by Jory Strong
Liquid sloshed onto her chest as the glass touched her lips. She had time for a tiny gasp before a seizure took her and she went over backward, heels drumming, pounding the mattress violently.
Shock held Radek motionless, clearing his mind of all thought until the smell of urine and released bowels brought him back to himself.
Terror threatened to grip him. He combatted it by turning away and going to his computer, passing through the multitude of password-protected gates before reaching the information left by the scientists along with the canisters.
Rereading it calmed him. The smart-virus wasn’t keyed to a particular delivery host—that, he’d remembered when inspiration struck. What he’d failed to remember was that it was designed to weaken prey, making them natural targets for predators and scavengers like hyenas.
Properly mixed it wouldn’t have killed the prostitute outright. The whore would have met her end in a different manner, in Gregor’s hands.
Radek shrugged. It was done now.
He closed the file, having gotten what he needed from it. Already a new plan was forming, a modification of his original one. It would be distasteful to have his father’s militiaman think the two of them shared the same sick passion, but it couldn’t be helped.
Radek picked up a pair of work gloves before moving to the hook where his formal clothing hung, the dark suit and pristine white shirt his father insisted be worn in his presence. With a tug he freed the silk tie.
He snapped it between his hands, testing its strength. It will do, he thought, and the Ivanov family crest embroidered onto it would serve as a reminder to Gregor of who owned his loyalties.
Radek returned to the side of the bed. The worst of the seizure had passed.
The whore no longer drummed the mattress with her heels but she continued to flail weakly, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes rolling around, reminding him of a fish.
Foam flecked her lips. He shuddered and slipped his gloves on, not wanting any contact with her bodily fluids despite what he’d read in the file.
He looped the tie around her neck before grabbing one of her wrists and securing an end there with a knot. He did the same at the other wrist.
Deviant sex held no interest for him, though so many of those he’d grown up among seemed drawn to it, a reflection of their boredom as much as a flexing of their power. The thought of actually playing with death in the pursuit of pleasure, of risking it with erotic asphyxia, was revolting.
Radek shuddered again as he grasped the silken tie on either side of the whore’s neck. I do what I must, he told himself, grateful she’d finally stopped moving and was already well on her way to expiring.
He pulled, tightening the loop wrapped around her throat in order to leave telltale marks, the illusion of sex play gone wrong. She struggled at the very last, so weakly it was barely noticeable.
Radek used the sheet to wipe the foam from her mouth, then stepped back, gauging the position of her body. Not optimal. But acceptable. Good enough.
He turned away from the scene, shedding the gloves and dropping them on a rarely used chair. He’d deal with them, and the mattress, later. The soiled sheets and the whore’s clothing could be burned in the trash barrel at the back of his quarters.
Radek took a few minutes for a sponge bath, being sure to dampen the edges of his hair. He dressed—Gregor would hardly expect to find him standing naked and wringing his hands while waiting for help to arrive—then stepped out of his quarters long enough to flag down a worker and send for the militiaman.
Gregor arrived moments later. He took in the scene and turned sly eyes toward Radek.
Radek’s mouth soured. “There are hyenas nearby. Find where they gather and dump the body. Remain within sight of it until you see them start feeding.”
“It could take a while, especially if I stay long enough to make certain there’s nothing left for the guardsmen to find if they decide to go looking for a missing prostitute. Probably be good if someone saw her leave your quarters and slip into the one housing the convicts.”
“You’re right on both counts.”
Gregor’s smile turned as hard as his eyes. “After doing a stretch in Were-infested woods, I’d sure like to unwind by having the same kind of fun you had here. I wouldn’t have guessed you enjoyed it like this, not with your reputation, but now I can see for myself you do. Coming up with the cash to pay the penalty money has always been a stretch for me. Maybe you could help me out there, since you own all the contracts.”
Radek’s stomach churned, both at the blackmail demand and Gregor’s likening the two of them. He glanced in the direction of the bed but instead of a corpse he saw himself riding in an open-topped jeep through the wealthiest section of Oakland, his father next to him, witnessing the adulation.
“You’ll have your fun,” Radek said. “But you’ll wait until I tell you another whore can go missing.”
Fifteen
THE sound of chattering teeth dragged Rebekka from the depths of sleep. My teeth, she realized vaguely, still caught in the fog left by utter exhaustion.
She shivered, slowly becoming aware of how cold she was. Tasted the bitterness then. It coated her tongue and instinctively her mind sought to identify it, to link it to the reason she was so cold.
Memory flickered, of repeatedly accepting the wooden cup from Phaedra, drinking the stimulant. Foolish. She was lucky it hadn’t killed her, shutting down her nervous system or causing her heart to fail.
She reached out, finding fur-soft pelts and pulling them over her, snuggling into the warmth they promised as she breathed in the scent of sunshine and rye grass. A hint of fear edged in when the cold deepened and her teeth continued to chatter, but exhaustion was a heavy weight, clouding her mind. Her body’s need for sleep was an anchor she willingly followed, expecting oblivion and gaining it for a time, until images from the healer’s journal came to life, lifting from the pages and becoming real.
