Desire's Sirocco

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Not of Sustenance, I haven’t,” she said with a wink.

  Dagan unfolded his arms and came to stand beside his brother. “You don’t have a choice, Hagan,” he said, hands on hips. “You want to walk, to run, to dance with this woman?”

  “To fuck her standing up,” Neith murmured.

  Hagan opened one eye. “I’ve never done that.”

  “She’s giving you back your legs, brother,” Dagan said with a grunt. “Be a man!”

  Hagan turned his head and looked at the beaker where a fledgling squirmed, its forked tongue tasting the glass. He cringed.

  “Do you want to remain a cripple begging for blood to satisfy yourself?” Neith snapped.

  Tearing his stare from the hideous beastlet glaring back at him, the Grand Master shook his head.

  “Put him on the table Manu,” Dagan ordered. As much as he loved his brother and wanted to see him whole once more, he could not force himself to be the one to put Hagan through the hell he knew was about to commence.

  Neith looked around at her lover’s twin. “Will you be as spineless when it is time for your woman to be made one with us, warrior?”

  Manu was standing behind his master’s rolling chair, trembling from head to toe. His face was as white as parchment and he kept swallowing as though something were stuck in his throat. His pleading eyes met Dagan’s angry ones.

  “Leave us,” Dagan ordered and was nearly bowled over as the servant fled the chamber.

  Jameela jerked as the door to the chamber was flung open and her husband’s servant ran down the corridor. She had been sitting outside the room, nervously waiting her own turn. Her palms were sweating and she ran them over her skirt as she got slowly to her feet. The door was open wide enough for her to see inside the room as she watched Dagan lift his brother from the rolling chair and carry him to a long table out of sight of the door opening. As she craned her neck to see around the door, she was brought up short by sight of the bitch that had made Dagan a man.

  “You might as well come inside,” the evil woman called out.

  “No!” Dagan denied and rushed to the door. He looked at Jameela for a moment then shut the door in her face.

  The portal was made of wood a foot thick sheathed over with solid iron. It had taken four men to lift the sturdy thing onto its hinges. All sound within the room was cut off when it was closed. Though she tried the handle, Jameela found it locked and barred against her entry.

  But it was not so soundproof that it blocked the hellish scream that came unbidden to her newfound sixth sense. Covering her ears with her hands did not block out that reverberating shriek of agony. Dropping to her knees, she knew her time was near. She began to pray she could endure the torment her lover and husband had undergone before her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dagan’s heart was breaking as he opened the door and beckoned his lady to join them. She was pale—paler than his taking of her blood should have made her—and he berated himself for being the cause of her distress.

  “You heard?”

  Jameela nodded. Taking small steps, she went to her lover and took the hand he held out to her. She was trembling and as Dagan folded her into his arms, she felt tears gathering in her eyes. “I am a coward, milord,” she whispered.

  The Grand Master glanced at the woman who would soon become his new wife. Like his twin before him, he was beginning to feel the Transition coming on much too quickly after the Transference. The unease in his bones and muscles was rapidly growing.

  “Close the door, Dagan!” Neith shouted. “Bar it!”

  Shoving Jameela out of his arms, Dagan hurried back into the room and shut the door once more in his lady’s face. He barely had time to lower the bar into place before he heard the unearthly growls coming from behind him. Spinning around, his eyes widened as he watched his brother drop to all fours and begin to change.

  Neith hurried to Dagan’s side and took his arm. “He might attack us in this his first change but I pray not. If he does, Transition quickly and protect yourself.”

  “Transition on demand?” Dagan queried, flicking her a quick look before returning his amazed stare to his twin.

  “Think it and it will happen,” Neith told him.

  Hagan Kiel was rolling on the floor, his muzzle already pushed forward, his ears elongated, fur covering every inch of his body but his hands were still human though the nails had extended into wickedly curved talons. The popping, cracking sounds of his bones changing into those of a wolf had stopped and as he threw back his head in agony, a howl of fury pushed from his throat.

