Taren shuddered and swore.
John laughed. “Still say no, brother-mine?”
Sam’s caresses deepened and Taren leaned into her touch.
“We never allow strangers to touch our wings,” Taren said. “Generations ago, we were hunted for our wings, to have them fashioned into garments and expensive trinkets. To lose our wings is to lose our honor, our life.” He smiled. “You have a gentle touch. It pleases me.”
“Come here, Sammi,” John whispered. She turned and saw him lying spread eagled on the bed, his phallus rigid. His smile was pure predatory male. Her throat constricted as her inner muscles cramped with desire. John ran a hand down his body, skimming low across his stomach, down his left thigh. “Let me soothe you, kitten-mine.”
Sam edged closer, crawled across the bed and lay face first over him. She pressed her mouth into the groove of his neck and lapped, then bit. He shivered beneath her.
The bed dipped again and Sam swallowed nervously as she felt Taren’s weight carefully settle over her, his body wedged between her spread thighs. His breath tickled her nape and he bit gently, then sucked.
Sam moved her head and captured John’s mouth with her own. His tongue probed and she answered with her own lap.
“Ahh…” John whispered.
“When I kissed you, clan-brother-mine, you did not say that to me,” Taren said. “You told me to fuck off.” His laughter vibrated through Sam’s body. “Lucky for you, I did not listen.” His tongue swirled over Sam’s neck, as his fingers sought the softness of her folds.
Sam shivered. “Ahh,” she whispered.
“You like this, kitten-sister? Some more, then.” Taren’s fingers stroked. His touch was firmer than John’s. Kuno tended to tease, building up the pleasure with the pressure; Taren was full-on at the outset. Or, perhaps he was too wired to take time with preliminaries. Straight to the heart; her heart. He was an assassin in every sense of the word.
John ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and then moved slightly, angling, and Sam saw him stroke Taren’s hair, the tips of his wings.
“Ahh,” Taren groaned.
She felt John bring one of his legs against the back of Taren’s thighs, his heel resting against the back of her knee, holding them both close. John kissed her again and Taren pressed his lips to her cheek, the two men fondling and kissing, breathing cat pheromones over her. Her blood thudded against her temples.
John’s hand eased beneath her to rest at her juncture. He ran a nail over her clit while one of Taren’s fingers delved into her. They worked together to bring her to arousal. She shuddered and quelled the storm, holding it inside, waiting for them to join her.
Taren lifted her and John eased into her, filling her in one upwards thrust. Taren’s finger stroked between them, applying pressure to one of the pleasure-meridians. Sam groaned as Taren loved her with his finger and John loved her with his body. A hand sought another meridian—was it John or Taren? Awareness focused on the pleasure and as the first ripple raced out to engulf her, Sam felt the probing of Taren’s body and then the shock of him entering her from behind. He paused. John paused.
Kitten-mine? John soothed.
Kitten-sister? Taren whispered.
And before she could stop it, an image escaped from her mind, a memory of Andy and what he had done to her…
The man below her tensed, the man above her mentally reeled, his body easing away.
No! Her mind commanded, as she reached behind to hold Taren to her.
This is the human-monster you told me about, Kuno? Taren demanded. It is a pity he is dead, else I would take great delight in peeling the flesh from his bones, a knife lick at a time.
Sam shuddered in horror at the words, the image, then with shame. You told him, John?
He saw it when we linked.
There is no shame, Samantha. What has been done to you is unforgivable. Not your fault. Taren gently eased into her, halting, allowing her time to accustom herself to his size.
John wedged his hand between Sam and Taren, pressed one of her favorite meridians—at the base of her spine and at the same time, Sam felt him finger-tease Taren. The cat-wing groaned. Mind-linked with Taren, Sam also groaned, shared his pleasure at John’s touch, as Taren experienced her delight at John’s caress. Theirs, an intense, three-way mutual pleasuring.
I feel you, Kuno. Separated, but joined within Samantha.
Yeah, like you, Tar, hot and hard. Enjoying this kitten-mine?
Ohhhhh.
