Binding Spell released by Cobblestone Press

A demon, released from Hell only to be bound in flesh.
A mortal man who made in a desperate deal to save his family.
Two men bound by lies and desire, and in the end perhaps something more.




BINDING SPELL, an erotic M/M, paranormal novella released by Cobblestone Press. Don't miss it!

Watch the trailer!!!

Excerpt:

If only the hellhounds would lose his scent, Mador could be free for a while. He ran faster in the dark hallway. He’d make it. Not too far now. His hiding place was close. A wonder Prince Sitri hadn’t discovered it yet.
He might hide and stay low for a couple of days, sleep and dream and try to forget—forget the knives carving his flesh, the whip cutting through his muscles, the twisting and beating and hurting.
Being a demon didn’t mean he had to like being in Hell.
A shout.
Mador stopped and turned, his heart thundering.
Nobody.
Faint wisps of red light beckoned from the balcony ahead. He sprinted toward it. Nobody would seek him in the cave. After his long sojourn in the pits for disobedience, compliments of his master, he yearned to curl there, quiet and barely breathing, pretending not to exist. He longed for a moment of reprieve. I’ve earned it.
Just one moment alone. Safe.
“Madorael…”
Who was calling him? He swallowed a curse and glanced over his shoulder.
The voice threaded the air, whispering. Male or female? He couldn’t tell, but it burrowed and buzzed into his ears.
He shook his head in an attempt to snuff it out, his long hair caressing his bare shoulders and chest. He spun around, snapped his fingers, and several torches in the wall flared.
He scanned the passage. It stood empty.
The torches sputtered. Thin smoke swirled in the light.
Figures I’d finally go fucking mad in here. He shrugged and let the torches die, yet he hesitated to turn away. He stood still in the dark. Cold currents whipped his pants and hair, making him shiver.
He turned his head this way and that, trying to make out any sound other than his own breathing.
It really was all in your mind, Mador.
Inhaling deeply, he turned once more, the gleam from the balcony inviting. His light steps whispered on the stone floors. Red reflected on the walls, and he already felt the air change, rush past his face, not stale like in the depths of the castle but fresh with a hint of wood smoke.
Heavy steps pounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Winged shadows detached themselves from the wall, spread on the floor, lengthened.
That goddamn voice had distracted him, slowed him down.
A spiral staircase loomed at his right. He sprinted up the narrow steps, but hands grabbed his ankles, and he tumbled back down, hitting the steps with his ribs.
Curse them, that hurt.
He instinctively curled and kicked at them. He heard grunts and reached out for the stairs again but only made it onto the second step when they fell on him again and flipped him over. His head hit the stone, and his eyes blurred.
Two bat-winged demons leered down at him, long black tongues lolling.
Fuck, that was way too soon. “Who sent you?”
They did not reply, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
The demons lifted him between them. Mador struggled and kicked, twisted and lashed out at their legs and torsos. Their claws sank into his arms—a warning.
“Sitri’s orders?” he croaked but again received no reply.
The demons stared straight ahead, ignoring his thrashing. They loped down dark passages and lit halls, their talons clicking on stone, and stopped before a great black door with ornate golden patterns that Mador knew well.
Shit.
The demons dropped him to the floor. Maintaining their hold on his shoulders, they knocked with clawed hands. Echoes reverberated through the walls. The door creaked as it swung open, and Mador was dragged into Prince Sitri’s candlelit chambers. The flickering flames swirled across the polished floor and reflected in the mirrors that lined the walls and ceiling.
Mador’s stomach twisted with terror.
Prince Sitri lay against silken cushions on the huge canopied bed. Tall and thin, pale like a fish that swam in dark caves and never saw the light, he rested among lithe male bodies. A golden demon with wings covered with engravings fed Sitri green grapes.
Sitri chewed, a smile starting at the corners of his lips. He looked Mador up and down then chewed some more. “Release him.”
Mador shook off the demons’ hands and fought the shudder that crawled up his spine. “You called, my prince?” Prick.
Sitri raised a frosty brow then waved his hand. “Join me, will you, demon?”
Mador looked away, lips thinning, and didn’t move.
“Sit down, Mador.”
Flames burst around Mador, pierced and hooked his skin, and dragged him onto the bed. He cried out as he fell onto the slippery satin sheets, writhing with myriad needles of agony. The other demons drew back as he tried to get his limbs under control.
“You really thought you could run away?” Sitri’s voice rose in volume with each word until Mador’s ears rang. “What made you think it would work this time? Haven’t you learned yet in all these centuries that I can always find you and bring you back?”
With slow motions, Mador pushed himself upright and perched on the edge of the bed. As always, no marks marred his skin. He folded his arms over his chest, doing his best to mask the trembling of his hands.
Sitri pushed the golden demon away and sighed. He threw the plate of grapes to the floor where it vanished without a sound, and then he undid his robe, ran a hand down his strong chest, over his flat belly. With an effort Mador took his gaze off the demon prince.
He just had to ignore the bastard, pretend he was somewhere else, somewhere safe.
Sounds drew his attention to the side. A demon with glossy black skin licked the chest of a pale, hairless one with silver horns. With his long, ruby tongue he teased first one pink nipple, then the other, and moved lower, toward the demon’s crotch. The silver-horned demon writhed, his eyes squeezed shut, and grabbed the black demon’s head with both hands. His breathless moans made Mador shift on the mattress, his pants suddenly too tight.
Damn, it’s been way too long.
“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?” Sitri rose, winked, then snapped his fingers, and Mador’s silk pants disappeared.