Hunger's Mate

by A. C. Arthur

  On this night, Ezra had no intention of allowing this Captain Crowe or the local police to destroy any part of Jewel. Not one goddamned part!

  * * *

  They pulled into the parking lot of the station and Bas turned in his seat as Jacques finished parking the truck.

  “Let me do the talking. You and Jacques stay behind me,” he instructed.

  Ezra didn’t make a sound.

  “Do you hear me, Preston? Whatever you’ve got going on inside I need you to get a grip. This isn’t D.C. We don’t go around shifting and roaring our way around here. I’ll handle this with a cool head and we’ll be back at the resort in no time.”

  “Whatever, let’s just get this the fuck over with,” Ezra mumbled, climbing out of the back of the truck.

  Before he could take another step, Bas was in his face.

  “Look, I’m allowing you some leeway here, but don’t fucking push me. If you get in here and lose it, I’m kicking your sorry ass all the way back to D.C. and taping my report of reprimand to your goddamned forehead! We clear, guard?”

  The cat in Ezra was clear on one thing—save Jewel—and kill anyone who gets in his way. The man, on the other hand, had a great deal of respect for Roman Reynolds and the Stateside Assembly, which trickled down to respecting Bas the FL, but he had no doubt if that shifter put his hands on him he’d fight back to the death, respect be damned.

  Still, he nodded and waited until Bas took the lead. To his left Jacques was silent, his face still tightly drawn so that he looked a bit more menacing in the dark of night, moving with a stalking quality to his gait as they approached the precinct.

  They weren’t inside five minutes before Ezra knew this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as the FL had planned. There was an eerie feel to the place, and something just wasn’t right. With a quick assessment of the perimeter, the first thing Ezra noted was that there weren’t many people in the precinct. Now, of course, Sedona was a far cry from the Metro Police Department in D.C., which he had seen the inside of on an occasion or two. Still, he was almost positive there should be more than one officer on duty. Yet, the room was basically empty.

  “She’s being held on a ‘no bail’ status,” replied the lone officer, who stood like he held all authority.

  His badge read SERGEANT but his inferiority complex went well beyond that title. The way he stood toe to toe with Bas, tilting his head upward a bit because his barely six-foot height paled in comparison to Bas’s six-feet-plus. As a matter of fact, the three of them were taller than the officer standing in the middle of the room, as if he planned to physically block them from getting to Jewel. That definitely was not going to work.

  “Sergeant Mahoney,” Bas began once more, his voice still calm, his stance of authority never wavering.

  Ezra was to his left, Jacques to his right. There was no need for Bas to waver, none at all, not as long as they were there. At his sides Ezra’s fists clenched. He was ready for whatever. Or was he? Right at this moment, “whatever” seemed to be an unidentifiable scent, a foul aroma that lingered in the air, sitting still like the desert humidity, wrapping around him until he felt like he was cocooned.

  In Sierra Leone, Ezra and his brother had been trained in many ways by the Lormenian tribe leader, their grandfather, and a shaman that recognized something in the twins other than their size and good looks. It was their senses, the unique way in which they could track and hunt throughout a rain forest otherwise unknown to them. Returning to the States, Ezra used his additional talents when necessary. Eli, on the other hand, refused to acknowledge anything about Sierra Leone. Tonight, however, Ezra wished his brother was here with him. He wished he had another set of eyes, ears, and better scenting abilities to figure out what the hell was going on here.

  “Ms. Montgomery has no prior criminal record and she’s been in my employ for the last three years. I can personally vouch for the fact that she is not a flight risk,” Bas continued to inform the asshole cop who was quickly beginning to piss Ezra off.

  “You her lawyer?” the cop asked.

  Bas replied immediately, his voice unruffled. “No. I am not.”

  “Then you can just turn your fancy-suit-wearing self right around and go back to your overpriced hotel,” Mahoney snapped, a comment Ezra was sure wasn’t going to go over well.