I think that means yes, Tar.
Slowly, in tandem, the men moved, beginning a slow, gentle loving rhythm. For a moment the pressure, almost a pain was too much. Then, another stroke of their fingers against her pleasure points took the discomfort away, replacing it with…
Ohhhh. She squeezed her eyelids shut.
Moments later, Sam felt herself lifted sideways and settled against the bed, John in front of her, Taren behind. John’s thigh rested over her hip, across to Taren.
They rode her, thrust for thrust, John kissing and Taren stimulating her nape meridian with his tongue and teeth.
Sam caught Taren’s frustration, his deep need. He had been away from home too long, missed his mate with a hunger and loneliness that was beyond words. As John thrust, she bore down against Taren, taking him deep inside. Taren’s shock washed over her—that she would do that for him.
You’re my clan-brother, Taren. You think a dumb old human can’t do this for you? It’s my pleasure, my honor.
Kuno!
I told you she was special. John’s love, his starlight passion, washed over them both.
Sam gasped as she was lifted, not in body, but in mind and spirit. She was flying with Taren through the cosmos, through fields of pulsing stars. Soaring and swerving, through shimmering nebulae, skimming the surface of unknown worlds, almost like the ring surfers she had watched with John from the window of the Saturn Hilton.
As if to give emphasis to her thoughts, she heard the whoosh of beating wings and the whisper-kiss of air beneath her; felt the caress of starfire across her naked skin. Taren soared and she shared, as John shared, flying in tandem with the Avenor.
Suns exploded around them and Sam found herself plummeting down a glowing tunnel of starlight. The pleasure was too much. She screamed. She heard John’s pleasure-cry, then Taren’s, shared their climax in the warmth spreading through her body. But neither man halted, their loving continued unabated, deepening, almost plundering and as John’s orgasm spilled into her, so did Taren’s. In answer, she bathed the men with her own essence. John’s starlight washed over her, through her as Taren glided with her across the infinite.
It was too much. Sam wept. Their love soothed. But in that moment of soothing, their senses sparked, a crescendo of multiple shared passions…
Kitten-mine? John’s mind-whisper touched her.
“She is returning,” said Taren. Sam felt his fingers stroking her temple.
Sam opened her eyelids, at first her vision blurring. She blinked. She was lying against John on the bed, his arms around her, Taren leaning over them both.
“I am sorry, Samantha. I overloaded and took you with me. I did not realize how in need I was. “
“Taren, you have to go home and get feegled.”
“At very least,” Taren agreed, smiling. “Samantha…” His voice was a whisper and in that one word she heard everything he wanted to say.
“It was my pleasure.”
Taren snorted. “Hardly that for you.”
“I was flying, Taren.”
“You have never flown before?”
“Not like that.” She turned to look at John. “I felt your starlight in me, but different. Almost burning. Is that the mutatis thing? It’s still there, like an ember, glowing. I’ll never be alone again.”
His arms tightened around her. “Never alone, kitten-mine. And yes, I have given you a taste of mutatis. My name is Kuno and I exist for you, only for you.”
Taren sm
iled and bent and kissed them both. “Can you be ready to leave for Chizan in the hour?”
“So soon?” Sam asked, watching as Taren scooped his knives and clothes off the floor.
“Did you have plans?” Taren demanded, a black brow raised. “Take pity on your poor husband. You will wear him out.”
John snorted. “In your dreams, bird brain.”
Laughing, Taren strode from the bedroom.
“Now, where were we?” Sam demanded, stroking John’s stomach.
Three hours later, en route to Chizan.
“I’m not drinking your bloody potion, Taren, so take it away,” John snapped.
“It is not open to debate, Kuno. You want to have a comfortable trip to Chizan, then you need sedation. If not for your sake, then for Samantha and for me, for the draconis. Your sex is barely controlled. Stars curse Ronsevaal blood! I do not want to risk you igniting half way to Chizan. If that happens, then where will we be? I am not adverse to a ménage of five, or seven if the draconis want it, too, but not here, not now.” He held out the glass containing a mixture resembling the color and consistency of porridge.
