Silken Rapture: Princes of the Underground, Book 2

by BETH KERY

  “No, no, leave it…please,” she said shakily when she felt Blaise’s hand on her forearm, trying to pull away her hand. Had she cried out? The effort it took her to move her consciousness a layer lower than the Tube line caused a sweat to break out on her brow.

  She inhaled raggedly, catching her breath. There was peace in these lower strata of the earth. Peace and the sound of music. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard.

  “I hear…I hear singing,” she whispered. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “You hear the sound of the earth’s soul,” Blaise said. The sound of his voice steadied her. She shifted her fingers on the map and her consciousness moved too, as though she stood in Blaise’s study and flew at preternatural speed beneath the earth at once. Blaise shifted his hand slightly on her arm and fear leapt in her breast.

  “Don’t let go of me. Please. You’re keeping me anchored,” she said in a strangled voice. His grasp on her tightened. She inhaled with effort. “It helps.”

  “I’ve got you,” he reassured, his low, gruff voice near her ear.

  And she did feel him there with her as her mind zipped through soil and rock as though it were a dense sort of air. She moved her fingers more rapidly on the map, starting to feel claustrophobic in the absolute darkness, reaching and reaching, but never finding anything on which to fasten her awareness.

  “Help me,” she whispered to Blaise. “Think of Morshiel.”

  She gasped. He was giving her his thoughts, helping her find her target. Impressions bombarded her consciousness. His thoughts of Morshiel were startlingly sharp and precise. Before she had time to wonder at the difference in Blaise’s consciousness from that of a human’s, it was as if they dove headlong into an open space. Everything came to a jerking halt, rattling her.

  Morshiel stood naked, wearing only a leather harness around his hips and thighs, a sheathed blade at his right outer thigh, his long legs spread slightly, his buttocks exposed. She had the vague impression of two people kneeling before him, giving him oral sex. She had no time to take in much of anything else because suddenly Morshiel turned and looked directly at her with a viper-like stare.

  Blaise lifted her hand from the map and she flew from the underground chamber.

  She stood there for several seconds next to the map, dazed and panting. It took her a moment to orient herself again, the experience of flying beneath the earth and Morshiel’s sharp stare had been so real.

  “He’s below the Jubilee line. I know the approximate area,” Blaise said.

  She looked up at him. He stared at the spot below where her fingers had just been resting. It surprised her to see that sweat had gathered on his brow, as well. He really had been side by side with her, sharing in the experience. A feeling of closeness to him—of a deep connection—swelled in her breast.

  “He saw me,” she said.

  He glanced at her anxiously. “I know. I have to go. Perhaps he’ll understand his location has been discovered. If he does, he’ll pull out before we get there.”

  “Let me go with you,” she said when he started to leave. “I’ll be able to guide you with my touch once you get in the general area…help you find the entrance to his location.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  He surprised her by abruptly turning, reaching out and touching her face in a caress.

  “I would never allow it. Never. You are far, far too valuable, Isabel. Far too precious.”

  He blinked, as if he’d been surprised by his gruff outburst, before he turned and hurried out of the room. She stood motionless, staring after him for a full minute, still feeling the heat and imprint from his fingers on her cheek.

  Aubrey had quickly learned that the sweetest treat of playing the role of traitor was Morshiel’s cock. It was an uncommonly beautiful cock, and the things Morshiel could do with it were sufficient alone to commit a lifetime of betrayal.

  Presently, he was being given the privilege of sucking that cock—and it was a privilege, for Morshiel was selective about whom he chose for the pleasure. He shared this delightful duty with an uncommonly pretty mortal woman.

  When Morshiel and the several Scourge had attacked Aubrey and Isi last night just a few feet away from Aubrey’s parked livery service, Aubrey had put up the show of a fight for Isi’s sake. Once Morshiel had knocked Isi unconscious, his mood had become almost boyishly ebullient.

  They’d been in the process of stuffing Isi’s bleeding body into the back of the car when an unsuspecting woman had stepped around a stone column and seen them.

  “Take her,” Morshiel commanded one of his revenants in a careless tone as he opened the passenger door of the car.

