Triple Trouble 8
Power of Three
Elain Lyall’s life is complicated enough being her Clan’s Seer and part of the Triad. Having survived a supernatural showdown with a cockatrice, secretly adopting its baby, killing an evil wolf menace, trying to stop a future nuclear attack—all while she’s about to give birth to a child who’s the reincarnated mate of her mortal enemy—would give anyone a headache.
Then there’s her batcrap crazy brother-in-law to worry about. Brighton fancies himself a cockatrice hunter, but Elain has reason to believe his ulterior motives could spell trouble with a capital T.
Elain doesn’t know what’s on Brighton’s agenda, but her mates Ain, Brodey, and Cail are focused on their new fatherhood status. Elain can’t exactly confide in them—or Triad besties Lina and Mai—for fear of toppling a very precariously balanced tower of secrets that would destroy a lot of lives.
And it looks like Baba Yaga and Ryan Ausar have some dark secrets of their own…
Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 74,440 words
POWER OF THREE
Triple Trouble 8
Tymber Dalton
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
POWER OF THREE
Copyright © 2016 by Tymber Dalton
E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-177-4
First E-book Publication: April 2016
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
To Hubby, who keeps me going, always. To Sir. And to my ever-patient readers who understand that “the voices” are sometimes contrarian and stubborn. Special thanks to my editor, Pat, for helping me coerce this into a manageable beast. Thank you!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The books in the Triple Trouble series are best read in order, including the prequels.
It’s…a lot. I mean, a whole lot. I’m a pantster, meaning the characters sort of put a virtual gun to my head, hold me hostage, and make me take them out for midnight taco-and-banana runs when they see fit.
They control the show.
Literally.
Here—silly me—I thought I had three separate series: Triple Trouble, Placida Pod, and Good Will Ghost Hunting.
And my main plotline for Triple Trouble…stalled.
Until I finally admitted what my characters knew all along and were waiting for my slow-ass self to catch up with—the storylines are entwined. The Placida Pod series, only a little. But my clue should have been when Ryan Ausar showed up in the Triple Trouble series, and kept showing up, and wouldn’t.
Go.
Away.
So buckle up, buttercup. The ride’s getting bumpy.
This is definitely a series where you need to read the previous books in order to know what’s going on. Including the prequels (You don’t have to read the Good Will Ghost Hunting or Placida Pod books to follow along, they just give you even more backstory).
I’ve also put a (SPOILERS!) free Triple Trouble series summary guide up on my website at http://www.TymberDalton.com on the Triple Trouble series page. It is one big spoiler, but if you’ve already read the series and don’t want to take the time to re-read every book to get back up to speed, it’ll help you out.
And to answer your question, yes, I am writing more books in the series. I don’t know how many more books there will be since the characters are contrarians and won’t tell me. At least three or four.
Then again, the “voices” are sadistic and might say hahaha, more than that. Who knows?
The books in the series and their correct reading order, including the prequels, is as follows:
Boiling Point (Tasty Treats, Vol. 3) - Triple Trouble prequel 1
Steam - Triple Trouble prequel 2
Fire and Ice - Triple Trouble prequel 3
Trouble Comes in Threes - Triple Trouble 1
Storm Warning - Triple Trouble 2
Three Dog Night - Triple Trouble 3
Triple Dog Dare - Triple Trouble 4
Out of Smoke and Ashes - Triple Trouble 5
A Wolf in the Fold - Triple Trouble 6
Triple Cross - Triple Trouble 7
Power of Three - Triple Trouble 8
You can also find Ryan Ausar in my Good Will Ghost Hunting series. All titles listed are available from Siren-BookStrand.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
POWER OF THREE
Triple Trouble 8
TYMBER DALTON
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
Way, way, way back when…
Feeling no pain, the man dangerously swayed back and forth as he stumbled away from the tavern. Reygland couldn’t help it that he loved their mead. They arguably made the best around.
No apologies needed. Every Seer had their own methods of inspiration.
His happened to be most commonly found in the bottom of an upturned tankard. Especially lately.
He managed to find his way down the path to his tent without falling more than once or twice. In the center of the clearing where his Clan had camped for the season, a fire still burned brightly, two sentries silently noting his return but not acknowledging him personally.
He knew what they thought of him. Although well past his prime, he was still the younger brother of their leader.
He also wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t a fighter, had no skills. That was how he’d become more bard than Seer, entertaining them, inspiring them.
Sometimes enlightening them. He was called their Seer, because the previous Seer had declared him one at his birth, but he certainly didn’t feel much like one most of the time.
He did not have the hardened mental constitution required of a Seer. It wasn’t uncommon for his visions to make him physically ill. Many of the things he’d seen, he wished he hadn’t.
Especially when they came true.
When he shoved through the flap of his tent, he pulled up short and wobbled on his feet as he saw a large, dark shape moving.
“There you are, Reygland,” a woman said. “How did you find the mead to your liking tonight?”
He squinted through the darkness. “Who are you?”
Even though she lit a lantern, the cowl of her cape hid most of her face, the orangish, flickering light illuminating her smile from below and casting dancing shadows throughout the tent.
She also had a large jug with her.
“You do not need to know my name,” she said. “All that matters is I know yours…Seer.”
She waved her hand. Sheets of parchment and a bottle of ink, as well as a quill, appeared on the piece of plank he’d used as a table, which his nub of a candle had been affixed to.
When she waved her hand again, he felt his tankard disappear from his belt. It appeared in her hand, and she began to fill it from the jug.
“You will find this to be the finest mead you have ever hoped to sample,” she said.
“Wh-what?”
She held the full tankard out to him. “Try it.”
