Royal Covens 1-3 Read online

  Royal Covens

  Books 1-3

  J.R. Thorn

  Contents

  Recommended Reading Order

  Captivated: Book 1

  1. An Omen

  2. Race You Home!

  3. An Imposter

  4. The Irish Boob-fondling Bandit

  5. Tutors and Training

  6. Daily Poison

  7. Bloodlust

  8. Secrets

  9. Training

  10. Astral Projection

  11. Bite Me

  12. Walk of Shame

  13. Time Travel is a Witch

  14. Scry for Me

  15. A New Life. A New Me

  16. Overzealous Protectors

  17. Tame the Beast

  18. Shifters and Surprises

  19. A Stubborn Wolf

  20. Hello Auntie

  21. Sparkles has a Secret

  22. Magic Runs Thicker than Blood

  23. A Dinner to Die For

  24. Traitor

  25. Fortitude

  Compelled: Book 2

  1. Imprisoned

  2. When Magic Fails, Try Insults

  3. Four Horsemen

  4. Underground

  5. Is it Hot in Here?

  6. A Familiar Bond

  7. Coven's Loss

  8. Rabbit Hole

  9. Queen of Hell

  10. A Bond to Remember

  11. Infiltration

  12. Kindred Spirit

  13. A Terrible Plan

  14. Sacrifice and Transformation

  15. A Maze to Die For

  16. Process of Elimination

  17. First Ball

  18. Tiros

  19. Dream Trial

  Consumed: Book 3

  1. Just a Dream

  2. Don't Touch my Soul

  3. Weaponsmaster

  4. A New Me

  5. To Be Worshipped

  6. Trapped

  7. Anointed

  8. Another Time, Another Place

  9. Not As it Seems

  10. Dark Truth

  11. Worst Friend Ever

  12. Big Cats

  13. Training Grounds

  14. A Night to Remember

  15. Oh the Calamity

  16. A New Pack

  17. Home

  18. Epilogue

  Note From the Author

  Captivated © 2019 by J.R. Thorn

  Compelled © 2019 by J.R. Thorn

  Consumed © 2019 by J.R. Thorn

  * * *

  Cover Art by Rebecca Frank

  Line Edit by Kristen Breanne

  * * *

  All Persons Fictitious Disclaimer:

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system.

  Published in the United States.

  Recommended Reading Order

  USA Today Bestselling Author J.R. Thorn

  All books by J.R. Thorn are in the same world in sequential series of events with each series following a new main character and her harem.

  * * *

  Standalone

  • Chasing Fate (USA Today Bestselling Book)

  * * *

  Seven Sins

  • Book 1: Succubus Sins

  • Book 2: Siren Sins

  • Book 3: Vampire Sins

  * * *

  Royal Covens

  • Book 1: Captivated

  • Book 2: Compelled

  • Book 3: Consumed

  * * *

  Fortune Academy

  • Year One

  • Year Two

  • Year Three

  Captivated: Book 1

  I didn’t want to be in a bad mood today, but an ominous sense of dread clung to my chest and wouldn’t let go. Given that I was supposed to be initiated into the dark arts in just a few days, a little dread was to be expected. I scratched at the black lace of my bodice, which was actually my undershirt for the gown I was supposed to wear tonight. A black leather jacket and a pair of shorts pulled the outfit together, making me feel sexy and free—as long as I wasn’t recognized.

  I startled when a crow flapped to a nearby fencepost and squawked at me.

  “Shoo!” I shouted.

  It stared at me with beady, unreadable eyes.

  Ignoring the bad omen, I gripped my sketchbook and wandered into one of my favorite places in the world. The graveyard that skirted around the old chapels on this side of my village wasn’t frequented often, but that’s why I liked it here. Witches didn’t like places of death. Mortality frightened them more than anything else in the world, so they stayed far away from anything that reminded them of the finite length of our existence. Humans reluctantly accepted death as inevitable, but because witches had options, they seemed to fear it even more. Very few could boast true immortality, and those that could had likely paid far too high a price for that reward—in my opinion, anyway.

  Sparkles, my midnight-colored cat and magical familiar, spun circles around my ankles, somehow managing not to trip me as I silently made my way past the cracked tombstones. Sparkles got his name because of the touch of magic that sparked on the edges of his fur. Every time he brushed my skin he donated a bit to me. He was a generous familiar, but I always felt like he did it out of pity. I was mortal. My parents weren’t witches, and until I initiated into my coven officially, I didn’t have much power of my own other than what others gave to me. I got doses at my adopted family dinners—I don’t even want to know what was in our meals—some from breathing in the spelled herbs surrounding the estate I lived in, and a significant chunk of my magic was from my familiar when he was worried about me, which was all the time and especially when I was getting into trouble.

