Sarita whimpered in terror. The beast raked his claws across one breast, leaving a trail of red behind. His powerful buttocks flexed as he tried to impale the girl with his hugely swollen penis. The courtesan struggled beneath him, desperate to avoid that terrible weapon. He’d tear her apart if he succeeded in forcing that rod into her body.
All this happened in a matter of seconds, but to Cecily it seemed much longer. The sensation of temporal dilation was familiar from her martial arts practice. She considered her options with clarity and precision, every detail and nuance of the situation obvious to her heightened consciousness. If the beast was flesh and blood—as he certainly seemed to be, given that enormous erection—she could employ a Tibetan tserchok manoeuvre to temporarily disrupt his nerve function. On the other hand, she didn’t want to endanger Sarita. At the moment the creature appeared focused on sexual satisfaction, but if her blow fell even a millimetre off target, Pratan’s lust might change to murderous rage.
Somehow she had no doubt the beast was Pratan, transformed by the dead queen’s curse. Perhaps it was the lush, jet-coloured locks that tumbled down his back. Perhaps it was his wild ferocity as he attempted to fuck the woman trapped beneath him. In any case, that complicated matters. She needed to help poor Sarita, but she didn’t want to do permanent damage to the handsome brigand, if only to save her own skin. Amir would scarcely be sympathetic if she killed his brother.
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and come to a decision. As she moved, the silver ornaments dangling from her ears brushed her neck. Silver! Immediately Cecily recalled her hermeneutic studies, in particular the fact that silver was anathema to most shape-shifters. Of course, Pratan was a special case…but she did not have time to ponder the alternatives and the risks.
Drawing the silver wire from her pierced lobe, she rose to her knees. He still had not succeeded in penetrating Sarita, who rolled weakly back and forth while he stabbed his pelvis in the general direction of her slit. Gripping her shoulders, he tried to hold her still. His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of his prey.
Slightly behind him, out of his direct line of sight, Cecily leant forward, considering where best to strike. His hard muscles would simply bend the thin needle of silver. Finally, taking a deep breath, she brought the bauble to his neck, just below his ear, and pricked the tender skin.
The beast that was Pratan roared and reared back on his haunches. His eyes were smouldering coals as he fixed them on Cecily’s face. He reached for her, jaws dripping, talons painted with Sarita’s blood. Cecily twisted away, aware that she was too close to escape.
Then, just as she was anticipating the pain of his fangs entering her flesh, Pratan slumped into an unconscious heap. For a moment he lay there, still and monstrous. Then he began to shift back to his human form. His distorted muzzle receded and his handsome features reappeared. His gnarled paws became hands. The black hair that had covered the beast melted away, leaving only the familiar curly patches on his chest and at his groin. His massive erection shrank to more human proportions, though his cock was still engorged.
The highwayman prince lay naked on the library floor, his eyes closed, his face peaceful and composed. He might as well have been sleeping. Indeed, it might all have been a dream, save for the bleeding, naked young woman stretched out beside him.
Cecily helped Sarita to a sitting position. The sobbing girl clung to her, apparently in shock.
“Shh… It’s all over, Sarita. Don’t worry, no one is going to hurt you…”
“Oh, by the gods…”
Cecily rocked the other woman, stroking her long, silky hair and murmuring comforting nonsense. She was acutely aware of Sarita’s scent, a mix of orange blossoms and sandalwood. She could smell Pratan on the girl’s skin, too, a wild animal musk familiar from her own coupling with him, but far more potent owing to his beast form. Despite their near escape, or perhaps because of it, her nipples pebbled under her blouse. The beast’s lust had been fearsome and disgusting, inspiring only horror, but now, triggered by relief at their safety, she felt a stir of arousal between her thighs.
Sarita inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, and released her hold. She fixed her eyes on Cecily’s. Cecily wondered if the courtesan could sense the signals of her growing excitement.
“Thank you… Thank you for saving me.”
Cecily shrugged. “Amir would never have let me go if I had allowed you to come to harm.”
“The beast—Lord Pratan—was busy with me. You could have run.”
