Feline Good

by Lana Kole

  In comparison to seeing the future, was this honestly all that weird? Who was she to assume she was the only one in the world who possessed crazy abilities?

  Instead of her cute cuddle bugs, three sexy, lean and muscled Adonises were left in their place. Pushing away the odd situation, she stepped away from the loom and stalked to her bedroom to search for spare clothes in her chest of drawers. Luckily, she scrounged up three shirts at the bottom of her ‘donate eventually’ pile that were far too large, due to her exes size, and three pairs of sweatpants that would have to do for now. Maya even grabbed a fourth pair, something in case one of the rats from the dumpster out back decided to change into a hunk as well. After all, Uncle Malak had always warned that she should be prepared for anything.

  Maya entertained the possibility that her musings were bordering on hysterical, but with a deep breath, she clutched the worn clothes to her chest and yanked open her apartment door. As she clomped down the stairs, three sets of eyes settled on her, the intensity of the men’s gazes warming her skin. Her adrenaline was wearing off, the shakes from her nerves settling in hard. To hide the tremors, and aid in keeping her facade of nonchalance up, she tossed the clothes on the nearest table and hurried to walk behind the bar, ignoring their chatter as she collected glasses from the dry rack. She also made a concentrated effort not to notice the stack of bad guys piled on the floor, their wrists bound with the very rope they’d used to restrain her.

  The rustle of fabric resonated through the quiet bar as she set the glasses down, calling over her shoulder, “What to drink?” Determined to act as if it was just a normal evening, in her bar, on a boring night… instead of the current clusterfuck she shouldered.

  “Three beers, please.” The smooth voice sounded far too close, and she whirled to find Muffin behind the bar with her. This close, she could make out the dark blue ring around his irises, fading to light, then very light teal striations, and finally to a circlet of gold surrounding his pupils. She thought the multitude of colors was stunning, much like the man before her. Trimmed close on the sides, the longer part of his hair fell forward to cover one side of his face in a wash of ebony waves. A light scruff shadowed his cheeks, highlighting his bone structure better than a damned Sharpie.

  “What’s your name?” The question tumbled from her lips in a strained whisper, since Maya was afraid inquiring about his identity would make the whole evening more real. But as the heat from his body warmed hers to the core, she wondered, could this night get any more real?

  His voice washed over her, caressing her skin as he reached forward to remove the glass from her ironclad grip, the light touch of their flesh like a flame to the heat between them. The look in his eyes suggested he knew exactly how much the brief contact affected her. “Asher, at your service. My name sure as shit isn’t fucking Muffin. And you’re Maya, I know.” A snort punctuated his amusement as he winked and stepped away, the heat following him, leaving her cold and bereft in the wake of his absence.

  Eyes wide, she turned back to grab another pint glass, battling to school her expression and calm her whirling emotions before she faced the three of them again. She was struck by their beauty and swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. The other two were just as handsome as Asher, just as breathtaking.

  Ducking below the bar, she gathered her wits about her one more time, grabbing three bottles of beer from the fridge before straightening. With a clatter, she slammed the three bottles on the counter, leveling the males with her best don’t-give-me-any-shit stare. Maya turned to the top shelf behind her, settling for a whiskey that had been calling her name for some time.

  Downing a shot for courage, she poured another and… yup, downed it too, before pouring a third and turning with the drink in hand. They eyed her warily as they popped the caps on their beers and poured them into the glasses, in sync, as if practiced many times before.

  “What’s your name?” Maya lifted a single finger from her shot glass to indicate the sweet one, who had once been Tubbi.

  He grinned after taking a long sip of his drink, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips at the taste, and Maya suddenly wished to be the reason he made such a sound.

  Down, girl.

  “I’m August.” He turned to look at the men on either side of him. “This stuff is really good. I can’t believe you guys never let me try it before.”

  A red flag went up somewhere in her mind as Asher rolled his eyes, swallowing a sip of his own drink without responding. She turned her gaze back to August, who definitely looked old enough to have tasted beer prior to now.

