Fortune

by Destiny Blaine

  Still, she could use her natural features for trickery and deception, much like a langle. With soft golden hair, flawless fair skin, and big blue eyes, Ariela had captivated his crowd on opening night at the Catwalk. After the premiere, several men interviewed had spoken about the soft and fragile woman who had performed in a lion’s den.

  “Ah, but if you only knew her,” Lane said fondly, remembering how she’d responded to his limited touch. Fragile or not, his woman would soon become a vixen on the prowl, as much a predator as prey.

  Lane wondered then if she had felt like his prey when he’d thrown out a deal on the table, promising to give Sanchez what he needed and wanted all in exchange for her compliance. Lane had used his Catwalk venue to drag Ariela away from Jagger and her other mates. His own selfish motives and goals had been in play, too. And what had happened?

  “How could I have been so stupid?”

  He roared in rage, picked up a wine decanter and slung it across the room. The crystal antique shattered against the wall and slivers of burgundy glass fell to the floor. Dragging his hand through his hair, he slumped to the sofa and threw his head back. He stared at the ceiling and cursed himself for his need for family and perceived fame.

  He’d wanted others in Vegas to view him as a success in the world of entertainment. He possessed what he needed in terms of power and prestige. He had plenty of money and all the material things wealth afforded someone, but he’d wanted a taste of worldwide fame and he’d needed Ariela and Sanchez to achieve that notoriety. More importantly, he’d needed Ariela for the family he hoped to soon start.

  She was his true mate. Her children were destined to be his cubs.

  He picked up a copy of Entertainment Daily. There in black and white he read how Sanchez had been a smashing success and the audience had gone wild over the extraordinary white lion, once a performing animal for Barlo Matheson’s casino.

  Catwalk was now hailed as one of the greatest shows on earth. He couldn’t even smile at the headline or gloat at the subtitles for various articles. Catwalk had dominated Entertainment Daily for more than two weeks and Lane couldn’t celebrate. He had never known such heartache, such unsettling angst.

  Another langle had abducted the only woman he would ever love. How could he find joy in positive reviews when there wasn’t anyone around to enjoy the success with him?

  Lane clenched his fists and settled them on his legs. He stared at the swimming pool adjacent to the patio. Whenever he looked at that pool, he could still see Ariela’s curvaceous body rising and falling against those jets.

  His cock probed his briefs and he took a ragged breath. He’d been a walking hard-on since that very day but sex on a promise or the idea of an explicit rendezvous only made things worse. Knowing he could’ve laid his woman down and loved her a hundred times by now was eating him alive.

  To make matters even worse, she was in season. Her mating bout was upon her. He could sense it in his rigid body. His muscles throbbed. His fingers burned to touch her.

  He could only imagine how Jagger, Leon, and Sanchez had suffered without her. They knew how her body writhed under theirs in loving episodes. They’d felt her tender hand on their cocks and understood how to please her.

  They had loved her and cared for her during several mating seasons. Lane hadn’t enjoyed such an opportunity. If things had been different, he would’ve been breeding her by now, loving her in his lion form as much as with his human body.

  He pressed down on his stretching cock in dire need of relief. The pressure in his balls was more excruciating.

  In the distance he heard Cara humming. Her soft voice was nothing more than a wicked summons, one designed to entrance him as much as trap him.

  If he took her, then he stood on the perimeter of dangerous consequences, because Cara wanted a child. She’d used foolish practices in the past, poking holes in condoms or swearing he could ride her bareback because of her clean bill of health.

  Lane was far too smart for entrapment.

  Still, there were no ties to bind him yet. He hadn’t taken Ariela for himself. As far as she was concerned, she belonged to Leon, Jagger, and Sanchez.

  Ariela would eventually be his woman, his true mate, but until then he could enjoy what life had to offer. Sex was a basic need, like water and food. And Lane was thirsty. He was hungry.

  “Cara!” He jerked his belt free of his slacks. He unbuttoned and unzipped, tugging his cock from his briefs. “Damn it. Get in here!”

  He stroked his cock. He wasn’t after a wild frenzy of passionate lovemaking.

  Lane needed to get off. If that made him a monster or insensitive to another person’s needs, then he bore the weight of such titles and Cara often used them to describe him anyway.

  “Yes, Sir?” Cara returned to his living room and a smile swept across her face as soon as she saw him pumping his erection.

  She bowed her head and came forward, keeping her eyes lowered in a submissive gesture. Once she reached the sofa, she tucked her arms behind her back and parted her feet. “How may I be of service, Sir?”

  “Suck me off,” he replied, a ragged breath resonating through his body as if to warn him of his uncertainty.

  Cara lifted her gaze and frowned. Her body language suggested he’d already disappointed her but hadn’t he warned her in the recent past that his fated mate would soon live under his roof and share his bed? Hadn’t he told her to only accept the terms of her new assignment if she could fully comply with the statements within? The contract she signed even stated she would service him upon request, realizing that their involvement would only be sex for the sake of sex, without any promise of future commitments.

