by Rosalie Redd
She refused his offer and stood unaided. On her feet again, she turned to face him. “Shall I get you the muldoberry wine?”
He smiled. Although she’d given in this time, they were far from through with their training. “That won’t be necessary, Carine. Why don’t you,” he pointed to her shirt which had ripped during her fall, “change, and then prepare for dinner. My guests will arrive soon.”
She peered at the bottle of wine and the briefest smirk crossed her face. When her gaze returned to him, she spoke, her words contrite and overly sweet. “Of course, master.”
As she walked past, he chuckled. Breaking her in was more entertaining than he’d anticipated, but he’d spent far too much time with her the past few days. So much so, he’d neglected to check in with his characters in the war on Earth. Time to rectify that issue.
*****
Ram ran his fingers along his chin, stroking the bare skin. He picked up a half-full Smirnoff’s bottle from the warped wooden table and poured two fingers of alcohol into the bottom of his empty cup. The liquid hugged the inside lip of the mug as he swirled the contents. With one swift move, he tilted back his head and the vodka raced down his throat. The burn made him shiver. He closed his eyes in delight.
“My lord.” Jakar’s strained voice broke through the silence in the old cellar.
Ram’s moment of peace ended. The scales on the back of his neck flared. He opened his eyes and glared at his first lieutenant. A piece of translucent skin hung from Jakar’s arm, catching Ram’s attention. Ram pointed to it and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Jakar asked.
“You’re shedding.”
“Oh. Yessss.” Jakar tugged at the skin, pulling a large chunk that ran from his forearm to his shoulder. He held it up to the light. “Perfect.” His tongue whipped out of his mouth and wrapped around the skin, which disappeared into his mouth.
The vodka in Ram’s stomach threatened to come up. He grimaced. “You’re disgusting. You do know that, don’t you?”
Jakar smiled, his serrated teeth lining up like knives in a chopping block. He retrieved a couple of the empty vodka bottles strewn across the table. With a full armload, he put them back in one of the boxes lining the dirt walls.
A spark fizzled from the overhead lightbulb, causing Ram’s body to cast a strange shadow against the wall. The electricity in the room prickled his skin. Sweat beaded along his upper lip. “Oh, no.”
The current in the air could mean only one thing. Zedron.
Jakar turned to stare at Ram.
A cool breeze filtered down the stairs, turning the banister white with frost. The small crystals stood at odd angles and reflected the ceiling light with a strange beauty. Ram’s nose and ears numbed under the sudden drop in temperature.
At the bottom of the stairs, a nebulous blue mist took the shape of their god, Zedron. He wore a fine Italian suit with patent-leather wingtip shoes. His brown hair cascaded around his shoulders. He stood with his head held high.
Zedron held Ram’s gaze with his piercing blue eyes. “You failed.”
Ram’s blood froze. The weight of his failure sent him to his knees. Good thing, since it was grovel time.
“My Lord, Zedron. It is a…pleasure to see you again. Your choice of Earthling clothing is…stylish.” He swallowed and almost couldn’t get the lump in his throat to go down.
Zedron glanced around the room and his lip curled in distaste. “You live in squalor. Well, not for much longer.” He wiped his hands over his sleeves and sent a disgusted glare around the room.
“My lord. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Ram’s voice wavered.
“Noeh is still alive. Do you know what happens to my characters when they fail?” Zedron smiled, but his eyes were hard and unfeeling.
The contradiction sent a chill along Ram’s scales and over his back. “Lord Zedron. I have some news, something that will ensure we will win this war.”
“Do tell. I’d like to hear why I shouldn’t kill you now.” Zedron walked over to the table cluttered with empty cups, used syringes, and beakers. Selecting an empty syringe, he brought it to his nose, taking a large whiff. He turned and stared at Ram. “Panthera blood.”
A glimmer of hope formed in Ram’s mind. He stood and faced his god. “Yes, I used it to create a new serum. All of our brood has the ability to shift into panther form.” He clapped his hands together, unable to contain his giddiness.