  It had been clear from the moment Bas stated his name and announced who he was that Mahoney didn’t care for him. It didn’t matter, none of them gave a damn who this man liked or disliked. And Ezra, unfortunately, was about to say just that when another person, not dressed in a police uniform, appeared from across the room. This was a big guy, much bigger than the cop, with shoulders that looked like a battering ram. He walked sort of slowly, like maybe his legs might be too heavy for him. That was understandable since they looked like tree trunks, big meaty fists balled at his sides. His pants and shirt were tight and at any moment Ezra thought he might actually break through them and turn into a big green monster.

  “Ms. Montgomery’s attorney will be here momentarily. At which time we would like to officially request bail so that we can post it,” Bas continued, but Ezra kept his eyes on the new player in this game that was steadily approaching.

  Still calm, still in control, Ezra almost shook his head at the FL. Calm, cool, and collected were not going to get them what they wanted. He’d seen this kind of power-hungry cop before. Not to mention that even though Ezra wasn’t a lawyer, he’d worked around Nick and Rome, both lethal litigators, long enough to have a good handle on what was legal and what wasn’t. They absolutely had no right walking into the police station demanding that Jewel be released—Ezra couldn’t call her Dawn or Ms. Montgomery as Bas had, that wasn’t who she was to him. And there was no way a local police station should be this empty, especially when an inmate had just been brought in. Why wasn’t she being processed? Who was typing up the report? Where the hell was everybody? With all those unanswered questions came the rise of something dark and hot within him. He knew without a doubt something was about to jump off. He knew and dammit he was ready!

  “You’re wasting your time. She ain’t leaving here with you tonight or any other night,” Mahoney continued, a watered-down chuckle erupting as he glanced over his shoulder.

  In that second there was a hint of fear in the room, just a breeze that was instantly lost the moment the other man was close enough. Ezra’s shoulders ached, like the night in the jungle when he and Eli had told Acacia they were leaving. Her minions had tied him to the wall, stretching him so far he thought his shoulders would be ripped right from the sockets. But that pain wasn’t enough. The panels of the wall in that hut had been heated with hot coals, burning his skin for the time he’d been plastered there. It had been that pain that had stroked his cat one last time, had pushed it to the brink, essentially giving it permission to break free. And once it had, the darkness had taken over. That’s what Ezra called the intense anger that anchored around his neck, driving every action of him and his cat for the duration of the night, pushing him until Acacia and her minions had been slaughtered.

  The rumble deep in his chest said he was walking that same path right this moment. He was completely certain that once again, he and his cat did not walk it alone.

  “I’m Sebastian Perry, and you are?” Ezra heard Bas ask about two seconds before the man pulled back a beefy arm and took a swing at the FL.

  Bas was quick, blocking the blow with one arm and landing one of his own to the side of the man’s cheek in the blink of an eye. His fancy suit and tie were definitely a blinder, confusing others into believing he might be soft. Ezra almost winced at the sound of the guy’s jaw cracking with the force of the FL’s punch.

  But the man did not move. He didn’t blink and he didn’t back down. He swung at Bas again. Two more punches later and Jacques was giving Ezra a look. Rolling his now-burning shoulders, Ezra moved around Bas, grabbing one heavy as hell arm of the stranger with the death wish, while Jacques took the other. B
as had continued to batter the man with punches, his knuckles barely bruised from the effort, but his cat was damned close to the surface. All of them were.

  In the distance Ezra could hear Mahoney still laughing, the dumb fuck. The new guy didn’t like being held down, his strength erupting in a roar that broke out the side windows of the precinct. A second later Ezra, Jacques, and Bas shared a quizzical stare. Then, acting on instinct, following the protective roar of his cat, Ezra took off to find wherever Jewel was being held. The cat was certain she was close, had held tight to her the moment Ezra had arrived. There was some sort of expectancy, like the cat anticipated Jewel to reach out as well, to call to it mentally as a female would her mate. Ezra didn’t have time to analyze that weird shit, he had to find her and get the hell out of here. He was positive that man out there, the one Bas and Jacques were trying to detain, was not what they thought he was.