  “Look,” Neith said. She directed Dagan’s gaze to his brother’s hands.

  Wiry dark gray tendrils were snaking out over the backs of the Grand Master’s hands and the flesh of his palms was turning dark and leathery. Sitting back on his haunches, he held up what were fast becoming paws and stared at them with a lowered red gaze. When the full transition had occurred, he slowly turned his lupine head and stared at Neith and Dagan. Leathery lips pulling back from sharp fangs dripping with thick saliva, he growled low in his throat, his muzzle wrinkling, but he remained where he was.

  Neith breathed a sigh of relief. “He knows who we are and won’t attack.”

  Dagan jumped as the woman beside him dropped to all fours and began changing. His mouth dropped open for her Transition was quick—within a blink of an eye—and occurred as silently as leaf falling to the ground on a lazy fall day.

  Hagan Kiel raised his head and sniffed the air. His wet nostrils quivered for he had taken in the scent of his mate padding slowly toward him. Scarlet eyes glowing, he lowered his front paws to the floor and shook his thick gray pelt.

  Neith—her coat as white as snow—went to her lover, sidling to him so that he could butt his muzzle against her side. When he nipped at her, she turned, nipped at him, and then the two playfully rose up on their hind legs and swatted one another, growling low and yipping excitedly.

  Dagan watched in stunned silence as the two wolves circled one another, teasing, bumping, and yelping lightly. Pressed against the barred door, his amazement turned to lust when his twin nosed the female around until her backside was to him and mounted her, his front paws gripping her lean flanks. Not wanting to witness the mating, he turned away and leaned his forehead against the door, closing his eyes to the sounds of rutting going on behind him.

  Jameela also stood with her forehead to the door, her hands pressed against the thick iron sheathing. Though she could not hear what was going on beyond that formidable portal, she knew what must have been happening. How long she stood there, she would never know, but when the door opened, she almost fell into the arms of her lover.

  Standing framed in the doorway, Dagan’s face was flushed; sweat glistening on his brow and upper lip. He said nothing but reached out to take Jameela’s hand. Without hesitation, she took that strong hand. When she entered the room, he shut and locked the door behind her then asked her to remove her robe.

  Jameela glanced at the two other people in the room. Neith and Hagan were standing to one side, their arms around one another’s waist. She knew a brief moment of embarrassment but did as her lover bid. When she stood there naked, she asked what it was she needed now to do.

  Dagan did not answer but swept her up into his arms and carried her silently to the table. When she would have looked toward the retable—the small shelf behind the altar upon which stood a glass beaker—he prevented her with a gentle but firm grip on her chin. He took her right hand in his.

  “There will be pain, milady,” he said. “Agonizing pain and if I could take it upon myself for you, I gladly would.”

  The Grand Master walked to the table and took her left hand. “We will be here for you.”

  Jealous of the tenderness being shown her rival, Neith came to the table and eased her mate aside. She stared down at the girl with something akin to hatred but when Hagan’s hand fell heavily on her shoulder, she quivered. The male had silently given h
is order and the bitch—though not cowered—backed off.

  “Turn over on your stomach, Beloved,” Dagan said in a husky voice.

  “Do you want me to prepare her?” Neith asked but Dagan shook his head. She handed him the sharp blade and stepped back to retrieve the fledgling that had been harvested from his body the day before.

  The pain was terrible as the scalpel sliced into the flesh of her lower back, but Hagan was holding her hands above her, his thumbs running lightly over the skin at the underside of her wrists. He spoke quietly to her in words she did not understand. Pushing her head hard against the surface of the table, Jameela was crying, her heart thundering like a herd of wild stallions in her chest.

  Dagan hesitated as Neith removed the glass lid of the beaker. She held a pair of tongs out to him and when their eyes met, he swallowed hard.

  “She is losing blood from the incision,” Neith said. “That scent is not going unnoticed by my mate or me.”

  The warning was there and Dagan took the tongs, his hand shaking so badly that his first attempt to grasp the fledgling failed and the metal jiggle against the beaker.

