The Hunt: Complete Edition

by Anne Marsh

  “I’m waiting for my answer,” he says.

  And apparently his blunt statement is all the proposal I’m getting from him. Does he think I’m desperate? I can’t help flinching at the ominous atmosphere in the gallery. Because, after all, I am. I don’t need show-and-tell to make it clear that I won’t enjoy whatever happens next here.

  Images flash through my mind: Amun Ra, the nameless runner in the corridor, the bells. No way I agree to any of that.

  “Here’s the deal,” Jafar says. “You agree to mate with me. We go through all the little mating rituals that my people have—and I do mean all—and then you take me to your thief master.”

  “Lierr?”

  “You take me to him, and I bring him back here. It’s time he faced a little justice of his own.”

  I imagine Lierr out of my life for good. My sister free. Those are all excellent fantasies if I overlook the mating nightmare. And it’s not like I have any other options at the moment.

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  Just at that moment, the Guardians approaching us move aside, letting through a commanding male. The Amun Ra. I blink. Is this the same man I saw the night before, the man whose hands parted and played with the hot, wet skin of his lover?

  There’s nothing soft or forgiving—or, Heqet help me, playful—about him now. He’s all business as he strides through the circle of Cats.

  “Well, well,” he says. “Apparently, we didn’t quite clear the temple of yesterday’s runners. I’m not sure we’ve ever had a participant who stretched her stay quite so long. You weren’t interested in claiming a mate—nor, it would seem, the alternative prize? A dowry?”

  I eye Jafar but he seems content to let me speak for myself. “No.” To my irritation, my voice sounds thick. Nervous. Show no weakness. Clearing my throat, I try again. “I didn’t come here for a dowry.”

  “What did you come here for?” The Amun Ra is not quite as large as the Guardians flanking him, but he gives the impression of lean, tensile strength. If he were a werebeast, he would be serpentine. His eyes contain a look of cool cunning that make me warier of him than of the large beasts encircling him. One misstep and he’ll skewer me himself.

  “Nothing to say for yourself? That is too bad. I had convinced myself that you would spin us an elaborate tale. You’re not the first, you know. There have been others who came here, all of you under false pretenses, wanting to help yourselves to something from the tombs or even—in one memorable instance—to cross over to Qaf itself. No one does succeed,” he confides. “You all fail. I would be curious to know what brought you here. I’d pegged you as trouble—your eyes will always give you away, my dear—but not of that sort. I rather thought you more likely to gut one of my Guardians or even to be an assassin after one of the other competitors. A thief, though? That was disappointing news.”

  “Prove it,” I say.

  “Pardon me?” His eyes bore into me, giving away nothing.

  “Prove it,” I repeat. “Prove that I stole something—anything—from your temple.”

  “A challenge.” He regards me thoughtfully, playing his part in the drama perfectly. I’m certain Jafar has told him what my defense will be. “Either you’re bluffing, my dear, or you’re quite certain I cannot. Which is it? I’ve the word of three Guardians that they found you in a burial chamber, the dearly departed grotesquely disturbed, and a spell-warded funeral necklace missing.”

  “But no one saw me take it. And I don’t have it now, do I?”

  “No.” He regards me intently. “Jafar argues that we should release you. He has agreed to take responsibility for you as his mate. I am content with that arrangement, but I must insist on one little variation to his terms.”

  The air in the chamber vanishes.

  Are those spots dancing in front of my eyes? I hate my weakness.

  “First there must be punishment. We’ll punish you and then he’ll mate you.” Dark eyes dismiss me. “Problem solved.”

  He smiles slyly at Jafar, who scowls fiercely at him.

  “You swore—” Jafar surges forward, but is restrained by several other Guardians.

  “Your little femi will not be harmed, merely chastised,” the Amun Ra says. “If you prefer, you may punish her, Jafar, while we watch.”

  Jafar nods, turns, and swiftly grabs me.

  This isn’t part of our bargain! Struggling wildly, I try to resist, but it’s hopeless.

  “Keep still, femi,” he growls softly. “Better me than one of the others.”

