by Jackie Ivie
She crouched to fish her cell phone from a leg pocket. Turned on the flashlight mode. Illuminated the closest niche. And hit archeologist and voyeuristic gold. It was a pottery vessel. In absolutely pristine condition, as if it had never had a chance to even get buried. Looked like one from the Moche period. And why? Because it was a nude and it wasn’t exactly reclining. The guy was cartoony, but possessed the biggest penis imaginable. That had been formed into a handle which looked physically impossible as well as painful. Yep. She’d go with Moche. They were known to have created some of the most erotic pottery ever crafted.
Becky moved to the next niche, and got an even more explicit piece. Despite being alone, she even blushed. That sensation added to the pounding in her temples as she looked at a copulating couple. Wow. Even the art and historical websites she’d viewed failed to have a piece quite this explicit. The next one held a piece of Chavin pottery. The next had...if had to guess, she’d say Wari? The next was even older. It was like going back in time. The pieces were getting more and more ancient. And then she came across a heart-stopping sight.
A khipu.
In perfect condition.
As if it had just been knotted.
It made hers look worn and haggard and fake – which it was. She had to battle tears, as she reached for the display. She daren’t touch it. Did she? Becky felt a kind of awe. A reverence. Joy. And then she heard the distinct sound of a growl. A gasp stuck in her throat as she looked up, right into the yellow eyes of a large jaguar. Her eyes widened. The cat’s narrowed. No. She was wrong. There were two big cats. One was harder to spot. It was black. They were perched side-by-side atop the empty niche, on a ledge, watching her. Their tails were flicking, the spotted one blinked. The black one snarled. Becky started backing. Toward Home Base. Light.
And reality.
“Uh...n-n-nice kitty.” Her voice wasn’t authoritative or low-toned. It shook, and had a distinct squeak at the end of it.
The spotted one jumped down. Oh. Bugger! The head reached her waist! It started following her. Becky backed a little faster. The jaguar didn’t follow suit. It didn’t appear to rush, but its shoulders lowered slightly. Oh. Shit! Shit! Shit! She’d seen cats stalking birds. She knew what she was looking at. Her heart was going to hammer its way out of her ribcage. Her scream wasn’t going to make it past the knotted obstruction in her throat. And then the other cat jumped down. Now she had two of them.
She was rapidly changing her mind about the rugs on the floor of Home Base. Right now, the only jaguar she wanted to see was a dead one. One lunged, and that was it! The cell phone hit the ground. Becky turned and ran. She smacked into a wall using the energy to jettison her around a corner. Another one. At each step she braced herself to feel claws at her shoulders, dragging her down. Teeth biting into her flesh. Another corner loomed. She hit it, caroming against the walls like a billiard ball. She didn’t remember this many corners!
The beaded door came into view, golden light right behind it. Becky didn’t hesitate. She dove through the beads, grunting as her hip hit stone. A moment later she rolled to her feet. She backed into the room, her eyes flitting about. Checking. Discarding. There wasn’t any weapon in sight. She didn’t even have a real fire! She had a lot of gold. Some silk bedding. A lot of wooden chests against the walls. And a bed that might work as a trampoline. Maybe. Becky looked up again. Nothing up there but a faux night sky. Nothing she could grab if she jumped on that bed.
There wasn’t anywhere in here that a large cat couldn’t reach.
Well. They weren’t getting her without a fight. Becky pulled the backpack off. Climbed atop a chest to face the door. What she wouldn’t give for pepper spray! She held the backpack before her. One of them was going to choke on canvas if she had any say about it.
Long seconds passed. Her pulse raced along. More seconds. She exhaled. She hadn’t even known she’d held her breath. She had no idea for how long. More seconds. She counted to a full one hundred.
What the hell?
Nothing happened in the room except more crackling and snapping of her fake fire. No big cats sprang through the jeweled drapes. No woman-killing teeth and claws were menacing her. Nothing.