“Really? Run where? Unless you’re willing to remove this collar, I’m a prisoner here in the fortress.” She paused, searching the other woman’s eyes for some encouragement. “Of course, if you’d be kind enough to take it off…”
Sarita’s eyebrows knotted into a frown. She was tempted, Cecily could tell, eager to rid herself of a perceived rival and acquit a debt of gratitude at the same time.
Cecily lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “No one would ever know it was you. You could spread the story that I seduced one of the guards…”
Duty and duplicity battled in Sarita’s lovely face. “No,” she finally replied, with a sigh of obvious regret. “I cannot disobey my Lord—not even to be rid of you.” The hint of a smile ghosted across her ripe mouth. “I’m sorry, Cecily.”
Cecily’s disappointment was tempered by genuine admiration for the gorgeous, loyal courtesan. “Your Lord is a very lucky man, Sarita.”
“Ugh-ah…” A strangled cry from Pratan interrupted them. “What in Vishnu’s garden…? Cecily? Sarita?”
He might change again. Cecily pulled Sarita to her feet and backed them both towards the door.
“What happened?” The royal bandit clambered to his feet, stiff as though he’d been bound. He glanced down at his still-swollen cock, then stared at Sarita’s naked form.
She shielded her breasts with one hand and her pubis with the other, her eyes on the floor. Her pale cheeks flushed pink.
“Where are your clothes…?” Glancing around the library, he obviously noticed the tattered remnants of silk that had formerly been her garments. Understanding and horror filled his eyes. “Oh, no! Not again! Did I hurt you?”
He strode towards them.
Cecily held up her hand, palm forward in the universal gesture of prohibition. “No closer, Pratan. You might not be stable. The beast could return.”
He nodded. With an air of resignation, he sank into one of the library chairs. His cock speared towards the ceiling, incongruous and disturbing. “You’re right. Usually once I’ve shifted back to human form, I won’t change again. But then, usually I don’t change more than once a month.” He swept his gaze over Sarita, then back to Cecily. “How did you stop me?”
“Silver.” She held up the earring before slipping it back into her earlobe. “I wasn’t sure it would be effective, but one prick and you were like the princess in the legend—fast asleep. All signs of the beast vanished, too. Have you ever tried silver chains, or a silver cage? Perhaps a silver collar of your own would prevent the change.”
Pratan gave a bitter laugh. “Silver burns like acid. My skin crawls even when the metal is inches away. I’m afraid that’s no solution.”
“Still, as long as we keep some silver implement upon our persons—a dagger, perhaps even a hairpin—we should be safe from you.”
“That’s true, I suppose, and some small relief. But by the gods, how I hate the notion of losing control! It was bad enough, suffering through the change every full moon. Now—honestly, I don’t know whether I can bear the uncertainty…”
Pratan had abused and humiliated Cecily, then handed her over to his brother for even worse treatment. Nevertheless, the anguish in his voice triggered irresistible sympathy. She wanted to comfort him. She itched to tell him about the parchment, to see a spark of hope light up his rugged, masculine features.
Not yet. Not until she was certain the information would buy her freedom.
“My L
ord Amir needs know about this.” Sarita’s firm voice startled both Cecily and Pratan. She appeared to have shaken off the effects of the beast’s attack. “Give me your sari, slave,” she added, pointing at the embroidered length of silk encasing Cecily’s abundant curves.
Without comment, Cecily unwound the sari and handed it to the imperious courtesan, who used it to hide her nakedness. So much for gratitude! Cecily was left wearing only a cropped blouse that exposed her midriff and her semi-sheer underskirt.
Pratan gave her a hungry look that knotted her aching nipples and damped her thighs. Her garments hid very little. On the other hand, he’d seen everything she had on offer in any case. Why should she waste any energy on embarrassment?
“The Rajah is waiting,” Sarita added, leading the way into the corridor. Cecily followed her, while the still-naked Pratan trailed behind. Cecily felt the heat of his gaze, trailing down her spine and caressing her buttocks. But then perhaps that was merely her imagination.
“I’m sure,” Sarita added, looking over her shoulder with a smirk, “that my Lord Amir will give you a fitting reward.”