  Jafar bends me ruthlessly over his arm so that my rear faces up. Gods, what is he going to do to me? The sharp crack of his palm sends heat blossoming across my cheeks—and heat flaring through other parts of me. When I twist my head to see his face, he looks stern. Masterful. His eyes glow with emotion, telegraphing a message straight to my creaming pussy. He’s in charge here. Not me.

  Plus, it feels so damn good.

  Methodically, he paddles both sides of my ass until I want to rub the stinging cheeks—and then plunge my hand between my thighs and massage my swollen clit until I scream. Each sharp jolt sends ribbons of liquid heat shooting through my pussy until I can’t hold back the moans tearing from my lips.

  Without stopping, he murmurs: “Not so bad, is it? I smell cream.”

  Which of course makes me cream more. It’s both embarrassing and arousing. If it had been one of the other males in the room, the casual possession in his voice would have angered me. But this is Jafar. The tough, reticent merck who vowed to keep me safe. I don’t want him to stop.

  Particularly not when the orgasm of a lifetime hovers just out of reach.

  His large hand shapes my ass almost casually, tracing the seam. Teasing my skin. “Spread your legs more,” he orders in the harsh voice of a predator who’s spotted prey. “Show them how you cream for me.”

  Gathering the robe with one hand, he pulls it ruthlessly over my head, dropping the fabric carelessly onto the floor. The silk slips onto the floor like a lover’s sigh, pooling over his feet. The heavy weight of his hand resting on the small of my back makes me squirm, silently begging for more.

  “Show them,” he orders again, and the heat builds low and deep inside me. What would he do if I refuse? He answers my unspoken question with a sharp stinging slap on my juicy sex.

  I cry out, arching up into his hand, the pleasure shattering through me. Oh, this is a male who does indeed know how to punish—and to please. He expects me to obey, but has every intention of showing me pleasures I didn’t know existed. He lands three more stinging slaps and I hear the graphic sounds of my own panting and the juicy sound of my pussy, startlingly loud in the heated silence of the room.

  Close. I’m so close to orgasm. The white-hot pleasure builds in harsh spasms, spilling from my very core. He can make me come like I’ve never come, with just one more stroke of his talented fingers.

  Pleasure dazes me.

  “Down here,” he says, forcing my chin up until I meet his eyes, “you will obey.” His voice is a low growl.

  “Yes,” I hiss.

  He nods. “We are agreed then.” Wait. What have I agreed to? He strokes his hand lightly over my pussy. I’m so wet and juicy that I almost come from the simple motion. I rub my thighs together. I no longer care who watches or where I am: I have to come, have to give in to the spasms I’m holding back.

  The Amun Ra draws closer. He cups my chin with his hand.

  “You were a fool to enter my temple,” the Amun Ra pronounces. “Do you know how long the Guardians go between females?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. I’m not sure I could string two words together anyhow. Desire hums through me, and his words wash over me like the surf. “It is the summer season,” he says. The heated press of male bodies around us moves closer. “The Guardians may have been set to guard this temple against the thievery of your kind, but they burn during these months. Even as the sun rises higher in the abovelands and bakes the sands to a glowing hotness, it heats the
m. It heats their blood, their bodies. They burn.”

  He wraps a hand around the thick, hard length that pushes upward from his loincloth. “Our flesh burns,” he says in a low, dark voice, “and there is very little ease belowground. We wait until one of your kind is foolish enough to seek us out, to seek out our treasures and to pilfer. Then”—a slow, dark smile spreads across his face—“then, we do find ease from the burning. We find it here.” He turns to Jafar. “Finish it.”

  Jafar’s thick fingers part my soaked flesh. Oh, Heqet save me. With Amun Ra and the entire pride watching, he strokes and teases, penetrating me. Spreading me wide, he stabs first one finger, then two, three, into my dripping pussy.

  With a scream, I finally come in great spasms, riding Jafar’s fingers for all to see.

  My Cat gets his point across.

  Loud and clear.