Three minutes had elapsed by her watch before she dared step down off the trunk. Uncontrollable trembling made it rattle. She inched her way toward the door. Slid a finger to one gem-encrusted cord and peeked. Yep. There were two large cats out there. Lying on the rock floor. They were some distance from her door. Twenty feet? Twenty five? At the sight of her, the black one jumped to its feet and started pacing behind the other. Back and forth. Keeping its yellowish gaze on her. But it never moved closer, as if there was some magic fence out there or something.
Becky backed into Home Base. It took a half-second before her knees gave out and she fell onto them. Wow. That hurt. And she was freezing cold. Shaking. She’d known about the fright and flight thing. She’d heard adrenaline could give super powers to a human, the kind that could outrun two large cats. She hadn’t known that once it passed there was complete and total weakness, however. She crawled over to the bed and pulled the blanket down and wrapped it about her. Well. Looked like wherever she was, she couldn’t change it. Not without some potent catnip. Or a tranquilizer dart.
She might as well faint again.
CHAPTER SIX
Nigel Beethan had been off on the time requirement. The hit took mere seconds, but that wasn’t counting time to reach the target and return. Every second Mikhal spent away from his mate felt like another day passing. A minute felt more like a year. He didn’t want to find out what an hour felt like.
Nigel had filled him in during the trip, through an earpiece, in a series of sequential calls. The target was named Anne, the ex-Missus Bruno Masters. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Apparently, her temperament was a prime reason she was a divorcee. She was argumentative and, despite getting millions in a settlement, she was a notorious penny-pincher. Mikhal had debated taking a quick bite, but the more he heard, the less he desired anything to do with her. He detested argumentative women. Anne Masters was a prime example. The secure chat lines the tour companies used were buzzing with complaints about her, according to Nigel. She expected premier service and outstanding accommodations, but she refused to pay for it. She expected it because of her ex-husband’s name.
She hadn’t taken the train back to Cuzco like everyone else in her tour group. Oh. No. She’d argued and debated and made such a scene, that he heard mumbling among the guides before Mikhal got close to the hotel. She’d stayed back. Or she’d been left behind. Either way, it was good riddance, according to the guide and most of the other disgruntled-sounding tourists. That was perfectly all right with Mikhal.
Except for the delay involved.
The Incan Trail was 26.2 miles, starting at Cuzco and ending with the Machu Picchu sun gate. It was booked as a hiking tour of four to five days. The fastest time recorded for a runner was just over seven hours, 44 minutes. If one went by train, they’d travel through lots of scenery. View agricultural terraces. Have a repast and some entertainment. That usually took about four hours.
Mikhal got there in under a minute. But he cheated.
It was raining. The time closing in on late afternoon, maybe early evening. There weren’t many people about....considering. His target was very easy to spot, especially for a vampire who clung to rock outcroppings, getting a birds-eye view. The ex-Missus Masters was overly-thin, dressed in brand new sportswear, and had a carbon-copy female at her elbow using an internet pad-thing. They were just reaching a plateau after climbing a series of uneven stone steps. Good. They were above the non-developed side. It was easy to slip. There wasn’t even a railing. A thin gent followed, attempting to hold an umbrella over the pair of them. Two smaller women were behind, both carrying huge bags in each hand. Two big men trailed the group, looking bored. They were still on the steps. One was dressed in khaki-colored safari wear. The other was in jungle camouflage. Neither of the last m
en ported anything. Maybe they needed their arms free. Everyone looked like paid help. Secretary. Porters. Bodyguards. But those were pretty useless.
Anne Masters stepped near the edge for a photo. Mikhal swooped in, snagged her ankles, and yanked her off her feet. And then he heaved her over the side. She plummeted, without time to even make a cry. Mikhal hovered in place for a few moments, and then he winked at the group. One of the small women gasped and dropped her bags. The other just stared. Somebody else screamed. He didn’t stay around to find out more. It had almost been planned, it had been so perfect. He was even wearing ceremonial attire. Something stung his hip. He smacked at it and forgot it. He hushed his conscience as he dove after the hit. Akron had warned him about being seen. Tempting fate. But it was fun. And what was the harm?
