Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  Her body vigorously took care of the up and down motions, while Brynmore found the spot and kept thrusting to it. “Fuck it, Kit,” he hissed through his gritted teeth. “Say fuck.”

  “Fuck!” she cried, panting with exertion and a building climax. “Oh, fuck me, fuck me!”

  “Aye!” he charged hoarsely. “So fucking good!”

  Brynmore unclenched his eyelids to watch Kit in the flickering moonlight. God, she was magnificent, with her breasts lurching as they were captured in the frenzy of fucking. He listened to the direction of her rising orgasm in her shriller moans. His prick heard it too with his seed beginning to burn ecstasy up the shaft. He did not catch Kit’s moment of climax exactly, yet her cunty convulsing around his prick sucked his ejaculation to gut-wrenching bliss moments later. Through the explosion going on in his brain and body, he heard Kit careen with the sound of another orgasm following right behind the first. Just the act of his seed filling her had sent her over the top again.

  Inappropriate or appropriate, he laughed with pure pleasure between the bellows his lungs used to try and catch his breath. Kit’s breasts piled into his chest as she sank onto him. “By all the saints, I love you, Kit lass,” Brynmore managed between breaths.

  He could barely believe he’d said it. It shocked him that it came tumbling out of him like that. He knew it was true. It was a moment of pure honesty, however he never clearly intended to just say it. Then out of the blue, of the little world that they’d shaped in the last few moments, they came jolting back to reality as the carriage came to a bouncing halt.

  “Oh lord,” Kit exclaimed, rising from his chest.

  Brynmore could see the beginnings of sudden panic setting in. He felt it too, but then abruptly it came to him. “Dinna get riled, lass,” he said. “That is what they do here. They have unbridled sex all over the place!”

  Kit’s eyes blinked at him, the moment suspended, and then she laughed. He picked it up with her laughing too. They gazed at each other like mischievous children. Their startled and nervous energy loosening with mirth. Then Kit sobered a bit, lifting her hand to his cheek. “Bry, I just need you to know that I love you too.”

  They had no time to explore the new revelations. They both knew it, but he had to say, “Tell me that whatever we do in the future, we do it together.” Urgency filled his voice. “Say it, love.”

  “Yes, Bry, yes,” she exclaimed softly, then she kissed him soundly, sealing the vow.

  Their lips parted, and he said with more confidence than he’d felt since the beginning of the mission. “Let’s finish this, lass.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Kit noticed right away that the temple, “The great God Bacchus has built,” there on earth for Lord Hellion, as one of the inductees called it, was nothing like The Satyr Whip Club. The entire ambiance and attitude of the assembled members was completely different. Theirs was one of intense worshiping as opposed to the freedom of sexual frenzy that The Satyr Club had contained. Although the trappings of the old church had been turned to pagan devices that were overtly sexual and lewd, actually violent. The attendees were cloaked in robes and reverently silent with an aura of great anticipation.

  Kit held small hopes that no public sexual display by her or Brynmore would be needed tonight as they filed in with others moving to gather in the dimly lit pagan temple.

  “Greetings. You’re Lord Duneagan and his pet?”

  Kit turned to the strangely accented voice. Her gaze met only a chest covered in a brown robe. She looked up, then up again, finally lighting on a man’s black face. He was huge and he had a gold pin through his nose.

  “Aye, we are,” Brynmore nodded, even he had to crane his neck.

  “My Master requests you watch the ceremony from a privileged place and will speak to you afterward. Please follow me.” The soft quality of the black man’s voice belied his size.

  They followed Hellion’s mammoth black servant to an enclosed place in front of the stage which held the dais. Right next to a phallus jutting from a two-story high statue of a black-onyx Satyr. There were no seats, people stood, and Kit noticed the people hidden in their hooded robes were swaying. The black servant left them there and moved off toward the back of the temple. Next came a hooded person with a tray of small silver goblets. Each cult member took one, drinking the contents down in one gulp, then setting the empty goblet back on the tray.