  Chapter 8

  Sadistic was what some called him.

  Master of sensuality was what he preferred, or simply “master,” as that could apply to more than one situation.

  Boden Estevez chuckled at the thought, lying back on black satin sheets, his naked body loving the feel of the coolness beneath him, the heat rising above. She was gorgeous, his Bianca, with her arctic blue eyes and burnished-gold skin hue. Her body was pure perfection, slim waist, large breasts, clean shaven pussy that melted like honey beneath his tongue. For years she’d belonged exclusively to him and he’d marked every inch of her delectable body.

  But she would never replace his first love, his soul mate, the Lormenian princess who had been brutally murdered while he’d been traveling, recruiting. Bianca had been more than willing to fill in, providing him with anything and everything he needed. It wasn’t the same, but Boden had become a master—yes, he loved that title—at adapting. He’d done so when he’d been banished from the Gungi so long ago. The order from the Elders had been that he be killed for that attack in the village and speaking against the Ética. They wanted his head returned to Elder Umberto Alamar posthaste, as he’d been told. But that never happened. Weeks later, when he was thousands of miles away from the Gungi—where those cowardly shifters remained—Boden had been informed of his own death. He’d been told that his head had, in fact, been dutifully delivered to Alamar. For days afterward, he’d thought that was comical.

  He was very much alive and very much in play with the newly formed Stateside Assembly, its leader, and the cohorts that followed behind Roman Reynolds like pets being doled out treats for their good behavior. Now, they were the comical ones, and Boden did so enjoy a good laugh.

  Right at this moment, however, he was looking forward to enjoying a good fuck—one as only Bianca could accomplish.

  Her long dark hair curtained her face, her shoulders, her back, like sable, casting a dark veil around the softness of her body. As he had been trained and like he’d trained others after him, Boden kept his hands to his sides. They did not need to be tied; the handcuffs that humans used in their sexual escapades were an unnecessary element to an event orchestrated by Boden.

  Bianca was his best student, there was absolutely no doubt about that. Sabar had been his masterpiece, his mind having been fucked as well as the shifter’s body had been. It was a shame that he had been killed, a shame that he had been betrayed.

  Then again, it served the bastard right for thinking he could ever get away from Boden, that he could ever be what every shifter thought they wanted—free. No, none of them would ever be free, not from the bindings of their heritage or the constraints of the man-made variety. As for Boden, his biggest shackle was also his greatest joy. It was the outlet he’d learned long ago to allow full rein, to give the power to dominate his life—the life he’d sworn to revenge.

  She stood at the edge of the bed, her back to him as she bent over, palms flat on the floor. The cheeks of her delectable ass spread with the movement, giving him an unfettered view of her anus and plump pussy lips. His mouth watered, his body—all but the arousal jutting upward—remaining perfectly still. Control, Boden prided himself on control.

  When Bianca rose slowly she walked away from the bed, her hips swaying, ass bouncing with each step, hair swishing along her bare back. She stood in front of Darel then, spreading her legs before squatting. He lay on the floor, mouth bleeding, breath finally normal after the beating Boden had given him, his cat pissed the hell off but not stupid enough to emerge. It would be instant death if it did, and Darel knew that. So he lay still, his warrior’s body limp, eyes fluttering open to the delight spread open before him. His face contorted into a frown as if seeing Bianca’s luscious pussy about twelve inches away from his face was anything other than pure bliss. The thick length of his arousal—unable to be hidden since Boden had Bianca strip him of his weapons and his clothes—clearly visible.

  Boden’s own erection twitched but he still did not move, only watched. Darel liked to watch too. Boden knew this because of the holes carved into the shifter’s bedroom wall, the cameras on each nightstand, and mirrors on the ceiling. The bastard was closer to him—the father he’d long since denied—than he could ever imagine. That fact should bother Boden, but it didn’t. He had several offspring—some from the sluts that shared his biological makeup, and others from humans that were amazed by his size and longevity. His semen had created them and yet he wasn’t the least bit interested in being a father, or a friend, or any of that other bullshit. He was a master to everyone he came in contact with—that wasn’t a negotiable fact and it wasn’t one to be forgotten, the way his son over there thought he could do.