He followed Anne’s trajectory so he could finish this and get back to his mate, and what really mattered. Anne had fallen at least a thousand feet. Mikhal hovered alongside the ledge she’d landed on. It didn’t look to have seen much use in centuries. Her body had broken a path through all kinds of branches on the way down. That should have helped with her landing.
But...no.
She’d hit head-first. Looked like a skull obliteration and compaction. Nothing left that a medical unit could deem a fracture. Her body was a lot shorter, too. She was crumpled. Dead on impact. And she was hidden. Mikhal broke a few more branches. Uprooted a tree. Moved some dirt. Making it easier for the authorities to find her. And then he was off. He made the call to VAL on the way.
~ ~ ~
The first inkling of trouble was the cell phone, sitting forlornly in the middle of the corridor. Mikhal scooped it up mid-flight. She’d left the queen’s chamber? His newly awakened heart gave a start. He’d left Kaiya and Shadow unfettered. To prowl. Protect. But if they’d touched her!
By the gods!
Both cats looked up at his approach, held back by the shock wires about their necks. Thank Inti he’d installed the electrical fences years ago. He had invisible security and alarm systems throughout the complex. Mikhal loved to work with his hands, especially when it came to electricity. He’d tinkered with just about everything in the inner portion of his fortress over the years. He’d had a diesel-powered generator in the last century. Toward the end of it, he’d installed solar panels. And hidden them. It wasn’t just energy efficient. It left no trace of anything a heat-seeking drone could find. Mikhal wasn’t putting anything past anyone. If the technology became available, somebody with enough money was going to buy it and then use it. Membership in the VAL had taught him that much.
He slid through the beaded curtain, barely moving it. She hadn’t added any lighting to the room. The star-strewn ceiling and flickers of fire still bathed the enclosure with soft light. Ah! She was there. Perfection itself. Unharmed. His heart ticked up a beat as she saw him. Because it matched how hers had reacted. His mate was watching him with wide eyes, capturing him with their warm gold shade. Her hair had lightened considerably as it dried. It had tawny streaks through it. It reached past her shoulders in a mass of waves. She was wrapped in the blanket he’d given her. Her boots, backpack and jacket were neatly stacked just under the mattress. She was sitting in the middle of it. Looking very small. And very scared.
“Oh. Holy crap. You’re real,” she informed him.
Mikhal grinned. She gasped. His heart stuttered, which must match hers. The effect between them was even stronger than before? That was really wondrous.
“Yes.” He took a step toward her. She didn’t seem to notice.
“There are two big cats out there.”
“Yes. Kaiya and Shadow.”
He took another step toward her. She tilted her head slightly, but otherwise didn’t give any sign that it affected her.
“They tried to eat me.”
“Thank the gods they failed.”
He went another step closer, taking him halfway across the room. Her eyes went even wider for a moment before she glanced down. A rosy shade appeared on the tops of her cheeks. Mikhal caught his breath at the sight. His thighs wobbled. He locked his legs against it. His chest tightened. A hard note hit both his ears, making it difficult to hear her next words. What power was this?
“You’re speaking English,” she whispered to the blanket.
He spanned the remaining distance to his bed without making a sound. “Yes,” he finally answered.
“You understood what I said earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t say anything for several moments. The fire crackled and snapped. There was the sound of a log shifting. He’d spent a lot of time making the fire as realistic as possible. It pleasured him to listen and watch. A flare of light hit her, highlighting her beauty. Mikhal couldn’t move his eyes.
“That isn’t funny,” she finally said.
“Apologies.”
She looked back up. Gasped. And shoved backwards toward the headboard and the mass of pillows. There she huddled, her knees upraised and covered with blanket. Her move had made the bed bounce. He was sitting at the bottom before it settled.
“Look. Um. I don’t know who you are, or where I am, and I don’t know a lot about the mores of Chachapoya culture, but...um. This is probably not acceptable behavior.”
“No?”
“Well. Yeah. I think. Uh. Maybe. Okay. Let me rephrase that. It shouldn’t be acceptable behavior...should it?”
