Wolfe, Annabel - Secrets of a Reckless Princess [The Starlight Chronicles 4] (Siren Publishing PolyAmour)

by Annabel Wolfe

  “What?”

  Neither one of them had heard the swoosh of the door, and Marc had to admit he was a little thankful to see Damon stroll in, his hand casually loosening his tunic. They exchanged a look, but immediately Damon refocused on Jayla. “You’d do what?” he asked softly, a slight grin shaping his mouth.

  Marc could have told him that was a mistake, but then again Le Clerc didn’t seem prone to taking advice.

  “What would you do, Jay?”

  “Flay you alive,” she said defiantly, but there was a definite expression of relief on her lovely face.

  “Flay? I can only vaguely recall, but that’s a medieval Earth tradition, isn’t it? Be my guest.” Damon shed his tunic and, clad only in fitted trousers, strolled over to where the open bottle of wine sat by the large window overlooking the gardens. The sound of the fountain in the background lent a musical note to the conversation. “But before you skin me alive, let me tell you about my inquiries this evening. If I die with my secrets intact, you’ll have to start over.”

  That certainly sparked Marc’s interest. “I take it the meeting went well.”

  “I met with Kale, yes, but as predicted he couldn’t really tell me much, because if he’d known anything, he would have moved on his own to negate the threat. However,”—Damon’s smile was slow and deliberate—“it occurred to me I might find some answers elsewhere. I went to a little place I used to visit as a student. It’s on the edge of Anasta City. It’s a bit dangerous to ask too many questions there, but then again, the clientele are of a sort so eclectic if you can find just the right person who will actually speak to you, there’s no telling what you might find out. That’s why I’m so late.”

  “You went to Belgravia?” Jayla’s voice held a hint of disbelief and open disapproval.

  Though Marc had taken the time to research Anasta’s culture thoroughly, the name was unfamiliar. “What’s that?”

  “Named for a part of old Earth’s city of London that was particularly aristocratic, it was supposed to serve as the same sort of status building address here on Anasta when the colony was founded,” Damon explained. “The opposite happened. The main city grew the other direction and it has acquired a different sort of reputation altogether.”

  “Dangerous.” Jayla chose a chair and sank down, her slender legs outlined by the silhouette of her sleeping gown as she visibly shivered. “Violence. Crime. To use the word unsavory is an understatement. It’s dark, half in ruins, and even the soldiers have given up patrolling it. There is no law there.”

  “This from someone who once begged me to take her there.” Damon smiled over the rim of his goblet. In answer to Marc’s raised brows, he shook his head. “I refused. I have my moments, and rules are not always meant to be followed, but I wouldn’t risk her.”

  It was nice to know they understood each other. This protective urge was new, but strong. Marc was no novice when it came to females, but he’d never taken a life mate before.

  “Yet he went himself.” Jayla leveled an accusing stare at Damon. “You idiot. And don’t either of you try to tell me that males have unique privileges, because I’m not interested in hearing it. Since you seem to still be in one piece, just tell us, what did you discover when you went into a violent slum with no protection?”

  For a moment Le Clerc looked as if he was foolish enough to argue, but he wisely just said, “I went because I remembered there was an underground newspaper always available there. Nothing that is ever put on digital mediums. If you were not willing to go to Belgravia to read it, it was not going to be put in front of you. Frequently, if there was a rumor about subversive activities, they commented on it. I just wondered.”

  “And?” Marc asked pointedly.

  “What’s happening isn’t about assassination,” Damon said flatly. “I think the national treasuries of the major colonies are the real targets. We aren’t dealing with terrorists, but thieves.”

  * * * *

  Jayla dozed, not because the subject of conversation wasn’t interesting, but because it was very late, she’d had a stressful day—no, make that a stressful week, and oddly enough, Damon’s hypothesis, as he and Marc tossed ideas back and forth, made more and more sense.

  “…good diversion.”

  “I agree. What if they…”

  The voices faded in and out and Jayla woke to the sensation of being gently lifted. It was Marc’s amused eyes she saw, the aquamarine color unique and vivid. “I think you’ve passed the point, my beautiful princess, where you are interested in the conversation.”