  He was still a man, a man with heightened desires. His mate should’ve been at his side by then. Ariela was supposed to be living under his roof. She was in season and wherever she was, he felt her need to breed, her season as rampant and evident in his body as it must’ve been in hers.

  For now, he’d settle for second choice and while it wasn’t fair to his former submissive, to a woman who had once professed to love him, he had to take care of imperative physical needs. Then, he would return his focus to the most important thing in the world—finding Ariela and bringing her home.

  Chapter Two

  “Let me go!” Ariela wiggled around like a teenybopper struggling to free herself from boys with raging hormones. They’d acted like a bunch of immature manipulated puppets so she might as well think of them as such. If she could only free her hands then she would make a full shift and these fellows wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “This should do just fine. If she’s who the boss says she is, she won’t have trouble seeing him from here.”

  Ariela studied the lay of the land in front of her. Then, as if her vision—not to mention her memory—had suddenly improved, she saw the familiar structure and stood there in awe.

  No matter how many times she saw Lane’s home, she would always view the place as magnificent. At least four stories of glass housed the front portion of Lane’s house. Cradled against a backdrop of red rock, the home featured an extravagant outdoor area with two bars, lanais, a fire pit with conversation area, and an infinity pool.

  The pool stood out in her mind. She’d gone for a run several months ago and came upon Lane’s house. Impressed by the architecture, she’d shifted into her human form and climbed the stairs leading to the elevated sundeck. Once there, she’d helped herself to a swim and the jets embedded in the pool’s concrete side.

  She smiled at the memory, recalling the look on Lane’s face when he’d discovered her there. She’d been in season and his whirlpool jets had helped her find an enormous amount of relief.

  Sensing Lane’s presence, she hurriedly scoured the area. It only took her a moment to locate him. In the center of his great room, Lane and a woman seemingly took advantage of their perceived privacy.

  Ariela gasped.

  “That’s right, deary,”
one of her assailants said. “You should pay close attention to that image there. See what your fella does when the cat’s away?”

  A sudden pang knotted itself in the center of her chest. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, but it didn’t ease the overwhelming angst. She jerked one way and then another, trying to escape as much as avoid watching the scene unfolding in front of her. “I don’t understand why you want me to see this!”

  “Boss says it is imperative.”

  “Why?” The lone word fell from her lips like it had been forced from her mouth. “What do you want from me?”

  Ariela tried not to look straight ahead. Her hormones were raging. Her breeding bout had been slow torture and her captors had seemingly enjoyed seeing her in tremendous pain. She’d been in heat for two weeks and they’d done nothing to help her. If anything, they’d placed her under scrutiny, watching her reactions as they’d forced her to look at one photograph after another.

  To make matters worse, when she’d had a physical reaction to the images, they’d badgered her with questions. “Was she Jagger’s mate? What was Leon? Was Sanchez her mate? Who was Lane Livingston to her? Was she Jagger’s wife? Was Lane important to her? How did she meet Leon? Was Lane someone she cared about?”

  They had refused to untie her hands so she could satisfy herself when her need for release had climaxed, not that she had. She hadn’t been permitted.

  Likely in fear she’d shift, Ariela’s captors had kept her on lockdown with minimal physical contact. Her body had been sheathed in perspiration and yet they’d kept her in a heated unit, cranking up the temperature when her need for an orgasm had been at its worst.

  They’d performed test after test, seemingly interested in her physical matter as much as her psychological state. The only positive that had come from all this wasn’t even that great of news to her, but it would certainly interest her mates.

  She was definitely fertile. According to the madman’s scientist or doctor or whoever he was, she could bear children.

  Now in the last days of her mating bout, and so desperate for relief she’d even considered taking a stranger to bed, and what were these smartasses doing? They were making her watch Lane with another woman.

  Why had they brought her there, and were Lane’s current actions relevant? What purpose did they have in showing her Lane with another woman? Did they want to show her the obvious? Did they want her to see him with this person so she would realize his promises to her were invalid, insincere, and totally worthless at this point?

  He’d claimed to care for her. He’d said they were true mates, and even gone as far as to say no one would love her more, care for her more deeply, or be as committed.

  Lane had fed her a bunch of hogwash. That’s what he’d done!

  She remembered a time when they’d been alone at Pride’s Casino. He’d escorted her back to the penthouse she shared with her mates and had made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt, even when she’d been in the throes of passion with her three other mates.

  His touch warmed her. His eyes consoled her. His kiss? God bless! His kiss had scorched her lips. Even now, weeks after their first kiss, her lips still burned for another.

  Her knees buckled as she watched the unfolding image. Even though she was far enough away from the house to only have a limited view, she could see enough, more than enough to know his body rocked against the mouth accommodating him.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” she mumbled.

  “What’s that?” The masked guy at her left leaned over. “I don’t think I heard you.”

  “For some reason, I think that’s probably a lie,” she said, trying to look down.

  “Keep your head straight and your eyes open. If you don’t, we will make you hurt. Understand?”

  Sure she understood. The last time they’d made that damning promise, they’d shown her images of Jagger with Melinda, the gold-digging nuisance wearing the title of Pride Casino’s CFO. Fucking cunt.