He swallowed hard, finally willing himself to reach out and take it from her. Not many knew he was supposedly a Seer. None outside his Clan, certainly. In these dangerous times, with the cockatrice menace trying to capture or kill Seers, they kept his role as quiet as possible.
It was not difficult for him to pretend to be a bard instead of a Seer.
To be honest, most of the time he didn’t feel like one. A Seer, that was. The visions he had were more like dreams, and frequently bad news. He kept much of it to himself, especially if it didn’t concern their Clan. He didn’t wish to frighten anyone the way he himself usually was.
Visions of murder. Of death.
Of impossibly huge firestorms falling from the sky and engulfing what looked like large cities from another world, but which he sensed were actually glimpses of the future.
Hence another reason he enjoyed his mead.
The mead she’d poured him smelled…well, delightful. Better than any he’d ever sampled before.
It tasted even better.
Before he knew what was happening, he’d downed several cups of the stuff and had pages and pages filled with transcribed poetry the woman recited for him. Welcoming him, even, to take down her words.
Practically insisting.
Wanting no credit for herself. Telling the Seer that the credit was all for him.
The eastern sky was beginning to lighten when she finally stood. He realized, somehow, he’d gone through several jugs of mead, but…
No, best not to question it.
“Who are you?” he whispered, staring up at her.
She finally slid her cowl back off her head and he was greeted by the face of a crone. Before his eyes, her face transformed into that of a maiden, and then a matron, before she raised the cowl into place once more, again casting most of her features in shadow.
He had heard the legends, been cautioned by the Seers before him that she sometimes paid visits in person.
He’d never met her before, however, and had mostly hoped he never would. It was said that meeting her frequently meant something horrible was about to happen. Her two sisters were rarely seen in their parts, but if one received a visit from all three, it usually meant impending disaster.
“I am,” she said, “and that is all you need to know, Seer.” She pointed at the parchment. Another pile of blank pages appeared, several times as high as the first, as did dozens more quills and jars of ink. “Copy them. Distribute them. Some to dragons, some to wolves, some to the Kingdom of Elsleng. Make sure they are well-read by your people. Prophecy.”
He nodded.
“Do not disappoint me, Seer,” she said. “You do not wish to learn first-hand what happens to those who disappoint or cross me.”
When he blinked, she and her lantern had disappeared.
He would have thought it a dream, sitting there in his darkened tent, were it not for the pile of parchments filled with writing in his own hand.
He picked one up and read it. The words…
Now his brain seemed muddled—the effects of the mead, no doubt—yet he was filled with one thought—he must copy what he created, these words. Distribute them.
While he was exhausted, he felt…alive, somehow. In a way he hadn’t in years.
He’d been tasked with something of great importance, of that there was no doubt.
And the last person he would dare cross was Baba Yaga.
He found a flint, lit his nub of a candle, and started copying the first poem.
Chapter Two
Mai lay naked in bed, comfortably sandwiched between her two naked men, and stared at the ceiling. For some reason, she just could not go to sleep.
Actually, she knew the reason, but scratching that particular itch meant waking her two men up.
I guess I shouldn’t have been so dang subtle.
She’d thought the two lunkheads would have been a little more in tune with her that evening when she’d cooked them a nice dinner, served by candlelight, and with her wearing a pair of shorts and a low-cut tank top—and nothing on under them—accompanied by a side order of sexy double entendres.
They don’t do subtle very well. Bless their hearts.
They’d been working a lot, all three of them. Her guys handling Micah’s contractor and construction business up in Tampa, and Mai with her duties as a Seer and part of the Triad for their Clan.
And being a mom to BettLynn, and her community college classes.
With their own house now, just across the front yard from the Lyalls, they had all the privacy they wanted, when they wanted it. Unfortunately, somewhere in the past couple of weeks, they’d all gotten busy with real life and the romantic part had kind of slipped by the wayside.
Tonight, she’d hoped to rekindle that.
Soft snoring on either side of her normally would render those thoughts moot. While she knew she could take care of things herself, she didn’t want to. Especially when she had not one, but two handsome guys at her disposal. Micah, being an Alpha wolf, usually didn’t let this slide for very long, but work had been taxing.
Jim was a human, but even he kept up a fairly steady pace at work and in bed.
Hmph.
After another hour of tr
ying to go to sleep and realizing it just wasn’t going to happen without something else happening first, Mai decided it was time for her coyote shifter self to take a little initiative despite it being nearly two o’clock in the morning.
She sat up, dove under the covers, and rooted around until she found Micah’s cock. She sucked it between her lips, immediately earning her a soft, sleepy moan.
Atta boy.
Micah had been lying on his side, spooned against her back. Now he rolled onto his back and as his cock started inflating in Mai’s mouth, she suppressed the urge to giggle. Fingers started stroking the top of her head, threading in her hair, the pressure increasing as he woke up and started rocking his hips in time with her ministrations.
On the other side of them, Jim sleepily rolled over. “Huh?”
She reached out and found his cock. Wrapping her fingers around it, she gave him a slow, gentle squeeze that immediately produced results by way of a moan and his shaft stiffening in her hand.
There we go. That’s better.
Yes, she’d pay the penalty for this later in the form of an early morning alarm going off and rousting them out of sleep—totes worth it.
“Mmm.” Micah’s husky, sleepy tone drilled right through her soul to her clit and gave it a friendly flick. “That’s sooo good, baby.”
Jim rolled toward her, throwing the sheet down and off of them. He slid a hand under her and found a nipple, rolling it between his fingers and drawing a moan from her.
Micah let out another sleepy moan. “Ohh, yeah.” His hands now clamped down on her head and he slowed her motions, taking over, taking his time. His cock felt like hot, silken steel against her tongue as he thrust between her lips. “Someone needs a good fucking,” he softly said.