  Kit peeked from beneath the hood of her robe, up at Brynmore. She did not want to drink, being suspicious of the contents and she knew he did not either. She watched Brynmore take a goblet, lifting it in his hand as she hesitated reaching for one.

  “We will keep them,” Brynmore said curtly, nodding arrogantly to the servant. Silence met this response, with only the hint of a chin seen from the depth of the hood on the servant’s bowed head. Kit held her breath, but then the servant moved on without a word.

  “I’ll not be drinking this,” Brynmore proclaimed under his breath. “Find a way to get rid of it with no one noticing.”

  Kit made a small sound of agreement as she lifted the goblet to her lips pretending to take a sip. She glanced around trying to figure out a way to secretly get rid of the liquid. She felt a movement beside her, turning her gaze she saw Brynmore bending forward slightly and she looked lower. She saw the liquid hit the stone flooring, spreading out slightly. Then, he stepped over it. His robes encompassed the wet spot and he winked at her from beneath his hood.

  She held back her smile, remembering some of Nia and Radford’s instructions that the best deceptions were the simplest ones. Kit wished that were so with Hellion, however she knew the elaborate scheme they were trying to set up to stop him was anything but simple. It was going to take daring, perfect timing, and a great deal of acting to accomplish. Another thing Radford had told her was she had to remember the difference between the facts she was aware of hidden schemes, while the victim was unaware. He said that ninety percent of the time they never knew what had hit them.

  A gong sounded, lifting Kit’s gaze to the stage where torches washed its central expanse in light. Unlike the audience arena which was cast in dimness. Kit took up swaying with the rest of the cult members as her insides tightened. None of them really knew what to expect. This would be the first cult ceremony any of them had seen, besides the one Joelle and Saxon had been in. The Archangels had speculated and agreed that ceremony had been unique, with Hellion’s intentions of madly ascending to become a God. Now, none of them could imagine fully what type of ceremony Hellion might perform with the intentions of binding the masses under his spell. An orgy, a virginal sacrifice or Hellion spouting his mad ravings had all been bandied forth and speculated upon, but no one knew for certain.

  Kit nearly jumped backward when Hellion rushed out onto the stage, nearly as though he flew, with his arms outstretched and his white cloak billowing outward like wings on either side of him. Immediately behind him, Kit saw two big black male attendants pushing out a large cross set on a square base with wheels.

  What happened in the next interminable hour or longer was a series of traumatic events to Kit’s mind. She saw it all clutching Brynmore’s hand, hearing all Hellion’s insane, but hypnotizing diatribes of his convoluted visions of godly rhapsodies. For her, the entire events unfolding seemed to collect like a nightmare. Horrors blinking in and out of her mind. Perhaps it was the only way she could accept it and still stay standing. In between her careening thoughts, she fought with everything she possessed not to think about the fact that this could have happened to Clay. No! She could not allow herself to believe that, she would not go there as she and Brynmore witnessed the true abominations of Hellion for the first time.

  Brynmore clenched his fist, gritting his teeth, wondering whether he could actually stand by and watch Hellion kill the young man on stage. The images seemed to come in short epochs, blinking one after the other, always with Hellion’s voice booming its blasphemous filth.

  First an obviously unwilling and naked y
oung man was forced, struggling onto the stage. He was forced to the cross and tied there, begging to be let go. That desperate pleading seeming to feed the depraved masses. Then next came watching the black attendants slice the young man’s wrists on Hellion’s instructions. Then they held up golden chalices under the dripping blood, collecting the very life flowing from the terror-stricken man.

  Blinking sweat from his eyes, Brynmore next saw Hellion manipulating the dying young man’s cock in a form of masturbation. Around them the cult members hummed chants while Hellion screamed in frenzies about the power of sex in life and death. As much as the young man struggled, he still became hard and Hellion forced a sweating ejaculation from him into another chalice. The force of the ejaculation increased his blood pumping faster from his body, flowing swifter from his wrists. Brynmore huffed, while his body twitched beneath the tight restraint he forced against it. His mind screamed repeatedly that if he acted now he would ruin the chances of capturing Hellion. Hellion would get away to do this over and over again. Still, it nearly was not enough conviction to let an innocent life perish before him as he watched Hellion mix the man’s seed with his blood in another chalice. This chalice Hellion raised, staring at it with a maniacal gleam in his pink eyes, and he drank from it as the crowd’s chanting rose in excitement.