  He’d noticed Aubrey’s uncomprehending glance. “She looks a tasty treat.”

  Aubrey doubted the brown-haired female, whose name was Chesa, had long to live, but at least Morshiel had used his ascendancy to calm and arouse her. She appeared to be completely happy as she pistoned her mouth up and down Morshiel’s large, glistening member. Aubrey enjoyed watching the lusty display, and just when his longing overwhelmed him, Morshiel would chuckle and transfer his cock to him.

  He did so now. Aubrey moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of Morshiel grabbing a handful of his hair before he thrust into his mouth. He was rougher with Aubrey than he was Chesa, bucking his hips and forcing his cockhead into Aubrey’s straining throat.

  “That’s right. Show Chesa how a man gives head,” Morshiel ordered in a tone of dark satisfaction. “Show her how you like to get it.”

  Aubrey knew how he liked it, so he gave it that way in return, making a meal out of prime cock, using his teeth occasionally in a subtle scrape that sent Morshiel to growl in a mixture of warning and bliss. He sucked until his jaws ached for it, enjoying being used to give Morshiel pleasure. He was triumphant when he felt his member swell even larger in his mouth, thirsty for come. Not because Morshiel’s semen was vitessence-rich, but because it was the tangible symbol of his satisfaction…of his power.

  Suddenly, however, Morshiel held his head fast with his grip on his hair. His cock slid from Aubrey’s vacuuming mouth, but before it did, he felt a shock go through Morshiel’s body.

  “What is it?” Aubrey asked sharply when he saw Morshiel turn his head.

  “Someone was here.”

  “What?” Aubrey asked, confused.

  “I just saw…the woman.”

  “Isabel?” Aubrey asked. He wasn’t sure how he knew to whom Morshiel referred. Perhaps it was the tinge of pure awe in Morshiel’s tone. Aubrey started to stand, alarmed and curious, but Morshiel turned quickly and pushed him back to his knees. His cock hung at an angle from his body, the swollen shaft and heavy head pulling it downward. Morshiel slid his hand along the back of it. When the woman moaned and opened red, puffy lips, he slid his cock between them.

  “Morshiel? What are you doing? What did you mean you saw Isabel?” Aubrey asked, his mind spinning. Morshiel seemed too intent on his pleasure to answer, though. He glanced around Morshiel’s flexing hip and saw only the empty chamber. Had Morshiel been hallucinating his fantasies into reality? Surely he had been, for how could Isabel be here, in this secret chamber?

  His attention fractured as a shudder went through Morshiel’s body. The woman gave a little stifled shriek, her eyes going wide, as Morshiel began to erupt. He held her long hair at her nape in a restraint and partially withdrew the convulsing member.

  “Open wide,” Morshiel said in a quiet command.

  All thoughts of alarm at Morshiel’s strange behavior were erased from Aubrey’s brain as he watched him ejaculate on the woman’s tongue. When Chesa struggled to swallow the emissions, Morshiel tightened his grip and stretched her neck back. He shuddered and another thick dollop of semen spilled into the pool. Morshiel withdrew his cock, but kept his hold on the female.

  Without thinking or waiting for permission, Aubrey leaned over and covered the woman’s mouth with his own. He kissed her deeply, sharing the spills of
their joint conquest. His intensely carnal nature made him appreciate the woman’s human warmth and flavor twining with the essence of Morshiel like few others could. He felt Morshiel’s hand in his hair as well, pushing him toward the woman. The dark chuckle above them added spice to an already exciting moment.

  By the time Morshiel tugged on his hair, Aubrey had completely lost himself in the sensual experience.

  He blinked dazedly as Morshiel abruptly released him and strode away, his long, naked body magnificent to behold.

  “We have to leave,” Morshiel said as he whisked on a pair of pants. “Blaise is coming.”

  “What? Are you mad?” Aubrey asked as he stood.

  “I’m not mad,” Morshiel barked. “I told you I saw the woman.”

  “But I thought you’d imagined it. Why did you continue to…” he waved vaguely at Chesa, who still knelt naked on the oriental carpet, her eyes shiny and dazed from arousal.