Zedron raised one eyebrow. “Really?”
Ram looked at Jakar. “Show him.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Jakar took one look at Zedron then dropped his gaze. He crouched on all fours, his hands grinding into the dirt, brow furrowing as he concentrated. His back arched. A hiss escaped his lips. To his credit, he didn’t cry out like the first time he’d changed.
His body contorted, clothing disappeared underneath his skin. Jakar resembled a Panthera without hair, blue and red veins visible under the translucent skin. He growled and bared his serrated teeth. His tongue whipped out of his mouth, coming close to Zedron’s shoes.
“The brood has practiced in their new form and is ready to fight, Lord Zedron.” Ram closed his eyes for a brief moment. He didn’t want to see the expression on Zedron’s face. If the god wasn’t pleased, this would be Ram’s endgame.
A low chuckle filled the room and grew until it shook the earth. Pebbles and dust filtered from the rafters. Muffled grunts and shouts erupted from above as Ram’s brood reacted to the mini-quake.
“Well done.” Zedron wiped a tear from his eye. “You’ve earned another chance. I won’t be so forgiving next time.”
Ram bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord Zedron. I’ll make you proud.”
The lines in Zedron’s face tightened and his focus narrowed on Ram. “I have a certain…” Zedron waved his hand in the air, “animosity for Demir. If the opportunity arises, be sure to make him suffer before you kill him.”
Ram’s pulse increased. “My pleasure, my lord.”
A flash of blinding light lit up the room. The coolness in the air retreated. Zedron was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Demir pushed through the dense undergrowth, the blackberry brambles catching along his pant legs. Like giant spiders, the dead, brown vines rose from the ground, eager to trap him in their grasp. Even the animals seemed to avoid this stretch of land. The dense canopy of trees blocked the moon, but his cat-like eyes adjusted to the dimness.
He turned to glance at Aramie. Determination lined her eyes. A lock of her hair snagged on a blackberry vine, pulling the fine strands over her ear. She jerked her head. “Damn it.”
Despite the cold winter night, a bead of sweat rolled down his back, cooling his skin. His teeth ground together and caused his jaw to ache. He should’ve dragged Aramie back to the Keep. Instead, he’d given in to her wishes. Now, he trekked through the forest, in search of his enemy, with Aramie. His father was right—he was weak. He hated himself all the more.
“Why’d you stop? We can’t pause, we have to keep going.” She placed her hands on her hips, her hurried breaths easing in and out of her parted lips.
He focused on them, remembering their luscious appeal. With effort, he pulled his gaze up to her eyes. “We’re not searching for Blue Pool. We hunt for Gossum. One will lead us to Ram.”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “Blue Pool exists—”
“That I stand here before you is proof that it does,” he gripped her elbow, the skin on skin contact sending all kinds of sparks over his fingers, “but you won’t find it—not again.”
She focused on his hand and with a slow ease, she pulled away. The loss of contact sparked a bout of frustration in his chest, causing him to grind his teeth. She bit her lip and exhaled. “Blue Pool is where we last saw Ram. We have to find him. I won’t give up.”
He looked into the dark cover of evergreens. “We take to the trees.”
Aramie pursed her lips and surveyed their surroundings. She seeme
d unwilling to give up on her chosen path. He’d have to try harder to convince her.
“You know as well as I they are cunning and elusive. Did you expect them to let you waltz right into their lair?”
“No, of course not.” She closed her eyes for a second. “I need revenge—for Sidea.”
“I have no doubt we’ll find our enemy. Let’s go.” He changed into his panther form and climbed the nearest pine tree. His claws dug into the bark, giving him the grip he needed to scale into the branches.
Aramie followed.
They travelled among the trees for several minutes before they came upon evidence of their enemy. A shriveled Gossum skin hung from one of the branches. The thin membrane flew like a flag in the soft breeze. The faint astringent reek burned Demir’s sensitive nose.
Aramie’s fur rose between her shoulder blades.
