Empress Hiding

by Y. M. Roger

  “Think we will just duplicate that second one – I like the ease with which …”

  NO!

  Neşeli’s voice was harsh as he stirred with uneasiness inside of him.

  We shall never design another of …

  Tazirr froze at the emotions that rushed through him from his now-but-rarely-ever exercised altre.

  “What in the godsfall is the issue, Neşeli?”

  Silence was his answer although his entire being continued to rock with the zehirakre’s growing anger.

  “Come on, Neşeli, do not start this silent saçmalik with me again – we are beyond that,” Tazirr – though getting aggravated quite quickly – put his hammer down and tried not to raise his voice since it really did no good anyway. He leaned his large body against outstretched arms braced on the work table, “Now, tell me what …”

  They are to kill our female, my Tazirr.

  Tazirr immediately righted himself as his Neşeli spoke, the zehirakre trying not to direct his anger – although that was not quite the right emotion – at Tazirr.

  Your new weapons – they are designed for …

  Tazirr’s insides seized as he looked for a mental foothold – the images of their Afacan’s unbelievable maturity over the past couple of days playing rapidly through his mind followed quickly by the macabre scene at the hangar where the multi-spawning sircakerkeles battled the Red Guards … his friends dead or dying or suffering greatly … the screams of the murderous beasts … his thoughts and actions at the time only to kill and kill again the unholy creatures.

  His hands fisted as his heart did the same. Holy Makers! His beautiful mate was that kind of yilan.

  Fear and distress and then dread began to take him over.

  Oh, Makers! … those written words “to prevent its spread” made so much more sense in that context …

  “Why did you not tell me, Neşeli?” the words were choked out, but he had not even finished the last syllable when Neşeli began to answer.

  Tazirr felt his whole body over come with a sense of dread and then of panic.

  Because they are our mate, my Tazirr. They are not that sircakerkele – they are our yilan. They belong to us.

  Lost as his mind tried to reconcile the two images, Tazirr ground his teeth and tried to calm his breathing – a low, very troubled growl rolling from inside of him.

  Suddenly, without warning, Afacan ran into the room on silent bare feet – her eyes wide and searching and worried. She truly looked like her namesake wearing Tazirr’s over-sized t-shirt and his rolled-up soft britches held up by a spare piece of rope Tazirr had located in a forgotten bin in the closet.

  When her eyes met Tazirr’s still stunned ones, she ran to him and wrapped herself around him – her nose nuzzled in his neck under his beard – her tongue working overtime to try to soothe him.

  By the Makers, she must have felt his panic and his fear through their mental link they had forged … that she had forged between them.

  “No hurt my Tazirr,” her voice contained all the worry and all the caring and all the soothing that he now felt rush through his entire being, “Your Afacan have you.”

  Tazirr instantly wrapped his arms around her and breathed her in – all of her: from the poisonous aroma that was her Kiken to the sweetness that was her core to the herbs that she had decided to comb through her hair earlier because the smell was ‘of Tazirr’ – her words, not his – although he certainly never recalled harvesting the herb much less rubbing it on him.

  His mind calmed at the melekish memory.

  His Neşeli was right.

  She was not that sircakerkele. She was his Afacan.

  Their mate.

  He chuckled again at her innocence and at her language error as he held her now undulating body against him probably tighter than he should have – a small, high-pitched pleading at the real pressure of his embrace escaping her delicate lips.

  Ours, Tazirr. Not like those others before her.

  Tazirr relented his hold only in the slightest as he fisted a hand in her long, blonde hair. He pulled her face away from him to look into her beautiful face – crimson eyes so full of love and belonging that what remained of the violent memories from the other day quickly faded, and all he could see was the beautiful female that was his mate.

  “Yours, my Tazirr,” her words whispered breathily as that wonderful tongue danced across her luscious lower lip – the action seemingly tied to an almost physical tug on his member as the scent of her arousal reached his olfactory.

