Read an extract of Throne of Secrets

Out in the world on 29 October 2024! Start reading Throne of Secrets, the new steamy fantasy romance from New York Times bestselling sensation Kerri Maniscalco.

ONE
Prince Gluttony

A strong gust of wind raced down the snowcapped mountains, screaming through the pass, the sound almost as chilling as the winter air itself.

This far north of the Seven Circles, beyond any of the royal Houses of Sin, where nightmares and lesser demons stalked the forest’s edge, even the elements gave in to fear.

Fainter, another noise emerged above the tree line. One we’d been waiting for.

I paused, holding a hand in the air, a silent signal for my hunters to halt.

Leather snapped in time with the breeze, the familiar sound muffled only slightly by what I knew was an outer layer of angelic-looking white feathers.

Like most things in the Underworld, that unexpected plumage was a beautiful deception hiding a sinister purpose. Those downy wings in conjunction with the iridescent scales of their bodies helped to conceal the unholy beasts as they slowly flew through snow-laden skies, circling us—their prey—below.

I gripped my House dagger in my fist, heart pumping fast as I peered up through the trees, blinking ice from my lashes, waiting for that first glimpse of Death made flesh.

Immortality would keep me breathing no matter what, but not everyone in our hunting party had that luxury. Like me they fought for the thrill of it, but it also was one of the greatest sources of fuel for my power. The hunt fed my sin more than anything else. Since my circle’s sin was gluttony, most outside the Underworld believed that meant overindulging in food and drink. We did that too, along with fucking and fighting, but most of my sinners took after me—preferring to overindulge in adventure and danger.

That fear, the possibility of failure mixed with a fierce desire to indulge in adventure at any cost, drove the hunters forward through the narrow, unforgiving pass with me, gazes locked on the overcast sky, bodies tensed and ready for battle.

I glanced over my shoulder at the line of elite fighters who’d braved Merciless Reach, the walled outpost I’d built a century before to monitor the savage northern lands just beyond my territory, House Gluttony.

All except one had my royal crest stitched onto their battle leathers, searching for dragons and glory.

I motioned for everyone to remain silent, to be vigilant. It wouldn’t be long now.

We’d been tracking the dragons for hours, playing a cat-and-mouse game, both parties eager to pounce. The dragons had known we were close, but thanks to a smattering of evergreens lining each side of the pass, they didn’t have a clear visual. Some hunters bit down on a leather strap to silence the sound of their chattering teeth. They wouldn’t last another hour out here, no matter how brave they were.

We needed to start moving again.

I scanned the line until I spotted who I’d been looking for bringing up the back of our group. Gold eyes glinted in the sliver of sunlight shouldering its way through the storm.

My brother Wrath, the general of war, was the only one who looked as thrilled as I was by the approaching sound. He was made for battle just as I was built for danger; a combination that made for poor decisions but great stories.

Out here, where only monsters dwelled, ice dragons were the worst predators.

Which meant they were the best opponents for us wicked Princes of Hell.

Tonight’s hunt promised to be a memorable one. Violence simmered in the air, so close I could practically taste the impending battle, my mouth watering in anticipation.

For hours, we’d ruthlessly tracked this particular pack of ice dragons north, far beyond hospitable land. There were seven known dragon packs spread throughout the region; this one happened to claim the territory
closest to my House of Sin.

The terrain was milder than that of the far north, but it was still brutal.

Several members of the hunt had been forced to retreat, the harsh winter elements too deadly to contend with. The few who remained were the fiercest, or the most foolish.

Jackson Rose, one of the newest initiates of the royal hunting guild, tripped over an ice-coated root, cursing as he landed face-first in the snow. Felix, a seasoned veteran, shot me a look of apology and grumbled as he hoisted the younger hunter up by his straps.

My skin prickled with sudden awareness.

That one sign of exhaustion was the spark needed for violence to ignite. If the dragons had been unsure of our precise location, that element of surprise was gone now.

