Empress Hiding

  Sila properly displayed the expected show of submission as was warranted by Rafal’s tone and beastial mood at the moment – he was well and truly deep into a predatorally aggressive mode and would easily kill without thought with the beast’s protectiveness running through him. But, just as he completed his last word, he heard Runa’s threatening growl fill the room.

  And, even though he was thankful Sila took the aggressive sound as his queue to leave them alone, Rafal was in no mood to argue with the possessive animal right now, whatever she happened to be.

  Ignoring Runa’s warning, and, in fact, answering it with a more sedate but no less threatening growl of his own, Rafal stood and lifted his Chiyoto onto his lap as he leaned his back against the headboard, finding a comfortable position for her body across his own such that her head rested on one shoulder and her feet hung over the side of the bed.

  Runa will challenge your intentions.

  Yeah. He got that.

  Expected nothing less actually – they must be beginning to understand one another.

  His beast almost chortled – an action that, given any other circumstance may have amused Rafal.

  “You would give of yourself?” Runa’s voice was threatening and vengeful if it were anything – the doubt she felt about Rafal’s intentions evident in every syllable, “Yours are not the predictable actions of a possessive male, Sadid”– why did Runa always seem to practically spit his name? Like it was a poison on her tongue? – “You truly begin the Ili …,” Runa growled as if in irritation to stop herself, “The bonding with this offering. Recall that my Treasure did not finish something important she had to tell you earlier.”

  Rafal felt the temperature of his skin begin to rise and the air around him grow heated with eddies and currents – he knew it would be Runa’s intentions to impede this.

  He leaned into his Chiyoto’s face once again and deeply breathed in his shioliah’s essence as he memorized every curve of her face – holding her this close to him as those sensations raced over and through his skin only served to solidify his decision to take Chiyoto as his mate.

  And it was time that her animal – this Runa – realized that.

  And accepted it.

  You must stand strong against her.

  Rafal chuckled inwardly although he did not let it show in his words. And his beast knew this how? He would contemplate that later …

  “Nothing you or she have to say will change what is between us, proud Runa. My Chiyoto, your Treasure, needs my strength. She. Needs. Me,” he paused – a sly grin passing over his face as he allowed his beast the manifestation of a single talon from the middle of his palm, “Translation? You need me, yes?”

  Another growl – this one more annoyance than threat – filled the room, and, although the burning and the heat on his skin did not increase, Rafal barely contained his self-satisfaction at seemingly having silenced Runa’s objections as he raked the talon down his opposite wrist.

  Taunting is not called for.

  Rafal frowned at the comment from within – this was his confrontation not his beast’s.

  “Perhaps,” Rafal mumbled almost incoherently and finished mentally only, “But she needed to hear it.”

  His beast growled almost in warning and, somehow Rafal knew the growl was directed at him, but the Crowned Prince ignored it with another chuckle.

  Just because they were communicating now did not mean they would always agree.

  As Rafal continued his self-satisfying chuckle, the odd sound from earlier began to emanate from his beast – the direct result of which was a slow subsiding of the painful sensations that covered his skin.

  And Runa’s responding growl was much more tempered this time.

  “When next we speak, Sadid, it will be face-to-face,” a moan that could only be one of anticipation and, dare he think such, of hunger fell between the dangerous animal’s words, “My Treasure’s Mamere will have passed, and the true implication of your actions here will be realized.”

  What exactly Runa meant by those words, Rafal did not have time to contemplate right now.

  And as the blood flowed from the slice he had made in his wrist, his Chiyoto’s nostrils flared and her eyes fluttered open. An almost desirous moan emanated from her parted lips – a moan that Rafal knew was not Runa even though the sound of it and of Runa’s before were practically one in the same.

  Which could only mean that Runa was as hungry for his strength as his Chiyoto obviously was.

  They both need us. Now.

  Rafal gripped his Chiyoto’s mane at her nape to help support her as he brought his wrist toward her mouth.

  “Strengthen yourself, shioliah,” Rafal’s voice was strong and sure as he leaned in to run his lips along her cheek and temple, “Take all that you need.”