  “I was about to come,” Morshiel said, staring at Aubrey like he was stupid for even asking the question.

  Aubrey had the wherewithal to shut his gaping mouth. What right did he have to accuse Morshiel for his selfish foolishness? He’d been just as greedy. He rose and quickly dressed, intent on getting to the chamber where Isi was being kept. If they were to relocate, Aubrey’s sole focus was to make sure their captive went safely along with them.

  In addition to assuring that Blaise never caught him in Morshiel’s lair, of course.

  “Let me understand you correctly,” he said to Morshiel as he approached him. “You say you ‘saw’ Isabel. She wasn’t in her physical form, though?”

  Morshiel shook his head, scowling. “No. But it wasn’t like a dream, either. It didn’t hit me until after I’d finished coming that she seemed conscious. It was more like she was doing a remote viewing or something.”

  “She is powerful,” Aubrey murmured, thinking. “If she was conscious of what she saw—”

  “She might tell Blaise. We need to get out of here,” Morshiel finished grimly. He barked for a revenant servant as he started to leave the chamber.

  “Wait…Morshiel,” Aubrey called.

  Morshiel spun around, impatient. “Do you want Blaise to find you here, fool?” he snapped.

  “No. But what do we do with Chesa? We can’t just leave her here.”

  Annoyance flickered across Morshiel’s handsome features. “You,” he shouted when a hideous male revenant entered. This particular Scourge possessed a fogged, manic-like gaze, multiple tattoos of blood-dripping blades, long, bushy black hair, and unusually long, sharp incisors protruding over meaty lips. Morshiel pointed at Chesa, who had started to rise from her kneeling position, fear glazing her delicate features at the sight of the Scourge revenant.

  “Dinner if you want it, but make quick work of her. My clone is coming. If you linger too long over your meal, Blaise will take your head off, and good riddance to you if you allow it,” Morshiel said in a clipped tone as he strode out of the chamber.

  “I’ll retrieve our prisoner,” Aubrey called after Morshiel, referring to Isi who remained heavily sedated. Aubrey had managed to get a great deal of information out of Isi, not by torture, which he found to be crude and ineffective. Instead, he’d used a mixture of drugs concocted in his laboratory and his own very powerful brand of telepathic control. He knew of only a handful of beings—human or otherwise—who could have resisted his mind invasion.

  When Aubrey mentioned Isi, Morshiel paused, shrugged impatiently and stalked away, obviously intent on escape. Aubrey wasn’t surprised. He’d shared only a small portion of the valuable information Isi had imparted with Morshiel. Morshiel obviously didn’t have much faith in the value of Aubrey’s plans.

  Those truths were nuggets of pure gold, and they were Aubrey’s treasure.

  He started to follow Morshiel, noticing the Scourge revenant had latched a crazed, hungry gaze on Chesa. The sound of Chesa screaming behind him was abruptly silenced by a loud, harsh growl. Aubrey paused, wincing in regret. The woman’s taste still lingered in his mouth. But so did Morshiel’s, and there was little doubt which flavor signified power.

  He left the chamber, intent on retrieving Isi and fleeing for his life.

  Blaise rallied every Literati available at Sanctuary for the attack beneath the Jubilee line. Whoever didn’t immediately respond to his telepathic command was left behind, however. Absolute haste was required if they were going to have a chance of saving Isi.

  Unfortunately Blaise could think of no other way to access the portion of the Jubilee tunnel he sought without using the public entrance. He paused before a flight of steps, eighteen of the Literati crowding around him.

  “It’s rush hour. The platform is going to be packed,” he murmured softly as dozens of harried-looking people rushed past the group of them, some casting annoyed glances their way, others curious ones. They likely made an odd assemblage, nineteen men blocking the steps, their warrior status sensed if not seen by some perceptive humans. “Plan to use your ascendancy to cloak us from the crowd’s awareness. We can’t wait for the eastbound train to leave and the platform to be cleared. We need to move immediately. Morshiel is close. I sense him below. When we reach the platform, all of you wait while I scout the tunnel for the entrance I’m looking for. As soon as I find it, I’ll signal for you to follow.”

