Captured By The Warriors

by Daniella Wright

  “It sounds more like you just enjoy power, in whatever form you get it. Maybe you'll abuse it a little, but you would never misuse it to the point where no one is happy, I think.”

  “Hmm.” George shrugs. “Perhaps. I think I'll need to work on curbing it a little, though I'm unlikely to make it fully go away.”

  The more we talk and open up about this, the closer I feel to them. I actually find myself intensely liking them as people, and it's so strange. Aren't humans meant to be monogamous?

  When a rapid knocking alerts us to someone standing outside the music room door, we all bolt into action, hastily rearranging things and hoping the room doesn't smell too much like sex, when George finally takes off the jacket from the door and opens it.

  He apologizes to the teacher, and says that he just wanted to give his friends a private session with the violin, and Peter, Dennis and I nod and smile and leave the room, under the angry glare of the teacher, with her severe gray hairbun and wrinkled face, which resembles a prune.

  We laugh to ourselves, exhilarated that we got away.

  We continue our talk after college ends for us in the library, because virtually no one goes here anyway.

  We continue meeting up often after that. Sometimes for sex sessions. Mostly so we can learn about one another.

  I listen to Dennis talk about his games and nod and smile, telling him I'm willing to try more of them out with him if he wants. I like seeing the passion he feels for them. It's sweet. Anyone with that kind of passion deserves to at least have their voice heard.

  I listen to Peter talk about his sports, and the nerve wracking pressure he always feels to perform well and not disappoint his teammates. He puts on a tough front because people are like wolves, always seeking to find out his weakness, and drag him under.

  George, on the other hand, says that he finds music relaxing, and sometimes a good substitute for when he's alone with his thoughts. He's glad to feel as he does, as he sees the way neuropaths are often crippled by their emotions, and relishes in the clear headed thinking he indulges in. He admits he knew something was different about him from an early age.

  “This is going to sound dumb,” I say, “but did you like, torture any animals?”

  “No,” George says. “I was actually kinder to animals than most kids my age. They are simple creatures, far less complex than humans. You treat them nicely and with respect, and they reward you with boundless love. Between having a creature be afraid of me or in love with me, I know which one I'd pick every time.” He doesn't seem offended by the question. He's probably used to being asked it. “I was officially diagnosed when I was about eight, and my mother put me to therapists to help me better understand why I was different and to always consider the consequences of what I do. I bet they're glad how I turned out.”

  “I'm sure,” I say. I think about my parents. How devastated must they be to see all of us here like this, to know that we actively share in deviant sexual activities together. I don't think they'd understand. But I don't like hiding it from them, either.

  “I admit I like this arrangement,” I say to them, leaning over the table to take all of them in, as if they're the most important things in the world for me at that moment. “I don't know if it can work long term. I don't really have a guide book for this kind of thing. But I like you all. I actually want to come over and play games or hang out. Obviously I like the whole sex thing, too.”

  “Me, too,” Dennis says. “I keep expecting myself to erupt in jealously or something, but I just look forward to having us all here together.”

  “Same,” Peter nods. “I try not to think about it too deep, because let's be honest. This is fucking weird.”

  We laugh. It's true.

  “I think we can compliment each other well. We can be a positive influence to one another,” George admits. “And for me as well, something like music, or something like the thrill we get from this is one of the few ways I truly feel alive. Part of the world, and not just an observer. I wouldn't mind keeping this going and seeing how our lives pan out.” He leans back in his chair. “There's simply no point worrying about the future. We might break up. Anna might fall more intensely in love with one of us. Anything can happen. What's important is what we have right now, and that we enjoy it. That's what matters. So as long as we're all okay with this, I'm happy to keep things as they are.”

  His words have a wisdom in them, a truth. I wouldn't say I'm in love with these guys. How can I be in love with people I've fantasized about for so long, and only really started getting to know them now?

  It's extremely likely I will fall in love with one, or all of them. I'm already fond. I'm already excited at the possibility of sharing more intimate moments with them.

  “It's a deal,” I say. “Let's try this out. Let's listen to each other's desires and find ways to act them out. Let's support one another. I like all of you. And I hope you like me too.”

  “We do,” George says. “Though I'd like to hear more about you and your background as well. Have you as a friend, as well as someone to act out my desires with. Is this alright with you?”

  “It's more than alright,” I say, smiling. It's something I've wanted for a long time.

  I stare at each of them, infused with excitement at the possibility of sharing my future with them. It's weird, sure, but I honestly think we can make it work. And I want to give it a try.

  We can compliment one another. We can feed each other's dark desires. Just as long as we're open and honest to one another.

  I make a sucking noise with my teeth and lips.

  Now that little notion is sorted, I need to somehow explain all this to my mother and father, because I certainly won't be able to conceal this forever.

  Or maybe I can just wait a little longer, and then cross that bridge together with my new friends and lovers.

  I'm glad Peter caught me staring outside the music room, even though it made me explode in embarrassment at first – and that they noticed me staring at them. Obviously I need to improve my staring game, so people don't see me openly drooling at them, but it worked out for the best.