  And the huntmaster was overcome with a fierce desire to own her once again – a need to be inside of her that he would not deny.

  “Mine!” Tazirr possessively growled the word, his mouth crashing down on hers as he lifted her off the floor and set her roughly on the edge of his main work table – Afacan giving as much as she got from her master, “My mate!” the words snarled as one hand lifted her off the table while the other yanked his pants off her – while a chorus of “yes, yes master Tazirr – master bite, please” was whispered from her mouth and echoed across his mind.

  And just as he managed to free himself from his own pants, he saw her fangs start to descend as she lost herself in her Tazirr’s passion.

  A rumble rolled from deep inside of him as he drove his rod into her silken moisture in a single, forceful thrust – his hand firmly holding her head back as he sank his teeth into her neck. Afacan shouted at his entry, but it was not a shout of pain, but of welcome as Tazirr continued to hold her mouth away from him yet suck on her neck like he was starved.

  Feeling his Afacan begin to move against him and sensing her acquiescence in his hand’s hold, Tazirr licked his bite mark on her neck and raised his head to find himself face-to-face with the melek he had chosen as his mate. No fangs adorned her mouth open in invitation to her mate – nothing but affection and passion heated her eyes.

  A hungry grin pulled across Tazirr’s face as he relented his hold on Afacan’s hair only to push her back until she lay on the work table, his throbbing rod still buried deep inside of her.

  “Look at me, Afacan,” he commanded loudly as he raised her legs to rest on his shoulders – his thrusting becoming hard and relentless. He reached forward, placing one hand on her neck in a hold that was both dominant and possessive – her coaxing and high-pitched purring covering his mind and psyche. Tazirr could feel her body nearing its release as, lost in the throws of passion, her eyes began to roll back in her head.

  “At me, Afacan!” Tazirr’s words became more and more guttural, but her eyes snapped back to his in obedience, “Who is your master?”

  His demanding question caused a smile to grace her beautiful face as he plunged relentlessly into her – her breasts keeping a magnificent rhythm with their bodies’ rocking when, suddenly she arched her back and cried out his name. Her sheath not only pulsed around him, but pulled him further into her as her orgasm sucked him so hard that he, too, cried out in release – feeling his seed fill his Afacan in volumes he never thought possible – leaving his knees nearly weak in its wake.

  Tazirr collapsed on top of her, and her legs dropped down to wrap completely around her mate as her body spasmed with what could only be labeled as pleasurable aftershocks.

  Her body felt heavenly against him, and her almost-singing across his spirit soothed him deep into the depths of who he and Neşeli were.

  He wrapped his large arms around his smooth female and squeezed once again.

  This time his Afacan giggled just slightly as she soothed and stroked him. Tazirr raised his face to look down upon her questioningly.

  “What?”

  It almost looked like a slight blush tried to creep up into her cheeks and her look turned somewhat timid.

  “Kiken now not closed, my Tazirr,” she grinned as her tongue flicked out to tickle his beard, “Kiken aw
ake.”

  At first Tazirr frowned at her, but then he remembered her comment before he had left her at the vidscreen earlier, and he huffed with a slight chuckle – stroking her hair away from her face.

  “Beautiful and smart, melek,” he whispered across her lips – letting her tongue tease his lips with each of its passes, “And all mine.”

  Afacan smiled as she nodded and whispered in response, “My Tazirr.”

  The warming effects of the two simple words screamed through his head into his chest, his arms, and his legs. Acknowledging her claim, Tazirr bit her forehead and growled affectionately.

  Not the same, my hulking brute. Not the same at all.

  Khitam sat quietly on the veranda off his chambers – the pre-dawn wind buffeting his now completely silvered hair both on his head and chest and down to his groin as he listened to Ferenti gathering himself and his belongings beyond the large doors that led to his current location. He sipped a small heated cup of strong honey liqueur as he listened to his pet’s footsteps approach – slowing as they drew nearer to the large doors.