  The men nodded. A moment later, they strode into the ultramodern Southwark underground tube station. Blaise concentrated hard on encouraging the hoard of people’s gazes to bounce right off their group, making it so the image of them didn’t stick in human consciousness. They passed the waiting crowd without incident. No one uttered a word of surprise when Blaise leapt down into the dark tunnel.

  “I’m guessing you have about two minutes before the train comes,” David Kwan said quietly, kneeling on the platform.

  Blaise nodded and ran down the tunnel, intent on finding the elusive entrance to Morshiel’s hidey-hole. It took him longer than he liked to locate the circular opening at the base of the tunnel. In the distance, he heard the train approaching. He sent a terse telepathic command and concentrated on opening the inch-thick metal door.

  “Twenty seconds,” David said calmly from beside him a moment later. They were long used to working in the tunnel and avoiding oncoming trains. Blaise jerked up the grate with a grunt. It’d been soldered shut. In the distance, he heard the voice on the train loudspeaker announcing the stop.

  “Down,” Blaise growled.

  Literati after Literati dropped into the dark hole. He could tell by the sound of boots hitting metal that the men were grabbing on to a ladder. Blaise went last, scooting the grate back into place a second before the train roared over his head, thundering over them like an angry god. He reached, gauging the width of the hole in the darkness. The tunnel stretched behind him, the length of a man’s body.

  He descended a crude ladder consisting of metal rings spaced approximately two and a half feet apart. It was easy for the Literati to navigate, with their unusual strength and agility, but it would have been awkward and dangerous for a human. Adrenaline surged into his veins.

  “The Scourge fashioned this tunnel and ladder,” he told all of the Literati at once with his mind. “Be ready, because they aren’t going to be far off when we reach the bottom of this—”

  He broke off immediately when the scent of sulfur, blood and death entered his nose.

  “They’re here,” he told the Literati before he shoved himself back to the wall farthest from the ladder and dropped, free-falling two hundred feet past the backs of his men. He thrust out his feet at the last second, grinding the toes of his boots into the sides of the very bottom of the vertical tunnel, holding himself at a standstill, his legs nearly in splits. He gripped the handle of his heartluster in his hand.

  A prowler was just below him. He saw its ugly head go around. It had caught his scent and was trying to ascertain his direction. Any second it would release a shriek of warning to its peers.


  He landed with a jarring thud on a dirt-packed floor in a cavern. The prowler had moved aside as he’d dropped. Before he had a chance to consider his surroundings, the prowler—a revenant in the form of a large, hairless, cat-like creature—pounced. Its claws ripped into his chest, causing a sensation like acid burning away at skin. Blaise barely had time to place his hands on either side of the feline skull and prevent five-inch incisors from ripping off his face. For a few seconds, they remained almost motionless in a mortal struggle, straining sinew against flexing beast-muscle. Hot, foul breath brushed against his face. Blaise stared directly into the prowler’s yellow and black eyes and engaged in a mental battle as much as a physical one. After what seemed like hours to Blaise, but was probably only five or ten seconds, he gritted his teeth and used all of his strength to heave the beast off him. It let out a bloody bawl, the sound bouncing eerily off the tunnel walls. The unholy sound was cut off abruptly when Blaise slashed upward in one fluid motion.

  The prowler’s head fell to the dirt floor with a thud.

  “More are coming. The prowler’s shriek warned them,” he told Grady Ellison, who had just leapt into the chamber in wolf-form. “Cover me while I look for Isi.”

  A sluggish underground stream trickled several feet to the left of him. In the distance, two smoking torches attached to metal brackets lit a narrow tunnel. He saw the shadowed forms of fleeing revenants. He glanced back as two bloodboars and three canids charged into the chamber from the opposite end. He recognized Morshiel’s rear guard. Twice the number of Literati had already descended, however, each of them transformed into their wolf-selves.

  They could fend for themselves admirably, Blaise decided as he charged down the tunnel toward the fleeing figures. He heard shrieks and growls and the sound of bodies thudding against the tunnel walls echoing behind him.