Demir crept down a couple of branches, then leapt to the forest floor. His paws landed on the soft pine needles that muffled the sound.
Aramie joined him, and as her soft fur rubbed against his, a quiet mewl escaped her lips.
His heightened senses focused on her. The scent of strawberries cascaded over him, easing its way into his heart. Her coat shone in the dim light. He wanted to rub himself all over her and mark her with his own scent. The predator in him took over, clouding his thoughts.
He panted as he circled her. His cat would launch himself at her at any moment, taking her down, dominating her into submission.
A low warning growl emitted from her throat, announcing her intention. She’d fight him. That spurned him all the more. She’d been driving him crazy all night, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
One moment, a female black panther taunted him with her yellow eyes, the next—Aramie stood before him in human form. She held out her hands in supplication. “No, Demir. Please.”
The rejection stung, like a verbal slap to the face. He took a step back, shaking his head, trying to clear the lust that had consumed him.
What was he thinking? So unlike Eleanor, Aramie would fight him, challenge him over even the smallest decisions. He didn’t need that in his life, not now, not when he already felt weak.
He transformed into his human state. To maintain some semblance of dignity, he straightened his shirt, even though it already molded to his chest. “Now we have their trail. Tracking our enemy should be easy.”
Her hand curled into a fist. “You are so infuriating. Why do you play games with me?” She raised her hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Her brown eyes bore into him, piercing him with her gaze, but her mouth quivered and betrayed her pain.
A lump formed in his throat. She cares for me, not just as her Pride leader, but as a male. He couldn’t speak, the words trapped in his throat.
“Let’s go.” She headed upwind, the Gossum’s stench growing stronger with the breeze.
He followed close behind. “Aramie,” he tsked, “don’t mistake me for something I’m not—a refined, genteel male.” He hid behind his cynicism, the barrier like a familiar blanket.
She whirled around. Her about-face caught him off guard. He gripped her arms as much to prevent their collision as his need to touch her. The anger evident in her red face and pursed lips made her all the more attractive.
“Maybe I don’t want a genteel male.”
“Is this what you’d rather have?”
His own frustration and desire broke through his thin veil of control. He didn’t wait for her permission, but pulled her into his arms. Without thought, he cradled her head in his palm. Her short breaths panted from her mouth. He kissed her lips, bruising her with his need. She fought him at first, but then relaxed, snaking her hands through his hair to rest at the base of his neck.
She returned the force of the kiss, shocking him with her intensity. He licked the inside of her bottom lip, requesting entrance. She opened to him, and the taste of her delicious strawberry flavor was sweeter than he’d remembered. He pulled her closer. Her firm breasts pressed against his sweaty shirt. Beneath her blouse her nipples hardened, driving his need to claim her.
He released her from the kiss, their heavy pants loud in the night air. Running his fingers through her hair sent a chill up his arm. The softness of those dark strands teased the sensitive pads on his fingertips. He wanted to touch every part of her body, experience all the soft places he could imagine.
“Demir—” The sensual way she said his name sent a jolt of male pride right to his groin. A guttural moan escaped his lips. At this point, he’d do anything she asked of him.
She grabbed his bottom lip with her teeth and pulled. The combined sensation of pain and pleasure rippled along the nerves in his mouth. She let him go, and a gentle growl reverberated from her chest and into his.
The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. She’d bitten him good. A rush of adrenaline raced to his cock, and he hardened at the realization of how rough she’d be as a lover. He wanted to find out, right here, right now.
“Hey, tough stuff,” his words were low and rough, “do you really want to tempt me?” As much as he didn’t want to, he’d give her one last chance to walk away. He pulled back and ran both his hands through her short, silky hair, prepared to kiss her once again.
Her hand raced to her hair. She patted the spot where her barrette used to be. Her eyes widened, and a frail gasp rose from her throat. “My barrette, it’s gone.”
Her face drained of color. The pale hue set off all kinds of warning bells in his mind.