  “The whelp looks hungry,” he said, his tone tinged with a bit of disgust and a lot of amusement. “Feed him.”

  Bianca instantly did as she was told, rolling Darel onto his back then straddling his face, lowering herself until her pussy lips rubbed against his swollen, bloody ones. Darel did not move. He did not open his mouth and take a lick, nor did he grip that pretty ass that rested on his chest. The ungrateful fuck did look up at her, keeping his cat’s gaze on every move Bianca made.

  “Taste her,” Boden ordered. “Don’t act like you don’t want to. Not after I know you’ve already had a taste. Nobody can resist Bianca once they’ve had a taste.”

  Darel still did not move. Boden’s dick was so hard the tip burned with the pressure. He could grab hold of his shaft, jerk until the purpled bulbous head finally wept its release, but he didn’t. He would wait and then he would enjoy.

  “Feed him,” he told Bianca again.

  She moved her hips over Darel’s face and when the shifter still did not participate she reached down, pulling his lips apart before settling her crotch over him once more. This time his tongue shot upward, spearing inside her so quickly and so deeply she gasped and pulled away. Darel’s hands grabbed her ass, squeezing so tight his dark fingers make white marks on her smooth skin. Boden smiled, slow and wide, his lips spreading over his straight white teeth.

  Darel sucked Bianca until her back was arched back, her mouth open, deep moans of pleasure echoing throughout the room. He moved her hips so that he could suckle the tight bud of her clit, adjusted her slightly so that his tongue could dip inside her hot sweet center, then pushed her up farther so that her anus was next to receive his attention, stopping the ritual only after she shook with the intensity of her release. By that time Boden was chuckling, his cat purring deep in his chest.

  “Now fuck her, you ungrateful bastard,” he told him. “Fuck the woman you thought was going to help you become a rich man.”

  Darel moved quickly, not hesitating, pushing Bianca off him so that he could come to a standing position. With his hand to the back of her neck he pushed her down so that her palms were flat on the bed just inches away from Boden’s feet. In one quick motion he speared his dick deep inside her. When Bianca gasped then moaned, Boden’s smile slipped slightly.

  “I fuck, you watch. Is that how it works, master?” Darel asked when he stood buried to the hilt inside Bi
anca, his deadly gaze fixated on Boden.

  “You do whatever I say, you selfish bastard,” was Boden’s retort, his big hand finally going to his own thick length. “Whatever the fuck I say!” he continued, grabbing the base then pulling up to the discolored tip.

  “As you wish,” was Darel’s response. He pulled out, then sank back into Bianca, over and over again until his own release finally ripped free and he roared with all the anger his cat tried to hold back.

  With his eyes barely open, spurts of come still seeping from his dick, dripping down Bianca’s back as he’d pulled out of her just seconds earlier, Darel stared at the asshole he’d known would one day come for him, the sick bastard he would never, no matter the torture or the circumstance, acknowledge as his father.

  * * *

  “It’s not human,” Jacques yelled to Bas as they both backed away from the thing looming in front of them that had swung on Bas the moment it was close enough.

  “Neither are we,” was Bas’s quick retort as he ducked away from the charging man built like a human wrecking ball.

  He was taller than both Bas and Jacques, wider than the doorway and angrier than Satan. Turning around immediately after almost colliding with the wall, it roared, its deadly sharp teeth bared, fists clenched, focused on Bas and Jacques once more.

  “So how do you want to handle this, man or cat?” Jacques asked, looking over to Bas, then quickly back to the thing that was obviously ready for another round.

  Bas reached behind his back in search of his gun, which wasn’t there because he’d known they were walking into a police station. He’d foolishly thought this was a situation they’d be able to handle without the aid of weapons, or lawyers for that matter. The word “foolishly” echoed loudly in his head as the man picked up a desk and hurled it at them.