“On alert!” I shouted, dagger aimed skyward as I stepped off the path, pausing under the nearest evergreen to avoid what was certain to be an aerial attack.

I silently counted, pulse drumming madly.

The sound of beating wings ceased.

“Be ready!”

All at once the great beasts dove at us like comets falling from the skies. Majestic wings tucked against their big, scaled bodies, they plummeted to the earth one after another, their numbers taking our party by surprise.

Wind howled around their massive forms, the sound raising the fine hair along my arms.

The largest thundered to the ground before me, snarling as its impact made a crater that displaced several feet of snow and frozen earth, missing me by inches. Iridescent scales shone like diamonds, its jaws filled with rows of snapping teeth that were as deadly as daggers.

A single jagged scar glinted across its chest.

I bared my teeth in a feral grin. It was Silvanus, a dragon I’d sparred with for nearly a century and one I’d hand-raised from a hatchling.

That bond meant little on the battlefield, though.

Our skirmishes were well matched, neither of us willing to be defeated easily.

Silvanus had the temperament of an ornery house cat. Which meant he was similar to my brother Sloth; he only sparred when the mood struck and couldn’t be bothered otherwise.

I stole a quick glance at the hunters; almost everyone had their own dragon to battle, and all wore the same wolfish grin as they took turns striking at their opponents.

I focused on my fight again, allowing the thrill to take over as I tuned everything else out.

“Ready to waltz, old boy?” I taunted, trying to spot any opening to strike.

Whoever drew first blood won. With two giant barrels of spiced ale waiting for me back at my warm castle, I felt like celebrating victory tonight, far from the miserable cold that gripped my balls in its icy fist.

Silvanus spewed a stream of white flame at my left foot, forcing me to dance backward. The bastard almost destroyed my favorite hunting boots.

I aimed my dagger at my feet. “Have some respect for fine leather, you scaled heathen.”

Pointed teeth gleamed in the waning light, the dragon’s version of a grin.

I laughed softly as he unleashed the next stream of icy fire, this time aiming for my other leg. I’d offered to waltz with him, and the prick was making me dance.

“Well played.”

My grin faded. The need to hunt, to win, was taking over.

I stalked forward, gaze narrowed, plan whirling into motion. I’d feint to the left, then catch him with a jab on the right, nicking him under his snout. He was broad, and agility wasn’t his strong suit, an advantage I’d press until I claimed victory.

Instead of charging me, Silvanus held his ground, a warning growl sounding low in his chest. His attention was fixed to some point above my shoulder. Given my nearly six-and-a-half-foot frame, he wasn’t looking at one of the hunters.

The dragon was warning me about something else.

I spun around, narrowly avoiding a blow from a second dragon that would have taken my head off had I been mortal.

All levity vanished at once. A death blow was forbidden in our little games, the fact I couldn’t be killed notwithstanding. There were several other hunters here who could die.

“Need I remind you of the pact?” I seethed, keeping both dragons in sight.

Silvanus might have warned me once, but I couldn’t trust he’d do it again. Like wolves, dragons were pack creatures. They’d fall in line with their alpha.

Silvanus inclined his head, acknowledging the pact.

The other dragon simply snarled.

Once upon a time, ice dragons had freely roamed the Seven Circles, hunting demons and whatever other creatures they desired.

During one of the darkest hours in our history, the seven alphas from each pack planned a coordinated attack, carving a blood-drenched swath across the realm, terrorizing all.

Unlike most creatures, ice dragons didn’t always hunt to eat. They liked killing. And they’d unleashed all their darkest desires on each House of Sin. The loss of life had been staggering.

So, more than a hundred years ago, I’d negotiated the first peace treaty between the dragons and my brothers. Aided by the right spell, we could communicate clearly with the dragons and had come to terms all agreed upon.

Unless I invited them into my circle for a particular event, the pact kept them sequestered in the far north, on the brutal, almost entirely wild land just above my territory.

