Rose's Rapture: Lords of the Night, Book Two

by Jordan Summers

  Rachel began walking. It was impossible to be quiet with loose gravel beneath her feet, so she left the lighter on. She stopped every few yards to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the pounding of her heart. The sound of water dripping was getting louder. The tunnel eventually opened up into a larger chamber. Rachel read the sign above the door. It was written in French.

  ‘Arrete! C’est ici l‘empire de la mort.’

  It was easy enough to translate: Stop! This is the empire of the dead.

  “Terrific,” she murmured, half expecting someone to cue horror music.

  Rachel stepped through the archway into a nightmare. Walls of human remains rose from the floor nearly touching the ceiling. Faces of people who’d lived long ago stared at her from empty eye sockets, their bones neatly arranged in macabre designs around their skulls.

  Suddenly the room was too warm. Rachel pulled at her scarf as her heart slammed into her ribs. The freak had lured her into the catacombs. There were miles of tunnels down here, according to the brochures she’d picked up in the airport. No one would hear her scream this far below the surface. They wouldn’t even find her body, if he didn’t want it to be found. So much for discovering his hiding place and reporting it to the police. She had to get out of here.

  Rachel took a step back—right into a hard male body. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. For a moment, fear kept her paralyzed, then panic set in. A large pale hand covered her mouth before Rachel could draw breath and scream. Her lighter burnt her fingers and she dropped it, plunging them into darkness.

  She elbowed the man and tried to smash his nose with her head, but only succeeded in hitting his chest. Rachel braced, expecting a fist to the face. The man made no attempt to strike her. Why should he? He had her right where he wanted her.

  A warm breath brushed her neck. His jagged teeth flashed in her mind. He was going to bite her just like he’d bitten the woman and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him.

  “No.” The plea came out garbled behind his hand, but Rachel knew he understood. “Don’t.” She jerked her head and only succeeded in hurting herself.

  “Stop fighting,” he hissed, tightening his grip.

  Her breath rushed past his long fingers as she bit him.

  “Ow, stop that!” He pressed his face closer.

  Rachel tensed and began to tremble as she waited to feel the slice of those fake fangs on her flesh. The pain never came. Heat from the body holding her began to sink into her bones. A moment later firm lips brushed her earlobe and she quivered. What was he playing at?

  Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled. “American. Figures,” he said with distaste in a low French accent. “You must have a death wish, mademoiselle.”

  * * * * *

  THE ARRIVAL: ATLANTEAN’S QUEST BOOK ONE-excerpt

  Prologue

  The jungle air was thick and repressive, palpable to the taste. Like a living entity it vibrated and pulsed with an energy all its own. Animal cries rang out as predator met prey in a violent exchange that played out night after night.

  A small pot set in a clearing boiled with pungent herbs and the flesh of the mighty anaconda. Steam hissed, thick fumes of smoke bellowed, wood burned, popping as each piece of kindling was snatched up by the ravenous flame.

  The woman, known as Ariel the seer, stood over the crackling fire stirring the contents of the pot. Visible through the sheer material of her earthen skirt, firm muscles in her lithe legs strained. Sweat beaded her delicate brow.

  With each swirling pass of the spoon, Ariel’s ample breasts bobbed. Rose-colored nipples marbled from exposure to the warm night air, begging to be caressed and suckled. Long blonde hair fell in loose waves around her trim waist and over her rounded hips. Her aqua gaze fell trancelike upon the brew in search of the elusive vision.

  Eros stood to the side of the seer, his massive arms crossed over his wide hairless chest, expanding his biceps to inhuman proportions. He’d braided his blond hair in the ceremonial custom of his people, divided into two plaits that fell to the small of his back. His breathing was even, despite the nervous energy coursing through his muscle-corded body, as he waited for the seer’s vision to form.

  Ariel gestured for Eros to come forward. Tonight the medicine must be stronger. I need your seed to add to the brew.

  The words came into his head on a whisper. Such was the way of Atlantean communication. Unquestioning, Eros untied his loincloth, allowing it to fall away from his trim waist and thick thighs.

  The night air taunted like a dream-lover’s caress, promising much, delivering little. A faint breeze spilled over his rod, rustling the crisp curls that grew at the base. He reached down to take himself in hand, but the seer stopped his movement with a light touch of her fingertips.

  I must be the one who brings your seed forth this night, for the ritual to be complete.

  Eros nodded and dropped his hands to his sides. The seer stepped forward and cupped his heavy sac in her soft palms, transferring his weight back and forth until balance was achieved. Her gentle touch brought forth the desired results. His staff hardened, lengthening to its full ten inches within seconds.

  At once, she slipped to her knees impaling her mouth with his throbbing cock. Her lips were hot, moist, made for giving pleasure. He sucked in a breath, but said nothing. Ariel began swirling her tongue around the head of his staff, like she’d done so many times before when he’d sought relief. Her hands gently massaged his balls, supping at him as if he were her first meal after a long starvation.

  Eros gave his body up to the pleasurable sensation and closed his eyes, imagining what it would feel like to thrust into his future mate. Like a siren of the sea, the warmth of the seer’s mouth urged, beckoned, and lured the seed from him. He felt his sac draw up as Ariel added pressure and switched to sucking, sliding her hand up and down his thick cock.