  August had dark brown eyes, but with an amber tint, like a fire lit them from within, something she failed to notice earlier. Maya almost chuckled thinking of herself referring to them as brown. His gentle waves framed his face, parted to the side in a stylish manner, but he managed to avoid looking feminine. All three of them were the furthest from feminine she could imagine. His beard was more developed than Asher’s was, and her palms ached to cup his face, feel the pricks of the coarse hair bite into her skin as he—

  Okay, stop that. Right now.

  Clearing her throat to hide her attraction, she threw back her third shot, the alcohol burning her throat and belly as she swallowed it down. When she set the glass on the bar, she leaned forward on her forearms, cocking her hip to the side as she settled in for a long discussion.

  “And your name?” She met the gaze of the middle man, his dark hair also cut short on the sides with a long piece on top, but straight and much shorter than Asher’s. A warm, sunshine glow beamed out from his hazel eyes, so at odds with the scowl marring his face as he glared at her.

  “Amir.”

  All A-names? Odd.

  “Are you brothers? What’s with the A-names?”

  In her peripheral, she saw Asher and August nod their heads, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Amir’s.

  As the final male spoke, she finally recognized the lilt to all of their voices—the accent. Maya had heard it all her life, though she herself never adopted the beautiful cadence. “You’re Egyptian?” Tilting her head to the side, she waited patiently as they all glanced at one another in surprise at her question.

  “You mean you don’t already know?” August asked gently, as if she was slow.

  Frowning, she shot back, “Do I look like a psychic?” Actually, she kind of was, but she never foresaw this coming.

  They shared another look before August turned to her, concern evident on his face. “You hail from the Neith family, correct?” he inquired, despite seeming to already know the answer.

  Her fingers tightened around the shot glass. “My name’s Maya Neith. Yes.”

  “And your parents are no longer living.” The question came off as more of a statement that he knew to be truth. Well, he should know, since it had been his fur she’d cried into only days after her parents were killed. Maya gave a short nod.

  “And you were eight when they passed, right?” There was a soft touch to his tone.

  Asher spoke up this time, tapping his fingers on the bar impatiently. “And they never told you any stories about Sekhmet… Bastet… past, present, future…” He trailed off when she only gave him a blank stare.

  “Can’t say I remember any fairy tales like that.”

  The third man, Amir, sucked in a sharp breath at her comment, pulling her gaze to him. The fury in the depths was at odds with the soothing color of his beautiful eyes, and she straightened, wary of the fierce emotion there.

  He sighed, before motioning to the top shelf she’d pulled the whiskey down from. “Well, you might want to pour another drink. This might take a while.”

  Suspicious, but with nothing else to lose, Maya grabbed the bottle and her glass before walking across the bar floor to sit in a booth. She ignored the unconscious intruders still tied up and wiggled her fingers for the guys to join her.

  They obliged, and she settled in for a story that would change her life.

  “What do
you mean, you haven’t heard from them? They left hours ago.” Sekhmet pulled her dark hair to one shoulder as she leaned back in the opulent chair.

  Okay, yes, it was a throne. She liked it that way, even if it was rather cliché. Sekhmet liked pretty things, and speaking of, she locked gazes with her toy and fondest confidant.

  “Well? Did your men locate the Guardian? Kyril, you know we need that amulet. It worries me that you haven’t heard from them.”

  Her handsome counterpart frowned before moving closer, trailing his hand across her bare shoulder as he moved to stand beside her. “They’re professionals. Trust me, they know what they’re doing—”

  A beeping trilled from his pocket, and Kyril hurried to retrieve his cell phone, silencing the noise with a scowl on his face.

  Sekhmet sat up, leaning forward to see what the alert was. Her brows dipped low in concern as she spoke. “Kyril, what is it? Tell me they found the Keepers of Time.” A slight growl distorted the last of her words when his face fell.

  “You need to recall them. Now!”