  “Careful!” Neith hissed. “Do not injure the nestling!”

  Mentally trying to steady his hand, Dagan’s second attempt to grasp the fledgling succeeded. He was amazed at the strength of the three-inch beastess as it wiggled to and fro and tried to escape.

  “Put it to her back, warrior!” Neith snarled. “Be quick about it!”

  Not giving himself time to put an end to this thing, Dagan dropped the fledgling over the incision in Jameela’s back and gasped as the creature dove unerringly into the wound.

  Neith had moved quickly to the foot of the table and made a grab for Jameela’s ankles as the girl screamed in torment. The Grand Master held her hands as she tried to break free. Looking up at his brother, he felt a twinge of shared pain.

  Jameela was in agony, writhing on the table as she tried to dispel the creature slithering around inside her. It felt as though a hundred thousand bees were stinging her organs.

  “Accept Me, Woman,” the parasite commanded. “Accept Me and I will make the pain stop.”

  “Aye!” Jameela screamed. “Anything you ask!”

  Dagan remembered well the parasite demanding his allegiance to It. He knew his lady was in too much pain to understand to what it was she agreed. Not that she had a choice, he thought.

  As quickly as the pain began, it eased. Only the vague sensation of small crawling things wrapping around her backbone remained but that was a feeling Jameela could endure.

  “The Book says that though the Queen will not allow a female impregnated with Reaper sperm to reproduce other females,” Neith said. “She will protect her own gender once it has been introduced into a warrioress.”

  “Reaper?” Dagan questioned.

  “That is what our race is called,” Neith replied.

  “I thought it was Ordonese,” the Grand Master put in.

  “I thought so, too, until I read the Book.”

  Jameela was lying still, her eyes open but unblinking. Her face was flushed with a reddish glow.

  “You gave her Sustenance when you took her blood?” Neith asked.

  Dagan nodded. “My own but none other,” he replied. “Never will I allow her to consume any Sustenance other than mine.”

  Neith pressed her lips together. “A mistake,” she silently sent to her lover though Dagan intercepted the comment, ignoring it.

  Neith and the Grand Master released their hold on Jameela. They headed for the door at the same time.

  “Bar it behind us,” Neith advised Dagan. “Her Transition may be as quick as my Beloved’s and yours.”

  Nodding, Dagan heard them leave then walked to the portal to bar it. As the heavy iron bar slid into place, he heard the wet, squishing and popping sounds that signaled his lover’s changing. Not wanting to witness it, he kept his back to her and stared at the striations of color on the iron sheathing of the door.

  “Dagan!” he heard in a low, throaty growl. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeled himself then turned.

  She had completed Transition and was perched on her haunches, her pelt pristine white. The vermeil glow from her lovely eyes beckoned as she swept the fullness of her tail along the floor. One delicate paw lifted from the floor as a lady would lift her hand for a lover’s kiss upon her wrist. She growled softly, all human ability to speech now gone.

  His mate, Dagan thought as he willed himself to Transition, called. His lover, his bitch, awaited the consummation of their desire in this new form.

  Dropping down to all fours, changing in the wink of an eye, he sidled close to her, his muzzle touching hers wetly as they met. He sniffed her and reeled from the musk of her heat wafting up to his quivering nostrils.

  She whined and lay down on her side, that sweet little paw waving at him as she spread her hind legs for his inspection.

  He sniffed her, licked at the protrusion of her sex and tasted the sweet, sweet essence of her juices. He nudged with his muzzle and she rolled over, presenting her rump to him, wiggling it like a coy woman of the evening.

  She grinned as she heard his low grunt of humor and as he reared up and grasped her hindquarters, she flicked her tail out of the way, giving him free entry to her throbbing body.

  He entered her in one smooth, assured stroke and filled her canal to the hilt. His front paws grasping her flanks, he thrust into her with powerful strokes. When he came, he shivered and let his silvery head fall to her back, exhausted. For a moment they stood that way—he still locked inside her—and then he withdrew. Wolf-tired, he fell to the floor and lay on his side.