She pulled away from him completely, and with a frantic pace, searched the ground. “Please, help me find it.” With quick and shaky hands, she patted the ground where they stood.
He kneeled next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find your hair pin. Don’t worry.”
After searching for several minutes without success, he glanced at her. She paced the area, her movement frantic. “Aramie, why is this barrette so important to you?”
She stared into his eyes, her brow furrowed. His gut twisted at her anxiety, but he had to know the answer.
“It was a gift from my gran’ma. I have to find it.” The slack expression on her face along, with the slight glisten in her eyes, brought the pain into his chest. Her anguish over the lost hair clip was the worst kind of torture. “We have to go back—to the place where we first changed into our panthers. It must be there. It has to be.”
Her command was not something he’d challenge. To bow to anyone’s will was not his style, but for her, he would. She gave him a new purpose, a new goal—to retrieve a small red barrette. The absurdity of it wasn’t lost on him, but he was lost to her, and that was all that mattered. The Gossum would have to wait.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The walls narrowed in this portion of the Keep, forcing Tanen to turn sideways to squeeze through the passage. Several large boulders lay scattered along the path, aftereffects of the Keep’s last outburst when the Gossum had tried to enter their sanctuary using a portal. Good thing they hadn’t succeeded.
The sharp edge of a rock scraped the back of his arm, leaving a long scratch. Blood welled in the injury. Craya! A twinge of irritation flashed through his mind. He wiped the red fluid on his trousers and kept moving.
The Strong room hadn’t been occupied in hundreds of years. Stiyaha were steadfast in their loyalty to the royal family. The unused dungeon had sat in empty silence, as far back as he could recall. Not anymore.
The scent of mildew, wetness, and earth brought back memories of nights when he’d roamed the land outside the confines of the Keep. He hadn’t been outside in over a century, not since a Gossum had nearly taken him down. As a council member, he had all the same training as the rest of the warriors, but his skills were rusty from lack of use. After his little bout with the enemy, he’d elected to stay inside from then on.
As he walked along the corridor, Mauree’s sweet scent of roses merged with the other smells. There were nights when h
e wished he wasn’t council leader.
“Tanen, I hear you coming. Let me out of here!” Mauree grasped one of the bars and peered at him. Her blue eyes flecked with gold, and her greasy, matted hair hung limp around her shoulders. The dress she wore had a rip up the thigh, displaying one long elegant leg.
An open tome lay on the stone floor, face down, the spine broken. His cheeks heated. He loved his books and all the knowledge they contained. Narrowing his focus, he glared at her. She smiled, as if enjoying his discomfort and agitation.
“If you can’t treat the ancient texts with respect, then you can’t have any.” He spit the words at her.
She laughed. The high-pitched snicker reverberated off the walls and into the corridor. Goosebumps raced over his arms. She’s lost her mind.
He wished that were true. The lucid look in her eyes revealed she was as sane as anyone else in this horrible war. He shuddered and bile rose in his throat.
In direct contrast to her loud laughter, he lowered his voice. “How do you like your cell?”
She stared hard at him. Her chipped nails and scuffed shoes were so unlike her. She liked to be pampered, and had seemed to enjoy how the males tracked her with their admiring gazes whenever she walked by. Short skirts and tight blouses were her traditional outfits. He’d noticed every one.
She gripped the bars with both hands, her fingers turning white from her exertion. “Let me out and I will repay you…like you want me to.”
Her eyes twinkled, her smile all mischief. She opened her mouth. With a slow sweep of her tongue, she wet her bottom lip. She positioned her face next to her hands, and then glided her moist tongue along one of the cell bars.
He curled his lip, but despite his outward display of disgust, blood raced to his genitals. His own scent of musk and pepper deepened, giving away his desire. Against his will, he focused on her mouth.
“C’mon, Tanen. I know you like what you see.” The soft lilt in her voice drew him in further. He’d been down this road before. Over the past few weeks, she’d used her sensual nature to encourage him to release her. So far, he’d been able to resist.