“Mikhal-eketna Tarota Kalenqui.”
“What?”
“That is my name.”
“That is a mouthful. What do I call you? Mister Cal-en-key?”
She was very amusing. He couldn’t help grinning again. Especially since her heart reacted every time. And that made his mirror it.
“Mikhal,” he told her.
“Okay. First names? Fine. I’m Becky. Nice to meet you, Mikhal.”
She pulled one hand out from beneath the blanket and leaned forward to offer it. Mikhal went onto his hands and knees. The front panel of his long skirt settled between his legs, leaving him bare from knee to upper thigh. She snatched her hand back. Her blush bloomed on her cheeks again. His reaction to it was worse than before and much more intense. The space about his heart tightened. His breath caught. Heat roared through him without the slightest hindrance. His canines started vibrating. Tingling. Lengthening. His groin had the same issue. And that sensation had him grinning again, this time even wider.
“Okay. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. We can shake hands later.”
He sobered. “If you wish.”
He moved his right hand closer to her. Then he slid his right knee a corresponding amount of space. The bed barely moved.
“Look. Mikhal. I’m from the United States. I’m...not here doing a tour.”
“Really?”
He moved his left hand. Slid the left knee forward. The leather skirt panel grazed flesh. Mikhal fought a tremor. That failed almost before he started. Despite tightening every muscle in his belly and thighs, desire was a brazen force. Tangible. Fierce.
“I’m in a...graduate program. Studying South American...uh. Bodies. No. Oh. Crap. I meant cultures. South American cultures.”
“Indeed.”
He slid his tongue along a canine. Opened a tiny cut. He sucked on it while a shudder ran his frame. She saw it. Her eyelids lowered a fraction. Her eyes were like beacons. Molten. Luminous. Enrapturing.
“Yeah. I’m down here searching for...um. I’m searching...”
Her voice trailed off. Her tongue darted out to lick her lip. Mikhal lurched upward. The bed bounced. He closed his eyes, trembled through a flash of electrical stimuli that matched the movement of the mattress until it settled, and then he opened his eyes again. She hadn’t moved. She was still watching him with eyes of hypnotic gold.
“What are you searching for?” he finally asked.
“Uh. Someone.”
“Anyone in particular?”
He
slid his right hand forward again, closing in on where the blanket wrapped her lower limbs. His shoulders flexed of their own accord. Lowered.
“I’m looking...for uh...khipu...camayuq. Yeah. That’s it. And — why does it look like you’re stalking me?”
“Kaiya and Shadow are mates,” he answered, sliding his right knee forward.
“Who?”
“My jaguars.”
“Oh yeah. Them.”
“They found each other. Somehow. Despite the odds.”
“We...uh. Just met.”
“Did we?”
“You...me. Wow. I...don’t normally. I mean. I’ve never felt like this.”
Her words sliced through him, acting like a spark to flames he was desperately trying to manage. His fangs sharpened. His lower abdomen burned. His cock got even harder. Thicker. Needy.
“Are you a...shaman?” she asked next.
“Sadly, no. I did not sit on my ass my entire life practicing magic...either.”
He slid his left hand forward, putting his chest and shoulders above her feet. Her reaction wasn’t assisting him with control. Her eyelids were lowered slightly, the lashes shadowing her gaze. It still sent yellow-hued sparks. Her lips were parted, sending soft pants of air toward him. He didn’t have to feel them to know of her breaths. He was matching them.
“That...was unfair, Mikhal.”
“Who says life is fair? Or death?”
“Death?”
He nodded. She leaned backward. The pillow absorbed the move. Her knees opened, the blanket draped them, as if making a well of space for him to fit. She licked her lips again. He struggled against wave after wave of shiver-inducing sensation. And somehow he held back. It was an exquisite form of torture. Reined-back desire. Barely controlled need. Oh! This mating was powerful! Exciting. Massive!
“Mikhal?”
His name became a whisper of sound. It caressed his skin. Entered his consciousness. Warmed his heart.