  I kiss each of their lips in return, positive at the idea of beginning a new future with them.

  You never know until you try, right?

  ~*~

  PARANORMAL & SCI-FI COLLECTION

  ~*~

  Beast

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  A Secret Werewolf Romance

  Jennifer Hart is interviewing for the position of nanny to the orphaned niece of eccentric and elusive billionaire, Michael Thompson. Plied with offers of a generous salary to pay for her siblings’ college, and the chance to live in a fairy tale mansion, Jennifer accepts the interview, as well as the position when offered. While Mary Sullivan, the niece, is a bright, isolated child who Jennifer is easily able to draw out of her shell, the uncle is decidedly difficult…and devastatingly attractive.

  Meanwhile, Jennifer meets Damien, a swoon-worthy travel blogger staying in the nearby town. Damien seems ready to begin a whirl-wind romance with Jennifer. However, Damien and Michael share a secret—they are both werewolves; dangerous, wild creatures that come out after dark. As Jennifer is plunged into their world, she finds herself caught in the balance—both men claim the other is dangerous. Which one can she trust? Which one has her heart?

  * * *

  Chapter One

  I don’t know why I was out in the woods that night. I was holding a party at my brand new mansion out in the country. I had been a city slicker all of my life—I had been drawn to the peace and the quiet of the woods. Earlier, I had put up with all of my city friends, their false admiration for my wealth, my new-found prosperity. During the previous year, my tech startup had blown up, making me a newly minted billionaire. They all milled about my new country estate in their sleek, money-scented designer clothes, sipping expensive rosé and eating elaborate hors d’oeuvres. I found myself standing silently to the side, watching the parade of people t
hat I had only met because I suddenly had money. It made me feel hollow inside. So I fled my own party, heading out into the woods in the pitch darkness.

  I loved the smell of the woods—a fresh pine scent. Twigs snapped beneath my feet and pebbles dislodged from the loamy earth. I could hear the sounds of cicadas and the calls of a few night birds; the sounds of heavy footsteps and the rustling of something large in the bushes. It must be a deer, I thought to myself, standing still. The rustling continued as the animal neared, the bushes parting to reveal a large, snarling beast. It was half man and half wolf, standing erect on two legs. Its body was covered in shaggy, matted fur that stank. Its eyes glowed yellow, and it approached me. I held up my hands as though to ward it off and backed up slowly. As I backed up, I tripped over a root, falling on my back. The wolf-man pounced, attacking me at the throat. I found myself thrown through the air, falling on my face in the clearing. It attacked me again, biting at my arm as though trying to dismember me.

  Suddenly, there were the clear calls of voices—people coming in search of me. The wolf-man paused, listening, and then ran off, disappearing back into the woods. I lay still, too injured to move. I could feel myself bleeding freely from the neck and the arm, and I was injured across my torso when I had been thrown across the clearing. A flashlight cut through the clearing; a sign of a civilization that I was suddenly no longer a part of. I began to sink into unconsciousness as the familiar voices drew near.

  Chapter One

  The driver was silent in the front seat of the sleek black town car that had picked me up from the bed and breakfast that I had spent the previous night in the town of Ashford in order to be taken for my job interview with the .com billionaire, Michael Thompson. I was interviewing for the nanny position for his niece, Mary Sullivan, whose parents had been killed in a widely reported and devastating car crash approximately six months before. She had been sent to live with her uncle, who reportedly, had become a reclusive and eccentric figure after a violent animal attack in the woods several years before. The whole situation was full of intrigue—and yet, I felt hesitant when Thompson’s lawyer had shown up at my door with a suitcase full of non-disclosure agreements for me to sign before I arrived at Thompson’s elegant and picturesque mansion located several miles outside of Ashford.

  I was twenty-six, and the oldest of four children. My mother had been a party-girl and an alcoholic, so I had raised my siblings myself, beginning when I was still a child, and then legally when my mother lost custody when I was eighteen. I got a job teaching preschool, and then helped my brother and two sisters through high school. We were all working hard to get the three of them through college; Julie had started her freshman year at SUNY a few weeks earlier. I had heard about the job with Thompson a few days before. Noting the ridiculously high salary for the job of caring for and homeschooling his niece, I applied immediately.

  I watched outside of the window as the woods encroached upon the road. They seemed like something out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, as though they were trying to snap up the town car in their claw-like branches. The woods cut away to reveal the well-manicured lawns, and long, winding cypress-lined drive of Chatsworth House. The house itself was huge, with sand-colored bricks and a plethora of large windows. The town car pulled up in front of the huge, mahogany wood door. Getting out, the driver walked around to open my door for me.