  A curse burst from her lips at the failure, and with a flick of her wrist, she summoned Kyril’s henchmen to her feet. Sand exploded as they landed in a heap, sputtering and whining. Curling her lip at them, she leaned back and steepled her fingers, waiting with an arched brow for an explanation of their fuck-up.

  They quieted, fear shadowing their eyes as they noticed her expression. Their gazes jumped to Kyril, the commander of their little army. What had he called them? An elite unit?

  Elite, my ass.

  “Well? What the hell happened?” Kyril growled his words, and Sekhmet hid the shiver tingling up her spine when he spoke. He was magnificent when angry.

  His men shared fearful looks before the one with a bloody nose cleared his throat. “She activated the amulet, and the Keepers interrupted us.”

  Sekhmet stood. “Is that where you got the bloody nose?”

  He swallowed before bowing to her, as he should. “No, my goddess. The woman was a bit more… prepared than we anticipated. Then the Keepers took us by surprise and…”

  Kyril filled in his sentence for him. “They kicked your ass. Is that what you’re saying? A girl and a few pussies kept you from retrieving the amulet?”

  Slow nods from the men answered his heated question.

  Sekhmet turned her eyes heavenward, seeking patience. “You’re kidding me.” She snapped her fingers, and the one with the bloody nose exploded into a cloud of sand. The remaining two took a long step backward before she halted them with her words.

  “Don’t worry. Kyril will find a replacement for him.” She turned to Kyril and arched a brow, placing a hand on her hip expectantly. “Correct? Someone more capable.”

  He nodded obediently. “As long as you create me someone capable.”

  “Good. Find this amulet. Follow them if you must. They have to know where it is. And remember, I can dust you just as easily as I created you.”

  Her lover dismissed the men, ordering them to wait for further instruction before acting. Once they had gone, he moved close, planting his palms on the arms of her throne and leaning over her. As a goddess, not many men made her feel weak, but this male left her absolutely trembling.

  But she would never let him see that. Sekhmet arched a perfectly plucked brow. “Yes, dear?”

  “You know I don’t like it when you dust my men.” His grumbling voice sent a heated flush through her whole body, and her stomach clenched with a lick of lust.

  Heat sparked, but she lifted a manicured hand to study her golden nails. “Why, I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  Playing this game with Kyril was Sekhmet’s greatest pleasure, one of the few she had, considering her banishment and all. She had to do her own nails, for goddess’ sake. Although they looked pretty damn excellent, if she did say so herself. All her spare time gave her plenty of practice hours, when she wasn’t busy spending it in other… positions.

  “Sekhmet.” A warning growl was all she received as she lifted her dark eyes to his, daring him to take her. He did, jerking her from the throne and pulling her across the simple marble floor of the throne room to her opulent bedroom. His hand tightened around her arm, leaving marks she would fawn over later.

  As he tossed her across the mattress, holding her face down while he jerked at her clothes, Sekhmet smothered a satisfied smirk.

  This was a game they had perfected. Here her powers were limited, but she could end him with a snap of her fingers, if she so chose. However, she loved their games, craved his ruthless and demanding needs. Kyril was the only one strong enough to take her like this, and therefore he was special to her.

  A keening cry tore from her throat as he jerked her skirts up, yanked her thong aside, and slid home in one brutal thrust.

  His thick, rock-hard cock filled her almost to the point of pain. He knew exactly what she liked, which is why he didn’t wait for her to adjust. The slight pain was perfect and chills erupted over her body. Her diamond hard nipples pressed against the silk top she wore, the fabric teasing them as she moved to and fro on the bed from his hard thrusts.

  Gathering her hair into a fist, he cranked her head back and to the side until he could ravage her mouth, their tongues tangling in a rhythm tandem with the way he was fucking her—hard, messy, and beautiful.

