billy Bob sputtered as he hung limp in the man’s hands. All
color left his cheeks as he stared death in the face. “M-my daughter.”

His lips curled as he snarled, “She deserves better. I’d be
doing her a favor gutting you now. Or maybe I should find her. Tackle her to
the ground and violate her like you planned to do to this girl? Have you
allowed that cretin to harm your young?” He indicated the limp body of the
spitter with a nod.

“N-no. No.” Water droplets sprayed all over as he shook his
head.

“When I put you down, you are going to run back to your
vehicle and leave immediately. From this moment forth you will treat all women
as if they are royalty, or I will hunt you down and end you. Understand?”

More frantic nodding and over the damp rain, Ari scented the
antiseptic stench of urine as Billy Bob pissed his pants.

The man lowered Billy Bob to his feet but kept one hand on
his shirt. “To remind you of your promise.”

The snick of a switchblade reached her ears a millisecond
before Billy Bob screamed and clutched his face. Blood gushed from between his
fingers, mixing with the rain to drip onto the road.

What had she missed? One second his face was fine, then bam!
His skin was flayed open like the back of a fish from ear to lip. Had the
hooded man moved that fast?