Chapter Ten
They dined, the four of them, on a balcony outside the Rajah’s private rooms, sprawled on cushions scattered around a low table. The moon hung directly overhead, a gleaming sliver in a field of diamonds. Every so often, Pratan directed a nervous glance towards the slender crescent.
Sarita curled as close to Amir as she could manage, still wearing nothing but Cecily’s sari. Her master had forbidden her to change her clothing, deriving perverse enjoyment, it seemed, from the woman’s frustrated modesty. The embroidered fabric slipped down to bare Sarita’s smooth, ivory-hued shoulder. From across the table, Cecily easily discerned Sarita’s taut nipples, distending the diaphanous silk. The courtesan was obviously aroused by her proximity to her Lord.
Cecily could identify. This evening the Rajah looked more delectable than ever.
Amir fed Sarita morsels of spicy fish, honey-roasted mutton and tamarind-glazed chicken from their communal meal, placing each bit upon her tongue then tracing the line of her ripe mouth with his thumb as she swallowed. Her hands were not secured, but it seemed that the Rajah had enjoined her from feeding herself. The woman’s rapturous expression made it clear that she minded not at all.
Cecily was grateful no such constraints had been placed upon her. After her long day of research and the harrowing near-tragedy of Pratan’s shifting, she was as ravenous as a wolf herself. She helped herself to second servings of cucumbers in minted yogurt, skewered marinated sparrows, garlic-crusted river crab and buttery naan, marvelling at complex and distinctive flavours of each dish. Despite Rajasthan’s reputation as primitive, its cuisine was exquisite.
The poor, cursed brother reclined on the pillows beside her. He picked at his food, his expression bleak. Cecily could not resist resting a consoling hand on his arm. “Eat, Pratan,” she urged. “And don’t be too concerned. We’ll find a way to free you from this burden. I found some clues today…I think I’m on the trail of the answer…”
Part of her ached to share her discovery of the parchment, if only to see him smile. Her training in covert operations fought against her conscience. Soon, she promised herself. Anyway, I’m not really certain the verses contain the answer… She did not, however, succeed in deceiving herself.
“Chin up, Pratan-ji,” the Rajah added. “At least we know now that silver can temporarily reverse the effects of the shift. That’s good news.”
“So you plan to distribute silver daggers to every one of your subjects?”
“If that is what’s required, I’m happy to do it.”
The scowl distorting Pratan’s rugged features made it clear he was not convinced.
The Rajah brushed crumbs from his lap and rose to his feet, pulling Sarita up after him. She clung to him, her arms around his waist. He smiled down at her with affection before returning his attention to Pratan.
“I think you need some recreation, brother. Something to take your mind off this evening’s unfortunate incident. Why don’t we adjourn to the playroom?” He punctuated his suggestion with a brutal twist to one of Sarita’s prominent nipples. When she gasped from the pain, his grin widened.
Cecily swished her hand through the rose-scented water in the fingerbowl, then scrambled to a standing position. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I would like to retire. I am quite exhausted by the day’s events.”
“Oh no, Miss Harrowsmith. Your presence is most definitely necessary for the evening’s entertainment. Pratan, if you’d do the honours…”
The prince sprang up, seizing her by the wrist before she could flinch away. “Come along, Cecily.” His strong fingers were as tenacious as one of his voice-activated shackles. “I haven’t had the pleasure of reddening your delightful bum in more than twenty-four hours…”
“No! Not again!” Her instincts taking over, Cecily spun on the ball of her right foot, aiming a kick at his groin with her left. Pratan appeared to anticipate her move. Without releasing his hold on her wrist, he snatched her flying ankle out of the air, jerked it towards the ceiling, and toppled her back onto the cushions.
“Don’t misbehave. You’ll only make things harder on yourself.” Fuming, Cecily couldn’t help notice that her discomfiture had finally brought a smile to the man’s previously sombre features. She also realised, with some annoyance, that his brilliant parry had engendered a distinct dampness between her thighs.
“I won’t go willingly,” she insisted, trying to salvage her pride. “And don’t forget I’m a diplomatic envoy. It’s a serious breach of international protocol for you to use force.”
