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The Warlord Trilogy

By Alyssa Morgan


Prepare to take a passionate, incredible journey through time with three women who find love in the arms of fearsome warlords.

The Warlord’s Promise: A young widow will do anything to save her sister from being taken by the warlord who rules their village, even if it means offering her body to the warlord for a night of passion. When things begin to heat up, both of their lives will be forever changed.

The Warlord’s Revenge: A woman’s entire family is slaughtered by a vicious warlord and she becomes his unwilling prisoner. Falling in love with her captor is the last thing she expects.

The Warlord Forever : A modern-day woman awakens an ancient warlord imprisoned by a curse. It doesn’t take long for her to submit to the lustful desires of this handsome warrior, but can they escape the curse and find a love neither one of them ever dreamed possible?

Sexy and exciting, this enchanting collection is sure to capture your heart.



The Warlord’s Promise

Kate hated warlords. Absolutely despised them. Especially Ethan MacGregor, the one who ruled over her village.

It was said among the people that warlords were a necessary evil, evil being the choice word. So long as a person was willing to trade something, a warlord was willing to offer his protection. Clans, bandits and thieves ruled the roads, terrorizing small villages like Kate's, so safety was a priority for everyone, no matter what the cost.

Very few would dare challenge a warlord, and those who did never lived to tell about it.

Kate stared up at the sliver of moon hanging in the night sky and pulled the hood of her cape over her head. Winter would come early this year. She could see the cloud of her breath as she let out a heavy sigh.

It was time. Her turn to trade something to the warlord, but not in exchange for protection. It would be her body for her sister's freedom. Alison was the youngest of Kate's four sisters and also her favorite.

The Warlord’s Revenge 

None of this was real. It couldn’t be. Everything had happened so fast, maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. But there they were. Dead.

All of them.

Four bodies were spread out on the floor before her, surrounded by a flowing river of blood. She stared blankly at what remained of her family: her father, her step-mother, her two older brothers. Their eyes open and lifeless. Faces forever twisted in terror. Slaughtered.

She'd watched the gruesome scene unfold while hiding under the dining room table, unable to make herself look away. Powerless to stop it. She should've run when she'd had the chance like all the servants had, fleeing the impending bloodbath.

Jane looked up at the warlord towering over her, broad sword held firmly in his hand. The blood of her family dripped from its tip to a sticky, crimson puddle on the floor beside her. She would be the next to go. The last.

She never imagined death would come for her like this. Not so soon. Yet here it faced her, and her only thought was of her family. This was all their fault. Life had been one complex intrigue for them, filled with lies, murder, theft, and who even knew what else. Jane tried her best to stay out of their affairs, but she knew they had enemies lurking around every corner, which was why they'd moved so often. This one had finally caught up with them.

"Looks like you're it, lass." The warlord's deep brogue rumbled through the room like thunder.

The Warlord Forever

Highlands of Scotland: 1183

“Are you sure of this?”

Ian glanced up at the beautiful Fey hovering over him as he lay inside his stone tomb. Her red hair fell over her shoulders, and her dress was a perfect match to the deep, green shade of her eyes. Ian had never been more sure of anything. He was weary.

“Aye.” He gave a decided nod. “‘Tis the only way I will find peace, Illora.”

He prayed the Fey spell would work, and that he wouldn’t fall victim to another trick of the magical people who inhabited his homeland. Tuatha de’ Danaan. The Fairy Folk. Illora was the only one whom he trusted. It was clear she was in love with him, so why would she have reason to betray him?

“You will lie in motionless slumber until someone reads the inscription on the coffin and awakens you.” The enchanting Fey reminded him of the fate he was about to accept. “Because of your immortality, you could remain entombed forever.”

“Then I shall be blessed for the repose.” He had already considered the consequences of his choice. It was the alternative that frightened him. “Never again will I have to watch all those I love grow old and perish.”

“You don’t have to be alone.” Illora took one of his hands and laid it against her soft cheek “Stay with me,” she pleaded.

“I canna.” Ian brushed his fingers over her smooth skin before pulling his hand away.

Illora was a beautiful, gentle creature,a woman he could happily marry, but he had no place in her world. Nor did he have a place in his own. If the Queen of the Faeries hadn’t given him that damned potion, he might have had a chance at a normal life.

She’d only been giving him what he wanted. She promised the potion would grant him strength and endurance. That it would make him the greatest warrior in all the land. Undefeatable in battle. Only after he’d taken the potion did the Queen tell him he’d been gifted with the immortality of their race.

Four hundred years later, his immortality was hardly a gift. It was a curse. One he wanted to be freed from. Illora had taken pity on him and promised a cure.

Eternal slumber.

Ian would never serve that bitch Queen after she’d so willfully tricked him, and he could no longer allow himself to love a mortal human and suffer the pain of their death, so this was his only choice.

It was the only way he could die.

“Do it now,” he ordered. “I am ready to leave this world.”

Illora closed her eyes, her melodic voice reciting the spell that would lay him to rest. The heavy stone lid fell into place above him, sealing him in darkness. As he felt the world starting to fade away, he drew in one last deep breath, and was comforted in knowing no one else would ever have to bear the endless misery his own life had become.

The remainder of the Queen’s immortal potion was in a whisky flask stuffed inside his boot.