  Fiends, murderers, perverts shouted through Brynmore’s mind as Kit started to move and he had to forcibly tug her back. They would be mobbed if they tried to stop it.

  “Blood!” Hellion shouted, looking straight at Brynmore. “I know the blood!” he hissed, communicating his insanity to Brynmore.

  Then the gong sounded with Hellion shouting his crazed endings to his ceremony through three more gong soundings, before it all finally fell silent on the filth. The torches around the stage went out as if by magic and Brynmore saw the black attendants rolling the young man off the stage. Unconscious or dead, how could he live with himself, Brynmore wondered, as Kit curled into him, both of them heedless of where they were or who would see them.

  Ash stood enfolded in a thick-hooded brown robe behind the stage as Hellion marched past him. Hellion stopped, not turning to face him, but saying to Ash, “You, and your father, Lord Rushborn, we will all meet, Lord Duneagan. I will find a way to meet the Prince and where is that bitch Dame Baset? Get your father and come now!” Hellion finished, then he continued stalking away.

  Ash watched Hellion leave through slitted eyelids and the moment Hellion disappeared he unwound his body and moved into action. He just prayed that he’d not gambled too long and he would be able to save the young man’s life. As Ash moved toward trying to save the young man hoping no one would discover his intervention, he wondered again at his own twisted morality. He did not have the right to pray, but he did hope that the Archangels could put an end to this madness.

  Brynmore realized that both he and Kit were trembling, in the next moment he became aware that the people around them were beginning to engage in sexual orgies. Some of them, it appeared, were passing around and drinking the vile concoction of blood and semen Hellion had made. Brynmore’s stomach turned over, and for the first time in his life in the midst of a mission, he wanted to flee. Only one thing halted that urge inside him, his rage and determination to get Hellion. “Let’s get the bastard,” he growled into Kit’s ear.

  He also hoped to bolster Kit with purpose over their horror. They had several seconds to gather their resolve, when before them once again stood one of Hellion’s black attendants. “The Master would see you now.”

  Glancing at Kit’s face, Brynmore could see she looked fierce and he knew she had the same rage inside her that she’d had the moment she first looked at Hellion. He knew he had to be careful however, in an odd way, he was glad he had a task to work on. Without the attendant ahead of them noticing, Brynmore tugged Kit’s hand sharply until she looked at him as they continued walking. Line for line, he stared at her, boring into her mind his sympathy and cautions. Without using words, he spoke to her with his gaze until she gained her control back. Finally she nodded, raising her hand to stroke his jaw once, quickly, but with meaning. Her returning gaze told him everything he needed to know. They were one again, of the same mind, and they were going to play these last scenes with all the heart and artifice they could muster.

  The black attendant led them to a richly attired sitting room within Lord Rushborn’s mansion. When the attendant led them inside, Brynmore saw Hellion, an uncloaked Lord Rushborn and, peeking his sharp instincts immediately, he saw a robed figure like the one that had been beside Hellion that night at The Satyr Whip Club.

  Brynmore finally asked the question to himself. Who was this? However, Hellion was in a self-proclaimed omnipotent frenzy that distracted his inner questions. It seemed Hellion was riding a high on his own self-importance as he stalked around the room with his white cloak billowing and his voice vociferating.

  “Power, Lord Duneagan, power is what I offer you and your intimates! The power to touch Gods! To speak to them! You feel it, do you not? In the power of the blood!”

  Brynmore opened his mouth to speak, unsure what he might say to the frenzied Hellion as he and Kit tried to stay out of Hellion’s lurching path, a path that kept Brynmore from getting any type of look at the hooded figure’s face. It was man though, he was sure the build was that of a man. Before he could say anything, Hellion continued. “It flows in me now, Lord Duneagan! Let me show you my power!”