They’d divided their territory into seven regions, each run by a different alpha. They kept the identities of their alphas from us, unwilling to share pack secrets, though I strongly believed Silvanus led the pack we interacted with the most.

The dragons simply stated “the alpha” when discussing the lead dragon.

We agreed to leave them to their private politics, so long as they didn’t cause serious harm or damage to one another.

In exchange for their acceptance of the pact, I had agreed that my hunters and I would arrange hunts to battle them for sport each month, keeping their minds properly engaged. My brothers were free to join us whenever they submitted a request to my House of Sin.

None of us were permitted to kill.

The new dragon—Aloysius, judging by the slightly darker silvery blue coloring along his tail—took a threatening step closer, his iridescent eyes flaring.

His talons clawed at the ground, churning the snow.

There was an almost wild gleam in his eyes.

I tuned in to my surroundings, becoming aware of the familiar sounds of fighting. I spared a quick glance around—other dragons were behaving normally, if not a bit savagely. The other hunters were flushed from adrenaline surges, their eyes sparkling with each hit.

Still, an uncomfortable feeling prickled in warning.

“Halt!” I called out, my voice laced with the magical command of a Prince of Hell.

My brother stopped fighting, shooting an incredulous look in my direction, his dagger mere inches from his target’s throat. He would have won. Instead, I’d make him forfeit.

And the demon of war was not one to easily give up a fight.

Wrath looked ready to argue but eventually pressed his mouth into a firm line. He clearly didn’t agree with my assessment. But it wasn’t his call to make; I ruled the hunt out here.

And my gut said to retreat.

I’d learned to never screw with that innate warning system, knowing it’d fuck me back twice as hard for my arrogance and it wouldn’t be an enjoyable time.

After tracking the dragons through the blizzard all day, I was just as disappointed as everyone else to end our game so soon. But for now, I had to get us out of here before something went horribly wrong.

“Hunters, dragons.” I nodded to each side, then hit my chest twice with a closed fist, a sign of respect and the signal the hunt was indeed over. “Good fight.”

I gave Silvanus a long look, ensuring the dragon knew he’d be called forth soon to discuss what had almost happened. Part of the pact ensured he’d heed my royal summons.

His slitted pupils dilated rapidly, his serpentine head shaking almost imperceptibly before he finally gave the signal of understanding.

I had no time to consider Silvanus’s odd reaction, as a feral shriek pierced the silence, sending ice rushing through my veins.

I turned just as Wrath’s ice dragon lunged forward, its jaws opened wide, latching onto his throat.

My brother was brutally fast, but even his hands found their way to the dragon’s mouth seconds too late. Its teeth sank deeper, its eyes rolling back as bloodlust took over.

Ichor spurted from dozens of puncture wounds as it shook my brother, then tore his throat out in one violent motion.

For a long and horribly taut moment, silence reigned as Wrath slowly dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his wound in torrents, the hunters staring, frozen in horror, at the place where his throat should have been.

It happened from one blink to the next. There was no time to react, even with my supernatural strength and speed.

I inhaled, my inner demon rattling its cage. My brother was not a small male by any means. Nothing could be done to stop the bleeding; the attack was far more than simply drawing first blood as rules dictated. And it would not go unpunished.

But first I had to make sure my demons lived through what came next.

The hunters stood motionless, the pungent scent of piss perfuming the air. These were some of the bravest members of my circle and they were terrified. If a prince could be cut down so brutally, they knew they stood
little chance of surviving.

Up until now, during our games, the dragons had held back. The hunters never faced the full might of the creatures, and everyone knew this was suddenly no game.

My brother shot me a furious look, his expression telling me all I needed to know as the light slowly faded from his eyes.

I nodded at him, signaling I understood. I was ready.

I gripped my dagger, waiting.

The second my brother fell, chaos erupted.

As if some invisible tether snapped, the dragons all turned on us as one.

And attacked.