  Initially, Chiyoto’s eyes softened and her body relaxed into him, but, just before his wrist reached her lips, her eyes flew open and she pushed back against his hand behind her nape, away from his offering. In fact, her trembling hands rose to try to push his wrist away from her – she even tried to struggle on his lap, but she literally had no energy.

  And Rafal felt and heard as much, especially in her trembling voice.

  “Rafal!” Even her voice sounded weak, and both Rafal and his beast growled against her unnecessary struggles, “Rafal, we, ummm,…Oh, Makers! Rafal, you must know that we –”

  Rafal tightened his hand in her mane as he pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips and commanded whisperingly in her ear.

  “Take, shioliah. This is not a request,” Rafal’s voice was rough and filled with all of the worry and possessiveness that ran through him at the moment, “Any price, shioliah. Remember?”

  Chiyoto shut her eyes as her faltering lips closed over the wound – the questions of doubt and uncertainty displayed vividly in her wonderfully translucent pink eyes now filling with tears – her gaze locked with Rafal’s.

  As stubborn as her Runa.

  Yeah. Maybe more so.

  And what little patience Rafal had was completely gone – his female needed her nourishment.

  “You belong to us, shioliah,” Rafal’s face in hers spoke of anything but patience – his voice pouring across that face anything but gentle – his hand grasping her neck no where near lightly or easy, “Take now so that you will have the strength to give your Prince that which he will demand later.”

  Rafal’s controlling grin pulled across his face, his deep emerald eyes sparkling with determination and desire.

  And with his words, Chiyoto’s eyes immediately transitioned once again to the translucent with magenta halo as her hands seized his arm with purpose – a low, threatening growl rolling up from her chest as a seductive smile pulling across her face – her teeth taking hold of his skin as Rafal felt the tight suction of her pull on his open vein.

  Chiyoto’s beautiful eyes actually rolled up in her head she began feeding – a visual that screamed to Rafal of bliss and ecstasy.

  And the entire scenario flashed from one of feeding to one of the deepest carnal needs that could exist between a male and a female.

  The Crowned Prince growled softly and needfully as the sensations that danced across his skin instantly became insignificant compared to the jolts of power and current that raced from her mouth on him to his malehood – his rod becoming rock hard so fast that he barely had time to suck in a ragged breath and closed his eyes before it nearly ripped his pants.

  And Chiyoto’s arousal musk began to fill the air prompting a growl from Rafal himself.

  Rafal threw his head back – its violent contact with the wall not seeming to phase either of them – as he tried to release the breath he had caught – his teeth clenched and eyes tightly shut with the sheer willpower he expended trying not to rip Chiyoto’s clothes from her body that he wanted to do more than life itself at this
moment.

  Wanted to sink that protruding rod into her depths, thus claiming his shioliah for always.

  Soon, Denka. Soon.

  His beast roared ferociously in victory.

  Dalis and Mischief watched from the doorway – it was as far as either of them dared venture toward the two exercised male predators, especially the Prime Magistrate.

  So, what kind of Yasak? Was she partial to a certain kind of food? Was there anything telling about her bite or hand movements or the way she carried herself or . . . ?

  As his monger rambled off a thousand questions, Dalis could feel him clamber around trying to get a better view of Chiyoto which, of course, made no sense – Dalis was not moving and, as such, Mischief’s view would not change. The steward tried to smile inwardly and tell Mischief to settle down – whatever good that ever did. The steward also took time to add that Hanfendi Chiyoto was Prince Rafal’s Yasak – that had been good enough for …

  Her hair is the wrong color. It does not fit with her body, with her face, or with her complexion. She must be in some kind of trouble if the need to disguise herself were so important. Perhaps she is the leader of some sort of gang or syndicate that . …

  Dalis laughed inwardly at the monger’s conclusion, chastising him for his trying to make a puzzle out of every situation.

  It was then that Mischief stopped all of his fussing and fidgeting and caught his breath – the lack of motion prompting Dalis to question what his Mischief was doing.