Glancing at it, Sam thought it would probably taste worse than it looked—and that was saying something. At the face John pulled as he drank, the concoction was definitely gross.
“Feegle it!” John hissed after he downed the contents. “Why do all your potions taste like dung?”
“Not having had the experience of tasting dung myself, I cannot comment.” Taren retreated, laughing.
Sam rested her hand on John’s thigh. Beneath her fingers she felt his heat, the shuddering and the locked muscles. Deeper, she sensed his fear, and his sorrow. The emptiness she had tried desperately to fill—the place within John that existed for Hari.
Ah, Harimal.
Sam sighed. He was still missing, even after extensive searches of the quadrant where his transport had foundered. A few pieces of blasted metal were the only clues that Harimal’s ship had ever existed in that section of space.
She glanced at John. Now that he was safely asleep she could relive the past and not hide her fears. Her anguish.
In the days after the news, they had waited, hope fading with every passing hour. Shifters of all species had joined the search, while John and Sam had remained behind in the apartment, coordinating the hunt and getting clearance and passage for the next flight to Chizan.
Kareena, Lenar and Taren stayed in the apartment, offering support and comfort and dealing with the emails and personal callers who offered sympathy, some seeking private audiences with Kuno—now he was the only remaining san-Duran Ronsevaal.
“Vultures!” Sam said as Taren sealed the door against the last visitor.
The assassin smiled. “One of my kin clans are vultures, Samantha, so be careful.”
She stammered an apology before their laughter made her realize Taren had made a joke at her expense. Given the circumstances, any joke at her expense was okay.
During the process of the galaxy-wide sweep, other shifters had disappeared without trace. Someone was taking the shifters down—regardless of species, and their human allies also disappeared. Eventually, the searchers were recalled home by their respective leaders. A few assassins refused to give up the chase.
“Face it, Mister Lucas,” the Terran ambassador had said, when visiting the apartment to offer condolences. “Your brother won’t have survived that accident. I mean, you saw the report. The ship was atomized.”
Sam held her breath. An ambassador should know better. John might have a human persona, but right now in the apartment, he was felinus and no one called a male felinus ‘mister’. The least he could do would be to address John as Maer. The human had forgotten he was dealing with Chizan royalty, too. Or, maybe, the ambassador was one who harbored a secret hatred of shifters, denying them equality, denying them humanity. If so, what the feegling hell was he doing in the diplomatic service?
The silence in the apartment was terrifying. Sam stepped forward, interposing herself, certain that John would tear the idiot to pieces.
Taren reached the ambassador first.
“The thing about humans is that when times are tough, they just go belly up.” Taren invaded the man’s personal space, to go eye to eye with him. “If you will, please to recall the Battle of Deneb. Felinus and Avenor held the line when humans wanted to surrender to the starlords. We fought tooth, claw and knife with odds of fifty to one and we were victorious. Where kin are concerned, where friends are concerned, trust me, ambassador, we do not give up. Ever.”
“Yes, well, yes…”
“Maer Kuno, san-Duran Ronsevaal thanks you for your sympathy. I will see that my King, Maer Kuno’s father is advised of your concern.”
The ambassador’s face blanched, but if he was going to apologize, he was given no opportunity. Taren marched him to the door and it was barely half open, before the assassin pressed the human through the opening. It slid closed.
Taren turned to the room. “Feegling bureaucrats! Pity this door does not have hinges, I would have liked to slam it in the gevrin-iik’s face.”
Gevrin-iik? Sam didn’t want to ask for a translation because the shocked looks around the room said enough. Taren had probably committed some shifter faux pas, but who would dare reprimand an assassin? Especially an enraged assassin?
Taren bowed to them and after activating the door, he strode out, his wings ruffling in his wake.
“He’s going to tear someone to pieces in that state. Should I go after him?” Sam asked.
“I will,” Kareena said. “I’ll give him a triple shot of shovan. That’ll settle his wings.” Lenar waved her through the door and sealed it shut, leaning against it, folding his arms regarding Kuno who was, again, bent over the computer console.
