Beyond Romance: A seductive spy and a cursed prince – #MFRWHooks #ParanormalRomance #Steampunk

Welcome to the MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! Every Wednesday the talented authors who belong to the Marketing for Romance Writers community share their favorite bits from their work. The list of links at the end of each post lets you jump from one excerpt to another. Who knows, maybe you’ll find your next romance read!

Today I am featuring an excerpt from my multi-genre erotic romance Rajasthani Moon. This exciting novel combines steam punk, paranormal, ménage, BDSM, Rubenesque and Bollywood elements. I guarantee you’ve never read anything like it...

Blurb

A bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon.

A brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture and delight.

A voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering Rajasthan’s secrets.

She has never faced such a challenge.

When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.

Kidnapped by the ruler's half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart.

The Hook

The prince-bandit most definitely looked the worse for wear. His normally-keen eyes were bloodshot, with grey circles of exhaustion beneath them. His long hair was matted and tangled. Dirt smeared his only garment, a pair of homespun trousers, and a long, rust-hued abrasion disfigured his chest, from his left breast down to his navel. A livid bruise darkened one cheekbone. Blood-crusted bandages wrapped both his hands.

Amir made a noise of concern. Before she knew what was happening, he had released Cecily and tumbled her out of bed, back onto her pile of cushions. The men ignored her squawk of protest.

“Come here—sit down, brother. You definitely did put up a fight, I’ll admit. Took six of my strongest guards to get you into the cage.” The Rajah’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Has this happened before—changing at the new moon as well as the full?”

Pratan lowered himself to the opposite corner of the bed from where Cecily was bound. His normally graceful movements were stiff, as though he was in pain.

“At the Vaishaka new moon, I felt some symptoms of the change, but the beast never arrived. Last month—Jyaistha—the new moon passed without incident, so I figured the previous time was some anomaly. Obviously I should have been more careful. If I’d known…”

Cecily read regret and embarrassment in Pratan’s features. She almost didn’t recognise him.

“I’m so sorry I put you at risk, Amir-ji. If I’d changed during the ceremony—if I’d injured or killed some of your subjects—” The brigand dropped his battered face to his bandaged hands. Cecily experienced a flicker of sympathy, though she didn’t fully understand their conversation.

“Never mind, brother. There’s no harm done. Though perhaps this should be your last new moon ceremony, until the curse is lifted.”

“What curse?” The men had seemed to forget her presence, and she’d sensed she was acquiring useful information, but Cecily’s curiosity got the better of her wisdom.

Pratan and Amir locked eyes. “Should I tell her?” the Rajah asked, no trace of a smile on his succulent lips.

The royal brigand shrugged. “Why not? It’s scarcely a secret. Everyone else knows the story. Perhaps the clever Miss Harrowsmith will have some ideas about how I might change my fate.”

Another extended look passed between them, intimate and full of pain. It was Amir who spoke next.

“Pratan’s mother was a high-ranking courtesan, while mine was the queen—the Maharani. That’s why I’m officially the Rajah. My father loved them both. As the supreme ruler, he was entitled to bed as many women as he wanted. The queen, however, did not agree with this custom.

“She came to my father from the land of the high snows. Daughter of a lord whose palace soared above the clouds, the princess Ziya was cultured, learned and exquisitely beautiful. She was also, unbeknownst to my father, a sorceress with considerable skill in the dark arts. Some say that she enchanted him to bend him to her will. Certainly, for many years, she was the only woman who could arouse his desire. Then, after I was born, he met Pratan’s mother and brought her to court to be his concubine.

“Queen Ziya’s jealousy was icy as the peaks of her distant home. She pretended to welcome the newcomer, while practising her charms to weaken Lady Chameela’s hold on her husband. As Pratan’s mother grew pale and sickly, though, my father’s devotion to her only increased. Finally, my mother burst into their bedchamber with a poisoned dagger, determined to slay them both. As they coupled, she stabbed at my father’s labouring back—but the gods protected him and the knife slashed the sheets, which burst into evil-smelling flames.”

Pratan rose from the bed to pace the carpeted tiles as he picked up the thread of the tale.

“Maharani Ziya was condemned to death for her attempt on the Rajah’s life. The people say that when my father pronounced judgment upon her, there were tears in his eyes. On the pyre where she was burnt alive, she cursed my mother and me. ‘Your son shall be a rutting beast like his father,’ the witch cried as the fire licked at her perfect body. ‘And you, whore Chameela, will die without ever seeing his face.’”

Cecily watched Pratan’s restless progress, back and forth in front of the bed. Dark emotion ravaged his handsome face. Clearly, he couldn’t continue. The tendrils of sympathy she’d felt earlier burst into full flower.

Amir resumed the narration in the stead of his stricken sibling. “All she had predicted came to pass. Pratan’s mother expired in childbirth—weakened by loss of blood, she sank into unconsciousness and never awakened. My father sent both of us to England, to educate us but also in the hope that in that distant country, so far from my mother’s home, Pratan could escape his fate.”

“A vain hope,” Pratan added. “My sixteenth birthday fell upon a full moon. That night I changed for the first time, from a mostly innocent youth to a fierce, lustful animal—an enormous wolf with just enough human in my form to rape a village girl and then rip her body to bloody pieces.”

Pratan sank to the floor, as though he could no longer bear the weight of horror and guilt. Cecily laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“You couldn’t help it,” she soothed. “You didn’t know what to expect.” She understood now the solitude of his life in the wasteland, the cage she’d seen in his mountain den. “You’ve paid for that unintentional crime many times over, I’m certain.”

Amir swung himself out of bed and helped Pratan to his feet. “Don’t blame yourself, brother.” His voice was taut with anguish, too. “The fault lies with my damned mother and her evil magic. The blood you’ve spilled stains her soul, not yours. May she be reborn as a blind worm in a pile of dung.”

“Sometimes I wonder what sins I committed in my past lives, to bear this burden now.” Pratan shook off his brother’s consoling hand, strode to the window and threw open the latticework grille. Sunlight poured unhindered into the room. “For more than a decade, I’ve hidden myself away, raging and howling behind iron bars whenever the moon was full. Once a month was bad enough, but now it seems the curse is tightening its hold on me. Will there come a time when I must wear my beast-form every night?”

Cecily’s chest ached with vicarious sorrow. She wanted to go to Pratan and enfold him in the comfort of her arms, but her bonds would not allow that. “Is there no way to lift the curse?”

“Sorcery is forbidden in Rajasthan,” Amir thundered. His voice faded almost to a whisper. “Of course, it’s too late for that now.”