  “Stop that, Sparkles,” I chided him and bent down to scratch under his chin. He leaned into my touch and purred. His big emerald eyes blinked at me with feline smugness. “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’m weak,” I reminded him and I tugged a dagger from my frilly sock. He meowed at me, and even though no one else would understand him, I’d gotten pretty good at deciphering what he was trying to say. “Yes, I have a story of where it came from,” I answered him as I straightened.

  I took a moment to admire the frosted swirl that ran along the edge before tucking it in my belt-loop. I liked daggers, especially unique, pretty ones. Since I was a witch, we were expected to have sharp, pointy objects at all times. Spells required blood, and getting an infection by cutting yourself with someone else’s blade was quite embarrassing. For that reason I picked daggers that were easily recognizable. After I’d picked up this one from the human market, I’d fabricated a story of how I’d bumped into some old acquaintances from the Sapphire Coven and I’d bought it from them. Sadly, that was more acceptable than “I mingled with mortals.”

  Wandering deeper into the graveyard, I sought out my favorite spot, an ancient memorial with four spires, and settled myself into the middle of it. Sparkles joined me and curled up in a ball against my legs.

  I opened my sketchbook and tugged a pencil from my pouch. I liked to draw whatever came to mind, but lately my sketches had started getting weird. I kept drawing the same rune over and over again—one that wasn’t in any of the coven’s books.

  The first page of my sketchbook showed Sparkles, at least a cartoon version of him. That was before I’d started drawing the runes. I patted him at my feet. “What do you think, Sparkles? What will I draw
today?”

  He lifted his head and gave me a long yawn, which was as much appreciation as I was going to get for the portrait.

  Sighing, I flipped through the pages, going past different things that spurred my creativity. I’d sketched out more daggers than I cared to admit, each one more elaborate than the last, and then I started adding runes to the blades. Finally, one particular rune started taking over my sketchbook until the last few pages were littered with them. I skipped past them, ignoring the sense of building dread. I was just nervous about my initiation, that’s all.

  When I stared at a fresh blank page, I pressed my pencil to it and frowned.

  I closed my eyes and let my imagination take hold. Maybe I’d sketch the people I’d seen today, or a dream of a future where I wasn’t destined to become a witch. I wasn’t even sure what that might look like. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful to my coven for taking me in. Some horrendous memory was a gaping black hole in my head. I assumed the darkness in the back of my mind was a repressed memory of what had happened to my parents. No one spoke of it. No one would talk to me about it as if they feared triggering a memory best left forgotten.

  My pencil moved as the creativity in me sought an outlet. I did better with expressing myself through art than I did magic. Maybe it was the mortal side of me, just another flaw to my coven. My aunt—not my real aunt, just the woman who raised me—always told me it was a bad habit I’d have to drop when I was initiated as a full, respective member of the coven.

  That day hadn’t come yet. Soft scratching filled my ears as lead scraped over the paper and my fingers moved on their own. The sketches always seemed to represent what was most important to me, small things, big things. Today I hoped it would be a cool dagger or the hot guy I’d seen on the street. Not the damned rune…

  When I opened my eyes, goosebumps spread across my skin. I’d drawn it again, but this time more elaborate than I’d ever sketched it before. It looked so real with hard, metallic edges as if it were engraved into my sketchbook.

  I jerked when the crow squawked at me again and Sparkles lurched to his feet with a hiss. He growled low at the bird, and that’s when I realized I’d misunderstood that this wasn’t an ordinary crow.

  While I’d been lost in a trance of my sketch, the four pillars surrounding me had come to life, and before I had a chance to scramble off the platform, a spell took me under.

  I’d had my share of vision spells. Being a mortal-born witch put a giant target on my forehead. If I ever got on the bad side of a witch—which was often—I could look forward to a few very realistic living nightmares.

  This vision, though, was all too real. The graveyard had taken on an eerie darkness that even managed to unsettle someone like me who loved all things Goth and tragic. Dead rose vines swept over the grounds and the distinct scent of ash tinged the air as if all life had been burned off the planet.

  When I scrambled to my feet, I stilled when I realized that I wasn’t alone. Sparkles hadn’t made it through with me into the vision, but four dark figures stepped out from the pillars and gathered towards the center. They didn’t seem to see me, so I swiftly stepped out of the way of the closest figure.

  The vision solidified when they reached the middle and the darkness lifted just a shade. The figures took on coloring and shape until four gorgeous men stood before me. Each of them had glowing red eyes, the kind I’d only seen in powerful warlocks at the head of their covens. There was another possibility, though. There was another creature that had glowing red eyes.