Battlefields littered with corpses.
Cities filled with bodies.
At first they were human strangers. But slowly they morphed into Weres.
The prostitutes.
Dorrit.
Levi and Cyrin.
Canino.
Then the cubs and Aryck.
Rebekka woke screaming, panicked, her hands burning and her chest frozen.
Awareness slashed through her, intermingling with the memory of the flamethrowers and men in protective suits. She was calling the diseased from the Barrens to her. Whatever carried it was distant still, but coming.
Blindly she sought the amulet, tossing furs and blankets aside in desperation. She stood as she remembered giving it to Aryck for safekeeping, only realizing she was naked except for her panties when the door crashed open and he entered the cabin.
The alpha and Melina came in after him, then an older man carrying a lantern. By then Rebekka was shaking uncontrollably, her breathing fast and loud. She grabbed a fur and covered herself.
Melina’s derisive laugh was followed by equally cutting words. “All that screaming over an owl?”
The words sent Rebekka’s gaze to the bird fluttering helplessly beneath the open window. It provided the focus she desperately needed for her gift.
The Jaguars might think her frightened in the dark, but she preferred it to their knowing the truth, guessing at the importance of the amulet. They’d kill her if they knew. Or destroy the witch’s protection and chase her back to Oakland like a bomb set to explode in the midst of the human world.
Rebekka eased toward the small owl. She reached with her mind, sending waves of calm. It stopped fluttering, though its breathing was as rapid as hers.
As soon as she touched it the coldness in her chest disappeared, burned away by the flow of healing warmth. It wasn’t as hot or intense as it had been when she touched Aryck or the cubs, but it didn’t need to be.
Her arm hurt, as if bones were shattered there. She knitted the damaged material back together with
quick, deft mental strokes, noting it was easier, her thoughts more sharply focused, further proof her gift had been changed when the witches bound the amulet to her with blood.
Rebekka’s pulse raced with thoughts of the red beads, so very much like the ones her demon father wore in his hair. Her hands trembled slightly as she removed them from the owl and it took flight, escaping into the night through the open window.
Cold exploded in Rebekka’s chest. Because she expected it, she didn’t react outwardly to the terror it brought with it.
The threat was still distant, but closer than it had been moments earlier. There was no hiding the scent of fear from the Jaguars.
This far away from human civilization, deep in Were territory, they had no reason to worry about supernatural predators, no reason to close or bar the windows. But they would assume it wasn’t the same for her.
Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady as she turned toward them and said, “I’m sorry I disturbed you with my screams.”
They’d stopped just inside the doorway, not wanting to panic the owl and cause it to further injure itself. Rebekka tightened her grip on the fur and crossed to them, her apparent discomfort over being nearly naked gaining another derisive laugh from Melina.
Rebekka ignored it and reached out, saying to Aryck, “I’d like my necklace back.”
He removed it from his pocket, but instead of handing it to her, he stepped behind her and placed it around her neck. She was acutely aware of heat and scent, of the rub of fur against her skin, not his, but it was suddenly very easy to imagine—
She cut the thought off only to have it return when his fingers lingered at the nape of her neck, stroked, making her tremble in a way that had nothing to do with the faded nightmare images or the icy cold no longer filling her chest.
Heat coursed through her, originating at the place his skin touched hers. It was reminiscent of what had happened when she healed him, flowing like a power rooted in the earth, molten lava capable of burning away the protective shield a lifetime spent in brothels had erected.
She’d seen Aryck naked, but that wasn’t what made her vulnerable where he was concerned. It was his obvious care for the Tiger cub, the gentleness with which he’d bathed Caius in the wash while the boy’s mother rocked, locked in a world of grief.
Rebekka stepped forward, breaking the contact, but not before there was a crack in her defenses. Her nipples hardened and breasts ached. Need pooled in her belly, bringing with it a hastily suppressed fantasy of Aryck’s hand stroking over her abdomen, sliding between her thighs to cup her mound.
She tightened her grip on the fur, created a wall around her emotions. There was no way to hide even the tiniest hint of arousal from Weres.
It wasn’t something she had to worry about at the brothels. Nothing of what she witnessed there stirred anything to life except revulsion and hate and pity.
She made herself face the Jaguars boldly. Melina’s lips twisted in disgust and loathing, while next to her, the lantern in his hands, the older man’s dark eyes captured Rebekka’s. Without the snarling headdress she hadn’t recognized the shaman. But now, just as she had before, she felt as though he was trying to see into the depths of her soul.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s okay to leave me.”
Aryck met his father’s gaze and tried to keep any hint of challenge from surfacing. He had no desire to revisit their earlier discussion or his near loss of control. “I’ll remain with Rebekka until she falls asleep.”
Koren’s expression didn’t change, but Aryck still felt his father’s displeasure and worry. If you mate with her, you risk the part of your soul residing with the ancestors.
She’s not in season.
He couldn’t leave her. He didn’t need to look down and see the length of his erection pressed against the front of his pants to know he had already lost part of the battle with himself.