  You should have woken me earlier, Dalis – there is a powerful aura here. Even larger than that big, red …

  The monger cringed so far into Dalis that the steward did not hear the end of the statement regarding Prince Rafal’s beast.

  But Dalis argued internally with his Mischief – it was practically impossible for a creature to be bigger than …

  “No! No one but us!”

  Rafal’s voice and the snarl that accompanied it surprised even them, and, as Mischief looked for somewhere to hide himself – a veritable impossibility given that he was not present and only managed to slightly throw off Dalis’ balance with his antics.

  “Understood, Sila? She takes only from us because she belongs to us!”

  The faithful steward watched in awe as the Black Guard Sila made the most beautiful show of submission and loyalty he and Mischief had ever witnessed. Dalis communicated to Mischief that he believed Prince Rafal intended to be the one to nourish the female – and without the use of a blade or employment of a cup for …

  Then he has truly chosen the Yasak as his mate – the Prime Magistrate has never been so possessive before.

  Even in his exercised state, Mischief continued to press his curiosity, but Dalis reminded Mischief about Prince Rafal’s love for Hondo, and, although he fidgeted relentlessly inside of him, the monger began to agree with Dalis’ noted exception when, suddenly, Dalis felt his Mischief freeze all motion inside of him.

  At that very instant, an ominous growl rolled around the room, and Dalis gripped the doorframe hard – he felt a fear crawl over his skin as Sila looked at Rafal. It was painfully obvious from the demeanor of both the males that neither had produced that growl.

  Dalis swallowed hard.

  “Mischief?” Dalis rarely had to speak out loud to converse with his altre – their relationship had progressed beyond such a necessity a long time ago – but there was no response. Until, suddenly, Dalis sensed his Mischief’s fear over-whelm his insides – could almost feel the monger’s claws try to push through his fingers as Mischief pushed harder than he ever had to become present.

  And run like godsfall away from here.

  Dalis!

  The monger squealed inside of him as he had not since the day the Prime Magistrate’s beast had scared them into a concussion.

  Oh, great Makers! She is …

  Dalis felt his Mischief lose consciousness as Sila roughly grabbed his arm, dragging them both out into the passageway. As Sila sealed the hatchway to Rafal’s chambers, Dalis struggled to find words to ask about Hanfendi Chiyoto’s altre – about the growl that had just filled the room as a memory of earlier today flashed across the steward’s mind.

  “But, Prime Magistrate, your speaking with … with … well, while the cognate is present … uh, it is not poss … I realize that, Dalis, but your stating that reality is not possible does not make it any less true, does it?”

  About why his Mischief had just fainted.

  But the Black Guard simply reached across to the elder steward and smoothed his hair a few times in an attempt to comfort – his eyes clearly stating that he had no intention of answering any questions at present. Dalis even thought he heard Sila’s chestryl hiss soothingly as the Guard turned abruptly on his heel and strode away.

  And although he appreciated the gesture from them both – the Makers knew that Jaylis would have never done something such as that – Dalis did not feel comforted at all as he checked just to be sure his Mischief was still breathing.

  Something had either surprised or scared the monger into fainting.

  Again.

  Three decades ago, Dalis may have found that unusual, but his lovable and, on many occasions, annoying Mischief had become quite dramatic as of late which, Dalis smiled to himself, made their job as steward to Prince Rafal Sadid all the more fascinating.

  Dalis took a deep breath. He would have to wait until his Mischief woke up to get any semblance of answers, it seemed.

  The steward suddenly felt very alone and very tired as he headed toward his chambers.

  And, as he locked the door to his sleeping area, Dalis prayed that his Margreet – with her settling of Prince Hondo – was having a better evening than he was.

  It certainly could not be any worse than his own, he thought as he suddenly felt as though a heavy weight rested on his shoulders. Why? He did not know nor had any explanation for the feeling, but it was there all the same.

  Sigh.

  At least they were going home tomorrow. Dalis glanced at his time piece as he stepped toward the bed – tomorrow being in just a few hurs from now, apparently.