  She immediately shook off the memory of being shown pictures of Melinda and Jagger dining together, riding an elevator where they’d stood shoulder to shoulder, and the photo that had cut straight to the bone—the one where they’d been exiting the lift. Jagger’s palm had been on Melinda’s lower back.

  Jagger would have a lot of explaining to do.

  So would Lane.

  “Fuck him,” she muttered, watching as the gal on her knees sucked Lane’s cock as if the very act was all her pleasure, her lone reward for simply being in the man’s presence. “Is this supposed to anger me? Is it?”

  “If that’s the goal, it sure is working.” The smartass at her left spoke again. If she could shift, she’d make her captors into minced meat and leave them in the desert for predators with a taste for tainted blood.

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  He roughed her up then, grabbing a stronger hold on her arm and forcing her to remain still, holding her head erect in order to aim her face at the house.

  “Far be it from me to miss anything.”

  “My thoughts, too.” His breath smelled like garbage when he mashed his cheek against hers and whispered, “Wonder if she’s any good at it?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ariela said, wishing she could focus on another time in life, perhaps when life was carefree and wild. Jagger had once compared her to tumbleweed, stating she was like the plant when the desert wind gained momentum and forced her away from her roots, blowing her one way and then the other without any specified direction.

  She felt like tumbleweed now. She’d been forced away from her roots, from her comfort zone, and now she had no idea where she belonged.

  “Tell me what you see,” the guy on the right said. So far, he’d been fairly gentle with her. Even with his mask, she recognized him as the younger dude who had been in charge of delivering her meals each day. He had a thick southern accent, one which was hard to disguise given his deep Alabama roots.

  When she didn’t respond, the harder fellow said, “Ariela, he won’t ask again.”

  “I never thought he would.”

  Foul breath jerked her arm behind her body.

  She cried out in agony before she managed an “Okay!” Shards of pain rushed up and down her thin limb. Asshole apparently enjoyed roughing up women. She knew a few possessive males who wouldn’t have a problem returning the favor.

  Trying to pop her joint back in place and thankful she was at least double-jointed, she breathed out roughly. “Give me just a few seconds.”

  “Give her a minute,” Alabama said.

  Ariela swallowed as she watched the image below them. Why did it bother her so much to see Lane with another woman? Why did the pain in the center of her chest remind her of chest compressions, the kind of pressure guaranteed to crack a few ribs if the right person applied just enough weight?

  And why, pray tell, was she more disturbed then than she had been when she’d seen evidence of Melinda Parker with Jagger? Prior to Ariela’s abduction, Melinda had made no bones about it. She wanted in Jagger’s pants.

  Jagger had been Ariela’s first love. In her eyes, Jagger was her husband and yet she was more concerned about Lane Livingston and his little cocksucker than she’d been when she’d been shown evidence of Jagger spending time with Melinda?

  “I’m not asking again, bitch. Tell me what you see.”

  “Can you not see for your damned self?”

  Her captor twisted her arm behind her back until she screamed. “If I could see myself, I wouldn’t have to ask the one with increased visibility now would I?”

  She whimpered in pain, but noticed the pain quickly subsided. She swallowed then and narrowed her eyes. He was right. She had an unobstructed view. She might as well have had binoculars focused on the house. She didn’t have to wonder why they wanted her to verify the fact.

  Ariela had apparently picked up certain traits after Lane had marked her as his mate. Even though he hadn’t clai
med her as a langle’s mate, she still seemed to have noticeable enhanced gifts.

  “Please answer him, Ariela,” Alabama said.

  Clearing her throat, Ariela said, “Lane is leaning back. His hand is on top of the brunette’s head.” Her monotone voice was devoid of expression. Vocalizing Lane’s action seemed to validate what he was doing and she viewed it all as betrayal. “He’s pumping his hips away from the furniture now. His sac is slapping her chin. Maybe he’s about to come. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. I’ve never fucked him so I don’t know him well enough to determine what’s going on now.”

  “It angers her,” the prick from the left said. “She’s tense all over.”

  The man behind her had followed them to the ridge without a word. Now, he leaned over her right shoulder. “Watching the old chap makes those perky nipples throb, eh?”

  He pinched her right nipple until she whimpered. “What do you know about throbbing nipples, you jackass!” The wretched mix of pleasure and pain collided then and she was as confused by it as she had been in the past. A stranger’s hand, a menacing touch had forced her body to succumb to thoughts of fulfillment.

  Her desire had always been sort of a natural progression when she was in season. The simplest touch would provoke her need, rouse her inner lioness. The need would turn into hunger and then famished desperation.

  She gritted her teeth then thinking of what she’d give to have ten minutes alone in a room with that little bitch living inside her. The lioness within represented countless problems and existed as the insatiable part of herself that demanded more, insisted upon ridiculous amounts of pleasure.

  “Oh, I can smell that arousal now.” The man’s cheap cologne filled her senses as he cupped her breast and jiggled her fullness. “Do you want me to fuck you, lover?”

  “No,” She answered too quickly. She’d fantasized about opportunity and now she was balking at the chance for freedom? “I mean, yes.”