  I’ve never done anything like this before. Heqet knows, I’ve never contemplated making such an exhibition out of myself or even coming in public. But before I can even start to think about what’s happened, one of the Guardians steps forward, breaking the silence. His eyes crawl over me, dissecting and dismissing what he sees. Trouble is brewing.

  “I challenge your right to mate this female,” he growls, as if I have no choice here.

  “Don’t do this, Hebon.” Jafar’s eyes are cold. Clearly, he doesn’t care for the challenge.

  “She ran with the Hunt yesterday.” Hebon’s gaze makes my skin crawl. “No one caught her. She wears no bells.”

  Jafar nods shortly. “Not yet,” he amends. “But she will. Now that this misunderstanding about the necklace is cleared up. You heard the Amun Ra.”

  The Amun Ra comes closer.

  “Gentlemen,” he announces. “I believe I hear fighting words.”

  The rest of the pride clears a space as the two males square off against each other. In the next moment, the tall Guardians morph into enormous, growling panthers ready to tear each other’s throats out.

  JAFAR

  Hebon’s anger is a tangible thing that stains the Guardian’s aura a rich crimson. Hebon wants blood. Fine with me. Lose this battle—and I lose Miu. Not that she’ll go willingly or easily to Hebon, but she won’t be mine either and that is simply not acceptable.

  Hebon’s anger at my defense of the femi is understandable. After all, Hebon remembers exactly what had happened the last time I let a thief go. Eventually, that thief died, but not before he killed Hebon’s mate. Hebon has every right to question my decision.

  I can’t afford to be wrong this time.

  “Can’t trust her, mate.” The male’s eyes meet mine, his voice thickening as he speaks through the Cat’s mouth. “She’s got you running in circles.” Hebon doesn’t bother adding like last time, but I hear the words anyhow.

  “Not the same,” I bite out, hoping it’s true. My paws find the familiar rhythm of the sparring circle, gliding smoothly over the marble as I watch my opponent’s body. Sooner or later, Hebon always telegraphs his next move.

  “What makes her different?”

  Miu hasn’t come through one of the Doorways between the realms, for one. She is no Qaf dweller. I’d bet my life on that. And I don’t think she’d plunge a dagger into a man—or his mate—just because she can. Oni caught the knife in her throat, the smooth edge slicing open the white skin straight through to the ivory knobs of her spine. Even as I gutted her murderer, as I should have done when she first appeared, I knew it was too late for Oni.

  “Oni’s dead,” I say, but Hebon shakes his head, striking out with lethal claws. I roll quickly to one side, sweeping a foreleg out. My paw strikes Hebon in the vulnerable skin behind the joint.

  Hebon rolls, coming fluidly to his feet on the opposite side of the circle.

  “Shift,” Hebon demands. “Meet me male to male.”

  Challenges are usually conducted in Cat form because injuries are less likely to be fatal, but it is the challenger’s right to choose. I shift.

  “Maybe Oni is dead,” Hebon snarls. “And maybe not. She could be a death spirit. There might be some way to bring her back. And even if there’s not”—his blade crashes into mine with jarring force—“I’m not letting one of your ‘finds’ make history repeat itself. Your female needs to die, Jafar.”

  The blows land with devastating force.

  And yet I know we both hold back. We’re friends, despite the bitter words. Even now, evenly matched with me, Hebon seeks to disable and not to cripple.

  Around us, the Cats press closer. The air is still and tense with anticipation. Heat builds until sweat drips from our torsos as we circle, making the floor a slippery death trap. One misstep now spells the end.

  There. Opportunity. My blade tears through Hebon’s chest, ripping into muscle and lodging against the bone. Blood pours from the wound.

  “Change,” I growl. For a moment, I think Hebon will refuse, will allow himself to bleed out onto the floor of the temple.

  Then, with a snarl, Hebon changes, the wounds slowly closing as the panther slumped onto the floor.

  I bring my blades up to my chest in a gesture of respect. Inclining my head toward the Amun Ra, I step deliberately out of the circle.

  “No kill?” The Amun Ra regards me over steepled fingers.

  I grunt a negative, already striding toward my mate. I won’t compound my mistakes by killing a friend.