  “Thank you,” I said, and he nodded silently in reply. I smoothed the skirt of my plain black sheath dress. I was dressed formally, yet simply in the dress and a matching cardigan with sensible shoes for touring the premises. I had a stocky build, so the sheath dress was really the only thing to hug my curves in an alluring way. I was pretty enough, I supposed, and wore a light amount of mascara with a touch of blush and a coral colored lip stain. My hair was a chestnut brown color, and I kept it cropped at my shoulders. My heart hammered in my chest, and my hands were sweating lightly. I was so far from home; I was so far from any type of civilization, really. The last sign of humanity had been five miles away from Thompson’s estate, and I was suddenly apprehensive. What if Thompson’s strange, elusiveness was to hide the fact that he was, in private, some type of psychopath? What if I was walking willingly right into his trap? I thought of the picture of him that I had seen in Forbes; he had been a slender man, with slightly hunched, forward leaning posture and rectangular, thick black glasses. He looked sophisticated; like a smart serial killer. I shook my head, realizing that I was letting my imagination get away with me. I blocked thoughts of a dark basement playroom filled with torture implements from my mind as I walked up to the door of Chatsworth House.

  As I reached for the bell, the door opened, and I felt my mouth drop in shock. Before me, a very different Michael Thompson was revealed. He had lost the slender, slightly weak edge to him; he was muscular, and there was a beauty to his face that is only found in predatory animals. He seemed to tower over me, his posture straight and confident. He had dark, smooth skin and heart-stoppingly blue eyes. He looked surprised to see me. He held out a large, dry hand, which I shook.

  “Michael Thompson,” he said. “I heard the car pull up.”

  “Jennifer Hart,” I replied. “Pleased to meet you.” He nodded, and gestured with a hand for me to enter. The front hallway was several stories high, with an enormous, sweeping staircase that went up to the second floor landing. It was light, airy, with dark crimson oriental carpeting. Rich oil paintings hung on the walls. I got the feeling that the decorator who Thompson had hired had wanted to make the self-made man’s living accommodations look like old money instead of new money; it was almost gothic.

  “Welcome to Chatsworth House,” he said evenly. I looked at him, and felt something inside of me set on fire. What had he done in between the picture in Forbes and today? Because he had gone from shrimp to hunk in the interim.

  “Thank you,” I replied, unsure of what to say to him.

  “Would you…would you like a tour?” he seemed highly hesitant.

  “Yes please,” I replied. He nodded, and began to follow a hallway to our mutual left. In term, I followed him. We passed several rooms: a formal parlor, a ballroom, the dining room, and the kitchen. A few doors down from the kitchen were the servants’ quarters.

  “Since it’s so far away from Ashford, I had the servants’ quarters fitted up so that anyone can stay the night instead of driving home. That was when I first moved in and expected…” he trailed off for a moment without finishing the thought. “Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked out to have anyone here. It’s too remote. A cleaning service comes once a week and any necessities are delivered. You can email my assistant, Soraya, a list of any items that you may need and she will make sure that they are provided for you. There is no cook. So, you will have to do the cooking for Mary and yourself. I can shift for myself, and Soraya takes care of her own meals. You would be provided with a room on the second floor, nearer to where Mary’s room is in case she needs you.” I nodded.

  “Will I meet Mary today?”

  “Certainly. The most important thing is that she feels comfortable with you.” He was walking on. “She has been through a lot in the past year, with losing her parents and then moving out here to live with me. I need for her to have a certain level of stability and continuity, so if you don’t think that you can make at least a several year commitment to this job, then I suggest you not go any further.” He had stopped speaking, and was studying me, waiting for my answer. I thought of the empty house where I had raised my younger siblings, now on the market since I had intended on taking any job that got me out of Ashford.

  “Absolutely,” I replied solemnly. “I raised my siblings after my mother lost custody of them. Since I was eighteen, I took them in. I can make a commitment and keep it.”

  “Where are they now?” he asked. “Your siblings.”

  “My youngest sister began college a few weeks ago.”

  “Are you paying tuition?”

  “As best as I can.” He nodded.
Seemingly satisfied, he began to walk on. We returned to the front entrance, and he led me up the grand staircase.

  “These rooms up here are mainly bedrooms. One is Mary’s room, and another is her school room.” He opened the door to a large, yellow-painted room. It was strewn with playthings. All of the educational materials were tucked neatly on to shelves. “As you can see, she’s been allowed to run a little wild in the absence of someone to educate her. You said that you taught at Ashford’s preschool?”

  “Yes. But I am fully qualified to home school a child Mary’s age.”

  “Good. You are the most qualified person for this job…actually the only person that I am interviewing at the current time. I must say, I was highly desperate. Most of the applicants were hesitant to move here permanently. We are in such an isolated place.”

  “It’s not so bad. I bet the quiet is lovely.” He looked at me, his head cocked to the side in a manner that reminded me of a dog that we had had when we were children.

  “It is very quiet here,” he said nebulously. “There are…certain rules that I like to have in place here.”

  “Understandably,” I replied.

  “You and Mary can go anywhere in the house. Most of the time, it will just be the two of you and Soraya, although Soraya lives in the carriage house out back. I spend most of my time in either my office or my suite, which is on the other side of the house on the second floor. You are never to enter.” My mind immediately returned to my thoughts of secret torture chambers. I kept my face neutral as I nodded my assent. I needed this job—desperately. Paying tuition for my three siblings was going to drain me quickly. The pay for this job and the fact that my own room and board was included would keep the Hart family afloat.

  “I can agree to those terms,” I said.