  Dalis exhaled deeply in exasperation and exhaustion. He had just pulled his shirt over his head as he collapsed on the bed – he did not even have the energy to undress fully before sleep claimed him.

  Balstir reached over and patted Mysstree’s leg.

  “I really appreciate this, hediya,” Balstir squeezed and replaced his hand on the transport steering column, “Kilgar can be a real ahmuk sometimes, but he really is a great male.”

  Mysstree furrowed her tawny brow and turned those almost shocking chartreuse eyes toward her brother – Balstir had always wondered how eyes that had so much animation and depth could have no sight.

  “Promise me you will refrain from calling us that, kardesh,” Mystree’s compassionate and, yes, extremely playful eyes glared at Balstir, “I already resemble some tombul schoolgirl, and that childish nickname only makes it worse.”

  Balstir wanted to argue, but, as usual, Mysstree, was not finished speaking as she nervously placed the errant strand of white hair carefully behind her ear.

  “And, of course we are only too happy to be able to help,” her sightless eyes seemed to almost smile with her lips. Balstir had always thought she had the most beautiful smile of any female – the full lips along with her button nose practically forced observers to smile themselves. Even on the day his mamé had found her as an abandoned infant in the clearing near the kilise when Balstir was just a youth, he had thought that her smile held true starshine in it. “Miannmarr and I know that this Captain Marid has been very good to you, and, for that, our family is indebted to him.”

  Balstir went to open his mouth to respond, but, once again, Mysstree was not finished. The hydenna in him almost laughed uncontrollably – their Mysstree never ran out of things to say.
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br />   “Besides, we will only miss the one service at the kilise,” Mysstree was a very accomplished musician on both the large free-standing and the smaller hand-held string instruments – to watch and hear her perform as the occasional featured act at the civic center symphony was, in the words of many unbiased patrons, spell-binding to say the least, “And we got Shalinnas to cover that for us. And, seriously, how often does a female get to actually spend time in the Prince’s compound? Of course, I cannot really see any of it, but maybe someone will take some time to walk Miannmarr around so that I can have some visual knowing of it. Do you think that would be possible?”

  Balstir began to nod and took a breath to tell her that, of course, he would, but Mysstree had some more to add.

  “You know that she is very well behaved and will definitely keep her hands to herself, remember?”

  Well-behaved did not begin to describe the docile, well-mannered nestlinger who could practically sit at the meal table with you and seemingly hold a polite conversation with her quaint babbles of acknowledgement and jibberings of exclamation and even growls of disfavor or dislike – all the while never uttering a single word that was actually understandable.

  And her table manners turned out to be better than most cognates!

  “Besides, we are about as finished with our chambers as it gets – nothing has revealed itself to us in some time so, we probably need find a new hobby,” Mysstree giggled at her own self-deprecating joke.

  The whole family had always marveled at the near lifelong obsession that their Mysstree had with decorating her bed chambers. Even as far back as the age of four when she was determined to dig up that random shrub in the woods outside her practice hall (yes, she could obviously see the shrub which was now a grand-sized Tristana tree!) – swearing the whole time that she could see his tree. Not even their paté – who had removed his own jacket and, using his utility blade to actually extricate the plant from the hard ground, wrapped the root ball in the handmade garment, and brought the sapling home and potted it for her – could explain why she had to have the plant or, better yet, who the unknown male was to whom the plant belonged (according to the oh-so-young Mysstree). Or, at six cycles, when she practically dug herself into the flooring in the market – screaming and throwing herself on the ground – until her parents had relented and bought the ugly floor covering that she insisted she could see because it was his favorite. Paté had purchased it justifying the action with the simple comment that their Mysstree never asked for anything for herself – which was the honest truth as Balstir had always been the one asking for a new weapon or a new book. And, even at that young age, Mysstree had worked double-time on chores for countless months thereafter to help make up for the cost of the smelly – this according to his hydenna – albeit somewhat soft rug that covered most of her bed chambers.