  The Amun Ra reaches out, laying a pale hand on my arm. “Wait a moment.” My head swings around, lips peeling back in a grimace. Now that I’ve won the right to bell her, I wanted my mate. My Miu.

  “If you have something to say, say it,” I snap.

  “Manners, Jafar.” The Amun Ra smiles slightly. “She’s all yours, but a piece of advice: Keep a close eye on her. We both know she’s far less innocent than she appears. Catch her with her fingers in the pie again and there’ll be no rescuing her. Whatever she really came here for, she’s leaving without it. Anyone who removes that necklace from the temple is under a death sentence.” Power surges around him. “Got it?”

  Oh, I do. Very much so.

  My little femi still looks stunned at all that has happened. No doubt she is also apprehensive of what is to come.

  I experience a moment’s regret at the punishment I’ve been forced to mete out. But it was the only way to save her life. What the Amun Ra commanded had to be carried out.

  In the aftermath of Miu’s disciplining, the raw sexuality of the Cats is a shimmering haze of need rising from the gallery’s occupants and claiming her immediately is critical.

  Just the thought of placing the mating bells on her body—in her body—makes me bite back a groan. The few women in the gallery above wear bells around slender throats, or dangling from ears. Others wear them in less obvious places. It depends on the woman—and her mate.

  As I approach Miu, I consider each tempting spot where I might place the bells: the delicious curve of her ear; the sweet indentation of her belly button; the plump, inward curve of her sex. The bells should always brush the skin, a sensual tease and a mate’s promise. Just as she will never escape the bells’ presence and will come to crave the soft brush of the metal, so, too, will she come to crave her mate. Crave me.

  Bending my head, I take her lips in a hard kiss. The males around us raise their own blades in their right hands, pressing them over their hearts. When Sanur hesitates—perhaps my pride brother also worries about the wisdom of my decision—I glare until Sanur pulls his knife. I will have their acknowledgment—and I will have it now.

  “I claim the female,” I repeat. “She is my mate.”

  Now she pulls against my grasp, but I have woven my fingers so deep into her hair that she has no choice but to keep still. I lower my head again. Half the males there will expect me to screw her in the sparring circle in a public display of possession, but I have no intention of taking matters quite that far.

  Her teeth biting down on my tongue startles me. The copper taste of my own blood fills my mouth and I
pull back.

  “I am not your mate,” she hisses. Her eyes glitter with unfamiliar emotion, but I should be watching her feet. Her left knee swings smoothly upward, driving toward my chest in a powerful roundhouse kick. “But you can be mine.”

  I block her kick effortlessly. Amun Ra is right: her eyes betray her. They are a seething pool of emotion.

  “Not the deal we made, love,” I whisper against her ear. “But feel free to try to persuade me otherwise when we are alone. It’s time for you to pay the piper.”

  Part Four

  DISCIPLINE

  MIU

  “Run,” Jafar growls into my ear.

  His fingers rub my shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. Part of me wants to lean into the caress, but that’s the crazy part. The part whispering I want more of this male.

  “Why?” I shove his chest, demanding he give me space. He doesn’t budge.

  “Because,” he finally answers after a long, hot silence, “I thought you’d prefer a head start. Having just fought a challenge with an old friend for your favors, I’m torn between paddling your delicious little ass for the second time tonight—and fucking the living daylights out of you. If you’d like an audience, by all means stay here. Otherwise, I suggest you head up that corridor.” He indicates an unfamiliar corridor with a jerk of his thumb.

  I fight a flush. Arrogant bastard. Who does he think he is? My mate, a small voice whispers, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. He’s possessive, arrogant, condescending…I can take my pick of adjectives. But he’s also sexy, sometimes sweet, and just possibly mine.

  He presses his lips against my neck and I feel the wet flick of his tongue all the way down to my toes. A melting sensation unfurls inside me, my body voting for its own set of adjectives. I’m furious with him, I remind myself. Melting is off-limits.

  “Don’t challenge me now, femi.” Should I heed the sensual warning in his voice—or deliberately flout him and his rules? “I’m going to take you now and you agreed.”