Desiring Rebekka should be impossible for him. She was human, a woman who lived among outcasts. Either should have been enough to cool his blood and keep him away from her. But he’d no more been able to stop his fingers from caressing her neck than he’d been able to stop the fantasies of mounting her, of thrusting into wet heat and clinging welcome and marking her with his teeth as he did it.
He was rock hard. And though he had no intention of acting on it, not yet, he also had no choice but to remain in her presence.
He wouldn’t be able to overcome the Jaguar’s protective need to guard its mate after hearing her screams of terror. If he attempted to leave, the Jaguar would fight him—and win.
His father ushered the others out, closing the door behind them and leaving the cabin in darkness broken only by a hint of moonlight.
Aryck’s reality shrank to the woman standing only inches away from him. Heat and scent swallowed him up, urging him to take the small step that would bring his body into contact with hers.
She moved away, saving him from himself. “You don’t have to stay,” she said, turning her back to him. Adding on a whisper, “It would be better if you didn’t.”
He didn’t need to ask her why. She couldn’t hide her physical reaction from him any more than he could hide his from her.
It would be better if he didn’t stay. He knew it, believed it still on some level. But, perversely, having her fight the attraction only made it all the harder to let her escape.
Male instinct, Jaguar and human both, told him to close the distance, press his suit. Rebekka’s turning her back to him and wrapping the fur around her like a shield only intensified the need.
The silence stretched between them, growing taut with the call of their bodies to each other. He took a step before he could stop himself, inhaled deeply. His arms lifted to pull her against him. His lips parted on a soft pant, his tongue ready to tease over the skin at the nape of her neck, to taste and stroke before the bite that would mark her as belonging to him.
The Jaguar quivered in eagerness, anticipating victory. Or maybe the man did. He was no longer certain they held separate desires.
Heat pulsed through him, a hard, steady throb, like the beat of the drums summoning the ancestors. Some small sliver of sanity whispered this was a mistake, told him he was on the path to becoming outcast. But against the roar of desire it didn’t stand a chance.
It was safe. There was no risk of impregnating her.
She tensed when his arms encircled her, but didn’t pull away. The intimate contact made him light-headed, hinted at how thoroughly he’d lose himself when flesh pressed to flesh.
A soft whimper escaped when his lips found her neck. His tongue darted out in a wet caress.
She melted against him. But her resistance lingered, offering both challenge and warning.
Drawing sounds of pleasure from her became his mission. Having her soften and willingly drop the fur to the floor to reveal her body became his resolve.
His hands pushed their way under her arms, settled over her breasts, cupping, kneading their fullness, turning the fur separating his palms from her nipples into sensual torment instead of modest protection.
He trailed kisses along her shoulder, sucking the petal-soft skin as her pulse beat wildly in her throat. Her scent intensified, a lush, intoxicating fragrance that made him want to bury first his fingers in her wet slit, and then his tongue.
His hands drifted downward, and she tensed as if struck by an icy arrow. Her resistance returned with a jerk that freed her from his arms. “I can’t,” she mumbled, moving away from him.
She didn’t turn to face him until she reached the door, as if she’d risk the night to escape him. It held him at bay, clearing the lust long enough for a silent, rational voice inside him to question the wisdom of giving in to desire, to remind him of what his father had said. One coupling and no other female could hold my interest.
“I can’t,” she repeated, tongue darting out, wetting her lips and sending a hot spike of need through his cock.
He knew it wasn’t
revulsion or shame that had driven her out of his arms. Her scent didn’t lie, and even now she trembled, fighting to keep herself distanced from him.
It was enough to help him maintain control, to satisfy the Jaguar and the man so they remained smoothly integrated. He retreated to the open window, perching in it and gaining a measure of relief when the night air cooled his skin and filled his nostrils with the smell of pine and dirt and leaves.
Leaving wasn’t an option. Not yet.
Rebekka let out a soft sigh. She calmed, at least outwardly. Inside, turmoil reigned.
Aryck’s touch made her feel things she’d never experienced before, even when she’d imagined herself attracted to Levi. A part of her wanted to give in, to live in this moment only, without thought of the future. Temptation whispered through her, telling her that denying herself what pleasure she could find in this life was foolish.
Looking at Aryck, desire curled in her belly and slid down into her woman’s folds. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to lose herself in the wonder of sexual exploration his kisses promised. But those desires warred with the knowledge of what doing it might ultimately cost her.
She thought of the tattoo inked into her skin. She’d be gone soon, a forgotten interlude in his life. The mark might not mean anything to him, but her virginity was the only thing she had that might offer proof she was no prostitute.
Rebekka crossed to the mound of blankets and furs and lay down. She didn’t know why Aryck stayed, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to leave.
A flutter went through her belly as she looked at him outlined by moonlight in the open window. Everything about him spoke of strength and contained power, of sensuous promise and carnal acts.
Her clit stiffened and she had to fight to keep from touching it, from sliding her fingers between slick folds and imagining it was him. From changing her mind about denying him.
Fantasies slipped into her mind, images made explicit by a lifetime of witnessing sexual encounters. She turned her face away in an attempt to rid herself of them, to once again silence the voice of temptation.