  When the Khedive sensed the footfalls cease just shy of stepping onto the balcony to join him, an evil and, yes, insanity-filled grin pulled across his visage as he turned toward Ferenti.

  Our subservient little pet.

  The exhausted male stood clothed with nothing but his simple britches that were meant to be worn under the robes he held bundled in his bruised arms – mostly where the cuffs had held him, but there were also some that resembled large animal bites in two or three random places on his torso and neck. But the item that brought a prideful chuckle to Khitam’s morning was the silver collar that still adorned Ferenti’s neck – a beautiful statement that bobbed gracefully in the dim lighting as his advisor swallowed hard looking for the courage Khitam knew he did not have.

  No, his pet would never be anything more than the shentalingra that was his essence, but he put up a delightful fight when such was necessary.

  Khitam slowly massaged his own unresponsive package as he eyed Ferenti, “Better get to your chambers and get cleaned up for the day, pet,” he took a long, deep pull of his drink, “We have more preparations and planning meetings to make for the changing of the line of succession.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ferenti hesitantly fingered at the collar around his neck as his voice became shakier as he bowed as reverently as he could manage, “If it pleases my lord, I was wondering if …”

  The great bear growled threatening from inside of Khitam.

  No kahrolasi way, cognate. I want him clearly marked as our pet.

  The Khedive took a deep cleansing breath of the morning air as a demented sparkle lit his eyes – Ferenti felt his entire body visibly recoil at the nearly homicidal look that beheld him.

  “Our scent on you is no longer enough to appease our needs,” Khitam took the final swallow of liqueur and leaned over to pour himself a refill, leaving the full mug on the small table, “The collar remains.”

  Ferenti’s whimpers did nothing but call forth the lusting and affections of the bear whose pheromones Khitam could already scent being released through his own pores.

  “But, my lord, what will the ministers and legates think? How will they take me seriously? And what of my …” Ferenti’s question was lost in a sob.

  Tonight, we will coddle our pet – he was of major enjoyment last night and he needs tenderness in our ministrations tonight.

  Khitam nodded and growled in acknowledgement to his beast as well as in mock sympathy as he strode to where Ferenti stood. Putting two fingers under Ferenti’s chin, the Khedive forced his advisor to look at him.

  “I am Preeminent Khedive and you are my pet,” the sparkles in Khitam’s eyes completely disappeared only to be replaced by the madness that had shown in those of the great bear last night as the advisor had been assaulted – Khitam’s hand clutching Ferenti’s lower jaw in a painful grip, “I give not a maalchie’s ass what anyone thinks!” His mouth landed hard on the advisor’s unsuspecting lips as his hand moved down to grasp the collar to hold Ferenti firmly in place – the advisor fighting valiantly at first until Khitam and the bear growled in satisfaction as well as warning as the kiss grew deeper. Feeling the Khedive’s other strong arm snake itself almost instantaneously behind him and slide into his pants searchingly along his buttocks, Ferenti quickly relented and let his body relax into the Khedive’s hold – he was far too sore to take anything else rough and forceful this morning.

  Khitam chuckled as he withdrew the one arm and playfully tugged at Ferenti’s collar as he stood to full height.

  You see what a long night of intense conditioning can do, cognate? The beast rumbled with self-satisfaction. Offer him a leash instead of removing the collar.

  “You learn quickly, pet,” the Khedive mused as he released Ferenti completely and was about to step back, “Now, go clean yourself and present your collared self back here to us for inspection,” when he watched the desire to object momentarily flash across his advisor’s face, Khitam grinned again and allowed the threatening growl of the bear sound forth.

  Ferenti had to grab the door frame to keep from collapsing at the sound of the animal that had savaged him most of the night – the shentalingra curling up so tightly inside of him that it might as well have been non-existent. Another whimper escaped the advisor’s lips as Khitam spoke.

  “Or, we could add a leash to it for a more formal touch, if you would prefer … pet!”