  Vampires.

  I swallowed hard as I gathered the courage to drift closer. Their low voices hummed in conversation and I was dying to know what they were talking about.

  “This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” the one with bright red hair said with a panty-melting Irish accent.

  The man he was glowering at crossed his arms. He didn’t look like any warlock I’d ever seen, not with two full tattoo sleeves and a lip piercing. “At least I have an idea, Quinn. What do you recommend we do? Let the covens kill us, just like they killed her?”

  “That’s precisely what we do,” said the third male with a honey-sweet voice. I glanced at him, finding him the more refined of the four. Hard abs cut through a thin silk shirt and it was unbuttoned at the top, leaving enough skin to admire to make me blush. I drifted closer, but got the sense that they couldn’t see me.

  The fourth sighed and flipped out a switchblade, making my eyes go wide. He danced the blade over his fingers in a long-practiced trick, as if it helped him release his stress. “So, we’re to become vampires, then, and add our own deaths to our grief.”

  My eyes about bugged out of my head. Instantly I knew who these four were, even if it was impossible.

  They went silent as they seemed to accept the final male’s statement with only the swishing sound of the switchblade moving over expert knuckles.

  “You’re the founders of the lost vampire tribes,” I breathed, amazed at what I was seeing, although I wasn’t sure what woman they might be talking about. Regardless, this was a forgotten part of coven history—or perhaps it was a hidden part. The covens didn’t like to dwell on their failures, which made me all the more interested in this vision.

  As I settled in-between two of the guys, the refined-looking one and the Irish red-head named Quinn, I decided that I could get the lowdown of witchy secrets while admiring the perfect male specimens at the same time. Assuming, of course, this was actually a vision. It wouldn’t have been the first time that warlocks pretended I didn’t exist.

  “Hey, you guys, I’m about to take my shirt off,” I tested aloud, confirming that none of them could hear me when they didn’t respond. Even if warlocks often ignored me, breasts always seemed to get their attention.

  Satisfied that I was invisible to them, I leaned in closer to Quinn, grinning at him. “I bet girls take off their shirts for you all the time, huh?”

  Quinn remained oblivious of me and watched the other warlock continue to toss his switchblade through the air. I got the impression that Quinn always thought his course of action through before making a decision. Whatever switchblade warlock had decided, Quinn wasn’t going to take it lightly.

  Sighing, I tried the refined one. “What about you? What’s your name?” My gaze dipped to the opening of his shirt and I sighed at the perfect lines that cut through the silk. “Maybe I should call you cut, because damn.”

  Before my tirade of inappropriate comments could continue, the ground rumbled and I buckled my knees out of reflex. The warlocks didn’t seem to notice that the world was ending and had continued on in quiet conversation. “Uh, guys?” I said, suddenly wishing they could hear me. The ground shook again and the spires surrounding us began to glow. My sinking sense of dread flared into outright panic. Was this what my witchy senses had foreseen? That I’d die in the collapsed rubble of a faulty spell?

  Whoever had cast it on me was dead… once I got out of here alive, that is.

  Sparkles wasn’t around to hit me with fresh magic, but I was deeply grateful he’d been rubbing against my ankles and had given me little doses all day. It buzzed in my veins and now that adrenaline spiked through my body, it sent the electric power into overdrive. Needles tingled over my arms and legs as I tried to calm my rapid breathing.

  “You can do this,” I told myself as I curled my trembling fingers into fists. “Just a simple grounding spell. You got this.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of the world around me shredding. The vision wasn’t going to last much longer and if I was still inside it when it collapsed, my mind would break, which meant I was dead. If I didn’t get back to my body in the next couple of seconds, my mind would be trapped here and broken into a thousand little pieces, leaving my corpse to rot while my mind lived on in insanity.

  Man, who had it out for me that badly? What a way to go.

  I couldn’t go through my million-mile long list of enemies right now. It was time to f
ocus on the one thing I sucked at the most.

  Casting spells under pressure.

  Okay… casting spells at all.

  I drew my dagger, again grateful to have brought it with me, and sliced a clean cut along my palm, proud of myself that I didn’t hesitate. Blood dripped to my feet and I chanted under my breath. At first, nothing happened as I fumbled over the Latin words and I cursed. How could I not even cast a Latin spell? It’s not like I was trying to cast a native witch spell. Magic had its own language that full-fledged witches were fluent in. Latin was a poor man’s medium of magic, and I couldn’t even do that.

  Pain shot up my right arm as the vision cracked in retaliation and I stumbled away from the breach. My eyes snapped open and I grit my teeth as frustration bloomed in my chest. I was going to die here, wasn’t I?