“He’s not dead,” John insisted as he studied the star charts tiled over the screen. “I’d know. There’s part of me in Hari, as there is part of me in you, honey-cat.” He raised her hand and kissed it, his tongue sweeping over her wrist.
“I feel you,” Sam whispered. “Like a shadow in the back of my mind. Lurking.”
He raised a brow. “Do you like my lurking?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’ll show you lurking, kitten, when we’re on Chizan.”
And a few minutes later, Taren, with two draconis guards, arrived to escort them to the starliner. Except the plan changed in the shuttle.
Taren, at the controls, had re-directed the shuttle to a long, sleek, needle-shaped craft at the far end of the space dock. His own personal hunter ship, the craft was built for speed, not comfort. The draconis grumbled. Standing at three meters high, the dragons just fitted in the passenger cabin. When John had teasingly suggested they could spread out in the cargo hold, the draconis had not been amused. Claws clicked ominously.
“The cat’s making a joke,” the elder draconis hissed.
“I’m sorry,” John said, bowing, his hands folded over his heart.
The dragons sniffed and nodded. Apology accepted. Then they let out a hideous noise, like the scrape of claws down metal. Sam tensed. If ever that was a battle cry… John laughed and again the draconis let out that stars awful noise.
“Are they laughing?” Sam demanded, mouth dry with fear.
“Sorry, kitten-mine. I forgot you don’t know draconis. Yep, they’re laughing.”
“Perhaps the cat should go into a carry basket with a lock. I can smell his pheromones. We will be feegled. I am allergic to cat hair!” Another screech-laugh and this time Sam smiled—nervously.
“I hope this subterfuge is worth our discomfort,” the younger dragon said.
Sam settled thoughtfully against her seat in the cabin.
It had been no secret that John and she were going to the felinus world and on what liner. Their luggage, emblazoned with the Ronsevaal device, a spiral of green and silver, had been dispatched ahead of them to the starship.
All a complicated diversion, as it turned out, in case of spie
s. The last minute swap of ships would have thrown any pursuit into turmoil—and Taren’s ship was fast. The journey to Chizan would take two days at hyper-light, which was probably just as well, given the cramped conditions and John’s barely restrained sexual hunger.
Beside her John groaned and Sam’s thoughts returned to the present.
She glanced at John, sensing his frustration. His hand covered hers.
“I’m sorry, kitten-mine,” he said, smiling ruefully.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Not quite.”
“What are you sorry about?”
“For everything.”
“We’ve already had this discussion and don’t turn maudlin on me again, or I’ll slap you. I told you before. I’m not staying behind, no matter the danger. Besides, you and I are going to join for the mutatis. You can’t do that on your own.”
“I can divert the energy.”
Taren’s derisive snort reached them from the back seat.
“I can,” John hissed.
“In your dreams, cat-boy,” Taren said. “You want a repeat performance of that channeling we did in the apartment?”
“Stop being so damn stubborn and arrogant, Kuno!” Sam whispered.
“Arrogant? Stubborn? Me?”
“Yes.”
“I have to find Harimal.”
“Hari will be found. He would kick you in the ass if he thought you were risking yourself for him. Mutatis comes first,” Taren snapped.
“And I thought your mood would have been improved through your sharing with me and Sammi. If anything it’s bloody worse and that’s feegling saying something.” John growled and leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.
Sam pressed her face against the shuttle window, her breath misting the glass. So this was Chizan! The craft sliced through the mauve clouds, skimming over dark forests and rolling emerald hills. On the horizon she saw snow-capped purple mountains. Two moons, one silver, the other green, hung low in the dawn sky.
Purple, green and silver—the official colors of Chizan. John had showed her the planet’s heraldic symbol on the Galactic Council website. Chizan (or known to outsiders as Fellinal) was one of the original signatories to the Council Charter and so wielded great influence, which was why the opportunists had descended on Kuno’s apartment, the moment it was discovered Harimal—the heir-apparent—was missing, presumed dead.
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