Title: An Ivory Fox Mask

Author: Sita Bethel

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/25/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78200

Genre: Fantasy, dark, magic/magic-users, mythical creatures, witches, sorcerers, royalty, knights, plague, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance

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Description

After a monster attack to the capital city, Citadel, Sir Liam Bord seeks the witch responsible to bring him to the king for his trial and his punishment. Liam succeeds in capturing the witch, Reynald, a former royal mage whom Liam knew as a squire. Despite his attempts at treating Reynald as a prisoner, as Liam begins to understand Reynald’s motives, he can’t help but question the very system he’s always supported. The way his heart races every time they’re near each other only further complicates his mission…

Excerpt

An Ivory Fox Mask
Sita Bethel © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Creed’s hooves struck the cobblestone streets as Liam galloped toward the main square of Citadel’s market sector. The horse’s tail and mane were braided with bright blue ribbons. Gold and sapphire beads shimmered as Creed’s tail whipped behind him.

The fountain of Saint Margaret gurgled. The dying sunlight dipping below the castle’s parapets stained the water a vivid, fiery orange. All around the sculpture, people fled from the inns, taverns, and companion houses. Their screams circled the square. In the stories, Darius, the demon of vengeance and hunting, attacked Citadel as a great dragon, and Saint Margaret defeated him after being devoured and slicing through his stomach to escape. Liam pulled on Creed’s reins. Dismounting, he dashed down the alley between the Naughty Mare and Candlewick Inn.

Liam’s breath echoed along the narrow pathway. He skidded to a halt when he saw three crimson gashes of light burning in the shadows. The darkness moved and shifted, taking shape as the stryx crawled forth, as if from old wet-nurse tales, on four taloned feet. Liam unsheathed his sword, his shield raised to intercept any magical attacks, but the creature only screeched before spreading her wings and charging. The black feathers fluttered around the creature like smoke, her entire body semi-ethereal, a shadow bleeding onto an artist’s canvas. Only the three needle-thin eyes were solid…vulnerable to attacks.

She snapped with her dark beak. Angling his sword, Liam thrust the blade toward the creature’s third eye. The tip plunged forward, hilt-deep. Her body collapsed into a shower of black feathers. Though they tickled as they brushed Liam’s sweat-drenched face, the feathers dissolved into wisps of smoke after settling on the ground.

Liam exhaled and smeared the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sword hand. Another scream—a human scream—pulled his attention away from the small victory. He glanced to his right and noticed one of the third-floor windows was open. A woman struggled to get away from the birdlike creature. She leaned half out the window and screamed again. Without hesitating, Liam grabbed the rusted iron ladder fastened to the side of the building as a fire escape and hoisted himself upward. Only a slender catwalk connected the ladder to the other rooms, so Liam hugged the inn’s outer wall as he inched closer.

“Come out! There’s a ledge!” He called to the woman perched on the windowsill.

She jerked her head in his direction. Her thick, brown curls danced around her head like streamers as a breeze blew past them. She saw the crest on his blue surcoat—a black stallion and golden scale—and relief washed over her expression.

“Sir Bord!”

“Come now.” Liam beckoned her out of the hotel room. “I’ll fight the creature, but I need you out here where it’s safer.”

The woman scurried onto the ledge. Her dress snagged on a stray nail, and she teetered, hands flailing. Liam hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She gripped his shoulders. A blush dusted her cheeks.

“Sir Bord, you saved me.”

His stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot. As a knight, he was familiar with the expression on the damsel’s face and knew he’d need to hurry before she tried to “reward” him with a kiss. Despite the danger in letting go, he released his grip on the wall in order to remove her hands from his shoulders.

“Hold tightly to the wall. Stay here until I clear your room and call you inside.”

She nodded as a twitch of disappointment from his subtle rejection contorted the smile on her face. Liam grabbed his sword and dipped into the window. His shield caught the stryx’s claws as she swiped at Liam’s face. Liam sidestepped and parried, dancing around the torn sheets and broken chair as he fought. The stryx opened her mouth and shrieked, lunging for him. Liam saw an opening and pushed his sword into one of the beast’s eyes, twisting like a key clicking home in a lock. Another burst of feathers showered him. He plucked one from his long, coiled hair and dropped it to the floor where it wisped into nothing. Liam stuck his head out the window.

“It’s safe now.”

The woman scrambled into the room, bowing in appreciation. Liam nodded and then raced out the door and back to the street where more creatures hunted for anyone who hadn’t fled to the church. The blazing sunset burnishing the city a quarter hour ago was now bruising into a wounded red violet. The shadows stretched from each building. As Liam crossed the square, he could hardly tell Creed’s outline from the stryx charging toward his horse. Creed reared, pawing at the stryx with his hooves. The creature paused for a moment, but realizing Creed couldn’t hurt her, she darted forward. Her beak snapped, aiming for Creed’s neck, but Liam managed to wedge himself between them with his shield raised. He pushed the stryx backward and slipped his sword into her right eye slit.

Liam’s heavy breathing made his chest rise and fall. His armor was finely crafted mesh, one-third the weight of traditional plate, but he’d been riding and racing all over the city while hunting the stryx, and he felt like hot coals were packed between his shoulders and traps. He wasn’t sure he could fight anymore, but a child’s wail reverberated into the square.

Liam pivoted, searching. Around the corner, in front of a bakery, curled a dirty, bruised lad, perhaps eight or nine years old. The shadow creature stalking him wasn’t like the others. She was larger, with four wings and a broader crest. A Matriarch, according to Liam’s studies. A spark of hope flashed in his chest. She shared a bond with the witch who called her flock. If she died, the summoning spell would unravel and all the lesser stryx would vanish. Exhausted as he was, Liam wasn’t sure he’d survive another encounter, but he didn’t have to survive, he only needed to take her with him. Liam sheathed his sword. Stooping low, he snatched a stray stone from a flower bed in front of one of the shop windows and hurled the rock at the back of the creature’s head.

“Hey!” he shouted.

She spun, screeching.

“That’s right! That child’s hardly a snack! Come get a proper meal!” Liam splayed his arms wide, inviting the creature to attack him.

He didn’t bother drawing his sword again. His arms trembled from exertion. He no longer had enough strength to wield his blade with the finesse needed to hit the hair-thin mark of her eyes. Her talons clanked against the cobblestone as she trotted toward him, gaining speed when he didn’t try to attack. He waited until the gap between her and the child was sufficient before pulling a small throwing dagger from inside his glove and flinging it into her eye.

Miss.

She turned her head half an inch, and it was enough for the blade to zip past her and bounce off the brick bakery.

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Meet the Author

Hey there, readers. It’s me, ya boi, Sita Bethel. And this is a biography where I tell you all the boring facts about my life- like how I have a degree in writing, and how my two cats, Odin and Anpu, will one day rule this land as your feline overlords. Enough of that same old, same old. Here’s the real dirt. Sita Bethel likes to wrap up like a burrito with a weighted blanket. They host coloring parties as a personal eff-you to anxiety, and read everything from trash British sensationalist novels like The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins to literary masterpieces like The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Had enough of Sita Bethel yet? If not, check out @sita_bethel on Twitter, or sitabethelfiction on Facebook, or even www.sitabethel.com.