  Alarms struck Brynmore as he glanced at Lord Rushborn, sitting stooped in a chair. He was a very old man with rum-glazed eyes locked on Hellion in some crazed worshiping way. Brynmore immediately wondered if Hellion were drugging Lord Rushborn as he braced himself for Hellion’s newest power play.

  “My powerful visions say that you have come here tonight with an invitation that your patron implores me to meet him!” Hellion announced, with crackling flourish, as if he were revealing world changing prophecies.

  Brynmore tried not to rock back on his heels in astonishment as Kit reacted by going down on her knees bowing before Hellion’s still-agitated claims of irrepressible power around the room. Brynmore couldn’t believe the stroke of luck that had just fallen into their plans so completely and because he was unsure how to act, he partially followed Kit’s lead by exclaiming, “Amazing!”

  Hellion barely seemed to hear him, perched upon the deity-high he was emulating. “And my power tells me that it is the Prince of Wales! He begs to see me!” Hellion proclaimed. “How can I know that if the Gods do not speak to me?”

  This was too good to be true, Brynmore thought, nearly afraid to follow it and take full advantage of it. He’d come there tonight with what he believed would be a difficult task. That task was to make Hellion believe that the Prince of Wales, through his emissary Brynmore, was ordering Hellion’s presence before him. Now Hellion, riding higher in madness after his ceremony, was creating delusions that were eerie. It sent a shiver through Brynmore that some supernatural occurrence was actually happening.

  Immediately, he quelled that notion as ridiculous, it was simply coincidence and luck, not some power Hellion really had. Of course, he never believed in coincidence, but this time he would make an exception. Whatever was happening, without any reasons of why or how, he had to follow it.

  “Then, my great lord,” Brynmore began, inwardly wincing at having to use such genuflections to Hellion’s ego. “You will be knowing that I am to take you to him right now.”

  Brynmore held his breath. “Of course!” Hellion announced, then he turned, finally stopping his agitated movements. “Where is, Dame Baset, you were with her and she deserves not to miss this?”

  Brynmore was glad he had a ready answer for that one. It had been discussed. “Aye, you will be pleased to know she waits, all ready with the Prince, for you to arrive. Tis on her assurances I came here knowing you would grace the Prince’s curiosity with your presence.”

  “Excellent!” Hellion proclaimed. “We leave now for this momentous occasion
. Lord Rushborn, my generous and faithful supporter, and his son, will accompany us for this historic event.”

  Rushborn’s son? Brynmore had watched Hellion’s hand sweep toward the aloof hooded figure as he included the title, “Rushborn’s son.” Hellion swept from the room, Brynmore hesitated, bending as though to adjust his boot top, trying to catch a look at the hooded figure’s face, but he was unable to.

  However, when Kit rose to follow beside him, she whispered, “I saw glasses beneath the hood.”

  Brynmore nodded, and on the way out of Rushborn’s mansion, he signaled that the game was now afoot, to Harrison who was hidden and waiting for just that purpose. The Archangels first plan had been to try for today, however they had further bogus planned meetings between the Prince and Hellion if this one had failed to move Hellion into participating.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Brynmore sat uncomfortably in the elaborately adorned carriage with Hellion and Rushborn across from him and the mysterious Rushborn’s son conveniently beside him. That this, “son,” had picked the position he did to sit in, was too convenient, because Brynmore still could not obtain a good look at him. It was going to be a long and excruciating ride in such close proximity to Hellion, but he was relieved to see that some of Hellion’s deity-aspiring adrenaline had worn off. He was also glad that when he’d told Hellion, his pet would not be accompanying them because the Prince had no interest in having her at the meeting, Hellion had accepted it easily. Kit had known that was the plan. Brynmore knew even as much as Kit wanted revenge on Hellion that after witnessing the ceremony and the aftermath she was grateful not to be included. He’d seen it in her eyes when he’d roughly kissed her goodbye sending her on her way to their own carriage. Time for a brief second for her to whisper, “Be careful, love, I will be waiting for you.”