  Khitam laughed loudly and his bear joined him as Ferenti made a noise neither of them had ever heard before he bolted from sight.

  The mad Khedive strolled back to the small table and downed his entire mug of liqueur in two large swallows – he needed his strength to control the bear through the planning meetings today.

  It was terribly late, and Mischief patted his foot at the hour – he knew it had been a long day for everyone, but he really needed to bond with his Cheo. And he was adamant and incessant in reminding his Dalis of that fact with practically every interaction between him and his steward cognate.

  Dalis sat at the table with Captain Didas and a Teyman Tajna Q’Ynnto, whom Dalis had not yet decided he fully trusted yet, although he really had no real reason not to except that he had just met the male. The Teyman’s stark white hair, silver eyes, and almost iridescently albino nails – more like miniature talons according to his Mischief’s evaluation – were the only things visible on the dangerous-looking male that were not black as a moonless sky. Even his smile was full of sharp, ebony teeth that, except for their perfectly shiny surface, were practically indistinguishable from his lips. But, try as he might, Dalis could not feel uncomfortable near the obviously dangerous predator – a sheltanock, without question, even though Dalis had never actually met one or even heard tell of one in so very long – housed within the unique male. The elder steward found himself examining that uniqueness as much as possible without being rude.

  He is true Blood-borne, my Dalis. So unusual that he has survived this long – either makes him very dangerous or very stealthy. But it is about my time with Cheo, yes?

  But even with those looks and daunting air about him, Tajna’s speech and actions were far gentler than Dalis would have expected – the male had amazing control and presence.

  Well, we are used to dealing with the Prime Magistrate, Dalis! Anything is gentle compared to that! Now, can I have my time with our mate?

  But, despite Mischief’s grumblings about Rafal, Dalis found himself still quite at home with the presence of the two males here in the main house of the compound where he was usually so very careful about admitting unknowns.

  However, even though Rafal had specifically instructed Captain Didas to secure everything with those the Captain trusted, Dalis was still not sure how Rafal had come to the decision to completely trust the Captain. Was it because Rafal had been in such a hurry that he di
d not take the time to weigh all of his options? Could it have been that …

  “It is because you gave me your recommendation, faithful Dalis, and our Prime Magistrate trusts you with his life,” Sila interrupted Dalis’ thoughts as he reached across the table and grasped Dalis’ hand – a warmth ran up Dalis’ arm from the point of contact as a smile slid easily across Sila’s face, “As do I.”

  Dalis swallowed hard as he kept his reaction to the touch in check – how did Captain Didas know about the recommendation? Better yet, how did he even know to answer that question since Dalis had not verbalized …

  It is really not our place to question them, you know? Rafal must have had his reasons, and you did recommend him. Anyway, if you could stop being so suspicious, we could be spending our time much more enjoyably if we were with our mate!

  And as Dalis thought better about asking his questions at the moment, something more pressing occurred to him. His eyes narrowed at the two guards, doubt beginning to creep into his previous assessment and comfort level with regards to the two of them – he simply would not allow his Prime Magistrate’s house to be at risk.

  “Just how many guards does the Prime Magistrate have remaining in service, beyfendi?” Dalis tried not to sound accusatory, but the twinge was there all the same, “And is it adequate to provide security with the huge break in the rec area?” Dalis felt Mischief cringe at his tone as well.

  They are Black Guards, my Dalis! What is your problem? A pause and an exaggerated Mischief-like sigh. And where is our Margreet and Cheo?

  But, instead of becoming put out or even angered at Dalis for the steward’s questioning of a Guard Captain, Sila almost respectfully bowed his head to him and responded calmly.

  “Myself and the Teyman here,” Dalis indicated the unique Tajna, who also very respectfully acknowledged the steward with a slight nod of his head, “He is from my home province.”

  Dalis nodded back – not quite sure what to think of their yielding to his question so easily.