“International protocol be damned.” Without further argument, Pratan grabbed her around the waist, heaved her substantial bulk over his shoulder and headed for the interior of the palace, following the Rajah and Sarita.
His arm clamped across the back of her legs, holding her fast. Her head hung down, almost level with his waist, so that her long hair dangled in her face. The awkward position pressed her pubis against his shoulder and, with every step he took, his muscles rippled under the sensitive pad of flesh, teasing and delicious. Arse in the air, she beat her fists against his powerful back in a futile effort to stop his progress.
“Let me go, you brute!”
Her captor responded by sliding a hand under her skirt and pinching her butt cheek. Unerringly, he found one of her welts from the previous night.
“Ow! Stop that!”
He ignored her protests. Instead he probed her rear crevice, seeking her still-stretched pucker. “You don’t have to pretend with me, lady.” He squirmed a finger inside and for an instant she thought she might embarrass herself completely by coming in response to that rude intrusion. Another finger settled into her soaked cleft. “You’re wetter than a monsoon rain.” He flicked her clit, wringing a groan from her throat, before disappearing. “You love it rough.”
She ceased her struggling, realising she should conserve her energy for more crucial efforts. Pratan hauled her along lavishly decorated corridors that bustled with palace functionaries, who fell back and bowed as the ruler and his brother paraded past with their burdens of female flesh. Then he carried her down two flights of stairs, handling her ten and a half stone with impressive ease. They paused, and she heard the metallic click of lock tumblers falling into place. Pratan stepped through an arched doorway and pulled the wood and iron door shut behind them. With her hair veiling her eyes, Cecily couldn’t see their surroundings very well, but the dimly lit hallway along which they now progressed appeared to have been hewn from solid rock.
“Where are we?”
“My brother’s very private playground. It’s quite a privilege to be issued an invitation. You should feel honoured.”
“Honoured? Balderdash.”
She sensed rather than saw the walls open up into a larger space. Pratan set her on her feet, then slipped behind her, his arm slithering under her breasts to pu
ll her against his hard body. She could scarcely breathe.
“I’ll secure her so she doesn’t cause any trouble.” Amir circled her wrists with flexible metal bands, linked by a few inches of chain. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Despite her most fervent intentions, that mere brush of his skin against hers made Cecily want more. She glared at him, determined to hide her burgeoning desire.
Speaking of desire—the rigid evidence of Pratan’s lust prodded the small of her back, through her minimal clothing. She wriggled, trying to escape from that electrifying contact. He pulled her tighter, rubbing himself against her bottom. When he trailed a wet tongue along the side of her neck, then nipped at her earlobe, inescapable pleasure blossomed in the humid garden between her thighs. “I can smell you,” he whispered. “You’re like a bitch in heat.”
It was true. The arousal she experienced in Amir’s presence was multiplied many times by Pratan’s participation. And somehow her sense of shame just made things worse.
Amir led her to the spot near the centre of the vast room. Her eyes widened as she surveyed her surroundings for the first time.
They must be somewhere below the palace, in the bowels of the massif upon which it stood, but one would never know that from the luxurious decor. Polished teak panelled the walls, punctuated by occasional full-length mirrors in gold-filigree frames. Glow globes of sleek, modern design bathed the room in soft, rosy light. The furniture was mostly teak as well, elegant yet sturdy, upholstered in crimson brocade, although an iron cage hung from the beamed ceiling in one corner, and a cross fashioned of rough planks decorated another. A high, curved, desk-like platform stood to her left. Plates of burnished brass were set into its surface, bristling with switches, levers and dials.
Amir stood at the desk, manipulating the controls. “Now let’s see. Which of my little toys would please our guest the most? Not to mention my darling Sarita…”
Cecily followed his glance over to her right, where the lovely courtesan knelt on the wooden floor, her head bowed. The woman was naked. Just as she noticed this fact, Pratan confronted her with a vicious blade. Cecily didn’t bother to protest as, with an infuriating grin, he cut away her minimal clothing and tossed the rags into a corner.
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