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Dominus: God of Yule (A Sons of Herne urban fantasy romance): Sons of Herne, #1

Dominus: God of Yule (A Sons of Herne urban fantasy romance): Sons of Herne, #1

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Dominus: God of Yule (A Sons of Herne urban fantasy romance): Sons of Herne, #1

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Jul 1, 2016


Your next book boyfriend should be a god!

Loving Lorayna could cost a god his sacred power...

It is the time of Yule, and Dominus, god of the sabbat, should never have had to spend half the year nurturing the latest light bearer himself. Now, months of visiting Lorayna, present only as a whisper, has sparked a yearning inside of him that he cannot shake.

Lorayna has felt herself drawn to the pagan path by a presence she has been unable to resist. When she discovers her “holiday spirit” is in fact a mouthwateringly sexy god, she’s ready for whatever sabbat ritual he chooses. To her disappointment, his intentions are strictly hands-off.

When something goes wrong, Dominus is forced to break the rules and give into his urges before the Yule power consumes her. The ripples of their passion will alter many sabbat unions to come—and Dominus must defy his father, Herne, to follow his desires and prove to Lorayna that she was not merely another light bearer.

This is Book 1 of the Sons of Herne urban fantasy romance series. Book 2 is available free exclusively to readers who join the mailing list! Details inside. Although the series consists of individual standalone romance tales, there is an overall plot arc that is best served by reading them in order. This series features hot, erotic pagan sex rituals, so if you prefer your romance sweet and behind closed doors, this one's not for you!

The series books in order:

1. Dominus: God of Yule (free)
2. Eradimus: God of Imbolc (subscriber exclusive)
3. Tallisun: God of Ostara
4. Jorandil: God of Beltane
5. Devinar: God of Litha
6. Feillor: God of Lammas
7. Anduron: God of Mabon
8. Archipellus: God of Samhain

Jul 1, 2016

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Dominus - J. Rose Allister



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Dominus was unaware of the three beings who were watching him cross over the veil. They bobbed and weaved before the looking glass, their feet hidden beneath robes as they floated above the ground. The fabric swathing the trio was fashioned from the mists of time itself—one robe of emerald, another of amethyst, and the third all in black. The mists flowed out from their pale heads as well, like manes of hair floating on a sea. The misty hair reacted to the nods of their heads while the three Fates saw the god of Yule preparing for a sabbat joining.

The son of Herne goes to her, said the tallest, Morta, in a hoarse whisper. They often spoke in tandem, but now they were separated. A decision was at hand, one that would turn the tides on an era.

See how he lingers in the woods? Decuna said, pointing a gnarled finger. He has already pulled the ribbon to ring the bells of Yule, yet he tarries.

Large black eyes blinked, and Morta nodded. He draws out the moment. He knows that his actions have been a folly.

Have they indeed? Nona asked, her deeper tone the one that resonated most when their voices echoed in unison.

The time is now, Decuna said. The Thousand Seasons will be ushered in when his sun bearer brings forth the Yule light. We must decide whether the fate of the gods will rest in their own hands for another millennium, or whether to use this turn of events to alter their fortunes.

Are not the matters of life and death enough for us without meddling in love? Morta said, floating higher. Let us leave well enough alone.

Well enough? Nona shook her head. How is the fate of Herne’s sons well enough? The forest god failed to heed our counsel, and look at what has come of it.

They lack nothing, Morta said. The eight sons he appointed to the sabbats have immortal power and a greater purpose.

But not the one thing they secretly crave, Decuna said, waving a tendril of mist out of the way from her large eye while she peered into the glass. That which would serve the balance of worlds much greater than Herne’s narrow view.

He is still soured by bitter loss, Morta said. More than he would ever admit, he regrets the loss of his youngest son’s mother. He will move on in time.

Is not a thousand years enough to mourn the passing of she who bore Archipellus? Nona asked. How long must his sons be deprived of a woman’s comfort because their father is a hard-headed fool? They are kept separate from their own hearts, sanctioned only to join to women for sabbat rituals that last but a single night. Their cocks are used for their call of duty. They are not allowed to engage their emotions.

Herne has been allowed to settle in his ways overlong, Decuna said. Perhaps the only thing that will help him now—any of them—is a nudge of Fate. She grinned, a hag’s fecund smile that displayed sharp, and in some cases missing, teeth. Dominus has already paved the way by taking a personal interest in the light bearer.

Morta’s head swiveled unnaturally toward her sister. And in that I sense a hand that was not his own. One with jagged nails and a twisted purpose.

Decuna’s shrug sent a wisp of her gown sailing off into the nether that surrounded them. I merely saw to it that the usual attendants were too busy with other matters to assist him in nurturing the Yule mother.

So that he would have to do it himself. Nona gazed around Morta, who bobbed between the others, to get a clear view of Decuna. A clever sleight of hand you did not share with your sisters.

I saw no point. If we choose not to intervene, this small adjustment to the state of things would not matter. If we do, however, I have given our will a little head start.

Which you would not have done had you not gazed into our futures as well, Morta said. You already knew the outcome of our decision. We long ago vowed never to use the glass to see our own future, but only the fate of others.

And so we shall. Decuna turned back to see Dominus walking through the snowy woods toward the cottage, his breath puffing out in front of him.

So be it, Nona said. Let Herne get the message that he can no longer blanket the realm with the sour cloak of a woman’s ancient betrayal. Let that message flow out of the Yuletide, bringing the light of a woman’s love to each of his sons.

"And may that message ring loud and clear by the end of the Thousand Seasons, Morta added. That when it concludes, and all his sons have embraced lovers, that we will be coming for him."

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Dominus: God of Yule

The crisp bite of frost in the air was sharp enough to sting even the nostrils of an immortal, but it was the scent of anticipation that Dominus inhaled most as he strode through the woods. He needn’t have bothered approaching this way, on foot through the wild forest. He could simply appear inside her cottage, where it was no doubt warm and welcoming. Still, he preferred to walk the wintry landscape at this time of year, when hearing the crunch of snow beneath his boots and breathing the heady scent of pine sparked a most pleasant ache between his legs. The crackle of ice breaking off a nearby branch was a call to action, the brush of a chilled wind his push toward destiny. The nipples on his bare chest hardened, but not solely from the cold bite across his skin. Most humans marked the change in their yearly calendars on a different day, but Dominus was well aware that this night, the night of the Winter Solstice, would be when he truly brought forth a new year. He and the woman he had been carefully preparing for this moment.

Dominus tied the leather cord of the veil pendant around his neck as he approached the edge of

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