  She turned and lay down beside him and wedged her muzzle between his hind legs. With delicate strokes, she licked the essence of him, cleaning him as he shivered at her touch. When she was finished, she lay down beside him—her back to his front—and they slept.

  * * * * *

  The full body of the Conclave sat in attendance as the Grand Master divorced his Lady-wife and took another as mate. They were silent, subdued, as the Master Trainer took unto himself the cast-off wife of his twin. The dual Joining was a first for the Brothers and had set a precedent they had not embraced until they witnessed Lord Dagan’s Transition behind the heavily barred doors of his holding cell. Such a sight had quelled any disagreement, any opposition to the Grand Master’s plan. They knew who was in charge and accepted it. There would be no rebelling.

  Neither would there be any disrespect shown for either Lady-wife for the she-wolves had torn apart and devoured Brother Qutaybah, the Grand Master’s chancellor, when that one had dared to insult the Lady Jameela.

  “My brother and I have an announcement,” the Grand Master said. He held his hand out to his Lady-wife, as did Lord Dagan to his mate.

  The Brothers strained to hear, cocking their heads to one side for they sensed a pronouncement of significance.

  “Many years ago, war broke out within the Kiel clan,” their Master reminded them. “All from the lust of one brother to have what another owned.” He swept his hand toward his twin. “As you can see, Lord Dagan has his lady and I have mine. My brother is content to see me Master and has no design on the throne. Neither will his children or his children’s children.”

  A gasp went through the Brothers. They had yet to come to terms with Lord Dagan having been made whole. The knowledge that the former Master Trainer was now capable of breeding made many of them uneasy. To those who worried, it seemed another vicious war might well be in the making should the offspring of Lord Dagan and Lady Jameela set eyes on the throne of Akhkharu.

  Lord Qasim dared to raise his hand.

  The Grand Master nodded at the Minister of Justice to speak.

  “Is there a chance either Lady is expecting?” he asked.

  “Both are,” Lord Hagan Kiel announced.

  Another gasp ran through the assemblage. A low muttering rumbled amongst the Brothers.

  The Grand Master ca
lled them to order and silence was immediate.

  “There is a vast area of land to the north and Lord Dagan has requested to make that his home. He will journey there as soon as arrangements can be made.”

  “That land has never been mapped, Your Grace,” Lord Qasim reminded him. “Perhaps there are inhabitants who would not take kindly to being settled by the Akhkharu.”

  “There are wolves there,” Lord Dagan spoke up. “But no human inhabitants.” He brought his lady’s hand to his lip and kissed it. “Our offspring will be the first.”

  “You have reconnoitered this land, Lord Dagan?” Lord Gidim asked.

  “I have and it is acceptable to us. Those who would like to journey with my Lady-wife and I are free to do so.”

  “Those who expect my brother to fight me for this throne now that he has a son on the way can see he has no such intention,” the Grand Master said.

  “With all due respect, Your Grace, but might not Lord Dagan’s sons feel differently?” Lord Gidim pressed.

  “One of the reasons war broke out was because the men of the Kiel family taught greed to their sons,” the Grand Master reminded them. “It was a time where each man was out for what he could grab. If my Lady-wife and I, as well as Lord Dagan and his, teach our offspring greed is anathema, there should never be any worry of who owns what.”

  “We will each have our land, our ladies, our children, and not covet the others,” Lord Dagan put in.

  Though Lord Qasim knew the brothers believed in what they espoused, he also knew human nature might change in generations to come. Concern clouding his vision, he returned to his seat, hoping that would not be the case in his lifetime.

  When the Brothers had left the throne room and all that remained were the twins and their ladies, the quartet sat in companionable silence, sipping at the delicious brew in their goblets.

  “Qasim will stay but I believe Gidim will travel with you, Dagan,” the Grand Master said.

  “I believe you are right. Qasim looked a little gray when he watched you Transition, brother. I would watch him were I you.”