  Kyril rammed his cock brutally between her slick folds, the wet sounds a harmony to the slap of flesh matching the frantic beat of her heart. Pausing, he pulled away, and Sekhmet whined in protest, at least until he shoved her face back into the mattress. No sound left his lips, but actions spoke louder than words when he pulled her hips up high off the mattress and spread her knees apart until he knelt between them. With a bruising grip on her thighs, he yanked her back to him, thrusting forward at the same time and spearing her again on his huge cock.

  Sekhmet cried out, the orgasm hitting her like a strike of lightning as he continued to pound into her. He fucked her through the orgasm, his uneven breaths sweeter than any poetry he could recite. Men could lie with words, but Kyril couldn’t lie with his body.

  His thrusts stuttered, a curse escaping his throat as he reached under her to play with and pinch her clit until she teetered right on the edge again. Her moans and cries alike showed Kyril the effect he had on her, and she silently promised to be a bitch later to make up for it.

  His pace faltered, and when he gave her clit a particularly rough flick, she shattered anew, and he broke apart with her. A hoarse yell exploded from his lips, and Sekhmet smiled at the knowledge he was just as addicted to her as she was him.

  With one last brutal thrust, he held her hips to him in a deliciously painful grip as he emptied himself into her, the pulse of cum a hot burst inside her. Collapsing over her, he placed a single kiss between her shoulder blades before falling to the side. The bed bounced with his weight, and Sekhmet rolled into him.

  Sweaty and sated, she grinned as a new plan sketched itself across her mind. Peering up at Kyril, she met his pale, golden gaze. “I have a plan to get us out of here.”

  “So, let me make sure I’m hearing you right.” Maya downed another shot of whiskey, then continued, “My parents didn’t die in a freak bar robbery? You’re saying it’s because of this… amulet. And now I’m the guardian of it?” She kicked her thumb back at her torso, swaying in the booth with the movement as her words slurred. “And this necklace—” At Amir’s dry look she corrected herself. “Fine. This amulet controls you, my three cats, who are the Keepers of Time? But you’re not really cats. You’re shifters blessed by the goddess, Basket?”

  “Bastet,” August corrected her, with a grin from across the booth. His smile had become less shy than it was three hours ago, but still. Something about him made her want to cuddle him.

  Dammit, Tubbi. He was my best cuddle bug.

  Speaking of… “But why cats?” Her brain had begun to hurt, and Maya didn’t think it had anything to do with the copious amounts of alcohol she’d c
onsumed.

  Asher sat to her left in the booth, and he grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face the bar. Seconds away from questioning his motives, she snapped her mouth shut when he began to knead his thumbs into her shoulder blades.

  An obscene moan left her throat as her head fell forward. “Oh my god, that feels amazing!”

  It was quiet for a long moment before her head snapped up. “What were we talking about? Oh! Yes. Why cats?” A hiccup broke up her words as she patiently waited for an answer.

  August left the booth to sit in a chair across from her. “Cats because they were Bastet’s symbol of power. It’s an Egyptian thing.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m Egyptian.” Her shoulders fell, but she arched back into the talented thumbs of Asher. “You already knew that, though, just like my parents were the previous guardians. Well, my dad was, from what you said.”

  “And now, you’re the chosen one,” August deadpanned, and Maya flashed back to the show she turned on the bar TV each night while she closed.

  “You’ve watched too much Buffy.”

  “Too much pop culture aside, he’s right, you know,” Asher commented from behind her.

  Maya grumbled something that sounded like she conceded to their reasoning. “I get it. I’m the Guardian of an amulet that controls you—therefore putting you in my control, sort of.” As if just remembering, she threw her hands up in exasperation. “I have no idea where this amulet is, by the way. And there’s a bond between the Keepers and the Guardian, which is why you showed up on my doorstep fifteen years ago, the same week my parents passed, because the other Keepers had died as well.” Maya arched her back into Asher’s thumbs, opening her eyes and meeting August’s intent stare. “Did I get all that right?”

  August rubbed a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp as he shot a nervous glance to the others. “Uh… for the most part, yes.”