  As he started to ejaculate, Ariel pulled away, ensuring he spilled his essence into the strange mixture bubbling within the pot. Eros jerked as the last of his fluids were milked from his body.

  Ariel returned to the pot as if nothing had occurred and stirred a couple more times. Her eyes intense, focused, waiting.

  Excitement filled her mind, spilling over into Eros. She comes, my King. Her arrival heralds the new dawn of our people.

  Eros lowered his gaze in respect. Are you certain? He normally never questioned the seer, yet tonight he had no choice. Her vision must be true.

  For his sake. For the sake of his people.

  Ariel hesitated, clearing the smoke from around the gurgling pot with a wave of her slender hand. ‘Tis true. She will arrive within seven moonrises. ‘Tis more than enough time to bring her here and perform the mating ritual. Remember, you must not join with her until the ceremony has been completed.

  Aye, he answered silently.

  Wait. She stilled, her eyes widened a bit and her breath caught. You must use caution, for she does not travel alone.

  Eros stiffened, rage coursing through his body. Do you see her with a mate?

  The seer’s mouth held the trace of a smile. His heart pounded painfully against his ribcage. It should not matter to him whether the woman had chosen a mate, but the ice forming in his veins said it did.

  Nay. Ariel shook her head. But she is in danger from one who is very near.

  His stomach clenched. His hands fisted so tight he half expected to hear bones breaking. I will not allow any harm to come to her.

  Eros raised his head to the heavens. After all the waiting, his mate was finally coming. He had almost given up hope. But tonight Ariel had seen her. He could barely believe his good fortune.

  Soon, he too would lay eyes on his future mate. Until then, there was much to do.

  All is as it should be. Eros looked into the seer’s face and nodded. You have done your part, now ‘tis time for me to do mine. Be well, Ariel the seer. He dropped to his knees before her, kissing each bare nipple reverently as was custom, then rose and sli
pped into the darkness.

  Be well, my King.

  * * * * *

  Rachel was back in the jungle—naked. Monkeys chattered and parrots screeched as she lay on a soft bed of grass in the small clearing. The blades tickled her bottom and stroked her shoulders as a breeze gently rustled them. Water gurgled and splashed playfully in the background, calling out for those around to join in its merriment. She considered answering its call, but she couldn’t seem to sit up. The smell of exotic orchids wafted on the breeze, perfuming the air, bathing her skin with their luscious scent.

  Suddenly all sound stopped. Even the leaves refused to whisper.

  Rachel’s heart began to pound, a combination of excitement and fear. Her rosy nipples stabbed skyward.

  He was here.

  Silent footfalls heralded his approach. Shadows from the trees shifted like a mirage as he strode toward her. Flawlessly muscled, his body chiseled perfection.

  Rachel gasped and tried to get a glimpse of his face, but before she could do so, a strange shadowy light filtered over him obscuring his features.

  She knew she should scream, but the sight of this stranger’s body and his mammoth cock made her mouth water, her legs tremble, and her insides ache. It had been far too long since she’d had a man, and she wanted this one, more than she wanted her next breath. She raised her arms to reach for him, but he pulled back.

  Rachel cursed.

  The man kneeled between her thighs and pressed them apart, exposing her. The shadows around his face refused to budge. He lowered his head and lapped at her swollen folds. Every nerve ending came alive, as his seeking tongue sent shockwaves through her body. She was already wet. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out on her skin, her nipples puckered even tighter. Rachel moaned, low and deep—animal-like.

  Fuck me, please, she begged in her mind as she attempted to shift her hips.

  He did not answer.

  She heard his labored breath as he rose and positioned the head of his great cock at her entrance. He smelled of earth, spice and sex incarnate. A heady human aphrodisiac of male testosterone and primal urges. Rachel bucked her hips, nudging, encouraging, and pleading for his thick length. Didn’t he realize how much she needed him?

  He groaned. His large frame shook as if grasping for control.

  She felt the pressure as he started to push the tip of his thick erection inside, stretching her body beyond its limits. The moisture from her channel eased his way. Rachel whimpered, trying to find the words to ask for what she needed, but before a single syllable was uttered he vanished.

  “Noooo!” The scream died on Rachel’s lips as she jackknifed up in her bed. She blinked a couple of times and her apartment came into focus. Her body was drenched and her breathing ragged. The sheets were twisted around her ankles, effectively binding her to the bed. She looked around her studio apartment. The man was gone and her clit ached.

  She’d been having the same erotic dream every night for the past month. Shadowy, elusive—downright frustrating, like the man in it. Rachel snorted and shook her head. She thought about him as if he were real.

  She kicked the covers away and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Rachel padded into the bathroom, her bare feet echoing off the hardwood floors. There was no way she could go back to sleep without a good orgasm.

  The buzz of her vibrator and her own soft moans rang out in the night’s silence as she brought herself to climax while she imagined being fucked by the jungle god.

  * * * * *

  Find more of Jordan Summers’ paranormal tales at

  www.JordanSummers.com