  Was she his? She supposed she was, actually, she thought drowsily as he scooped her up and carried her into their sleeping quarters. When he deposited her on the cool sheets, she murmured, “The two of you have been arguing over this for hours. What are we going to do?”

  “Worry about it in the morning.” He kissed her throat, just a subtle tease of his warm mouth, and then lifted away. “Nothing can be done right now.”

  But she found, as tired as she was, she wanted him to stay. Jayla half sat up and caught his arm. “I might sleep better,” she murmured, “if you were with me.”

  His brows arched. “You aren’t too tired?”

  “I’m tired,” she acquiesced, “but I’d like to be exhausted.”

  “That can be arranged.” Heat flared in his eyes and Marc began to swiftly unfasten her tunic, lifting her up to strip it swiftly off and toss it away. Her sheer undergarment went next and she was nude in a flash, supine on the bed, her legs spread wide by his insistent, strong hands. On a growl he asked, “How tired do you want to be?”

  “Very,” she said on a challenging pant, knowing she was already wet by the rush of warmth between her open thighs, the heat tangible. She meant it too, because what she wanted was a deep, dreamless sleep in which she forgot about the threat to her planet, to her mother and Damon’s father, to Marc’s father also…to them all. In the morning, she was willing to face it again, to try and work out the solution, but for now, she just wanted to…feel, not think.

  Marc leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue over the quivering muscles of her stomach. He muttered against the underside of her breast, “I think we can accomplish that.”

  “I know we can.”

  Damon had followed them into their sleeping quarters, which didn’t surprise her. It pleased her, actually. Sex was pleasurable with each one of them alone, but together…it was decadent and wonderful and she surprised herself by how much she enjoyed being with them both, as if the three of them were one unit, connected, and not just by pleasure. That Marc and Damon also had a natural understanding with each other was as much a joy for her as the tie they had with her.

  Damon unlaced his trousers and stepped out of them, his cock already swollen and rigid in arousal. “I want to taste you, Jay.”

  She’d learned to recognize that particular husky tone, deeper than his usual voice, and a small thrill twisted in her stomach because she also knew exactly what he meant. Marc nibbled at one of her nipples, not quite taking it into his mouth, making her squirm. He stroked the other breast. “I’ll undress and play with these.”

  “We both win.” Damon climbed onto the bed, but to her surprise—and disappointment—he didn’t lower his head between her legs as Marc slid away to take off his clothes. Instead he lay down beside her and caught her hand, giving a small tug. “Climb on up, Princess.”

  Uncertain, still new to sexual play, she gave a look of confusion.

  “On top of me,” he explained with a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’ll do the rest, don’t worry.”

  A part of her wanted to refuse him because he was obviously a great deal more experienced than she had ever guessed. Trust Damon to make her irritated with him even when she wanted him so badly the throbbing between legs was almost painful, but her aroused body refused to let her start an argument right then. So she did as instructed and went up on her hands and knees to perch above his lean body, straddling his waist and mov
ing backward enough the tip of his cock rubbed her sex and she made a low appreciative noise.

  “Soon,” he promised softly, but his hands cupped her ass and urged her forward. “Come a little closer.”

  Now she really had no idea what he wanted but obediently inched forward until her hands were braced on either side of his head, her tense body poised over him. “Damon…”

  “You’ll like this,” he promised. “Lower yourself just enough I can reach your sweetness with my tongue, Jay. I swear you are going to really enjoy this position. It gives you more control.”

  The idea of some measure of control when with two such dominant males made her do as he asked and she leaned forward so she was over his face, lowering her body in response to the pressure of his hands until the first warm touch of his tongue in a long, tantalizing lick along her labia caused her entire body to quiver. “Oh.”

  Pleasure radiated in tingles along her nerve endings and she spread her thighs wider to give him better access.

  Being Damon, he took full advantage of it, his mouth busy on her sex, his tongue first pushing into her vaginal passage, mimicking the act of mating, and then teasing her clitoris in a way that sent jolts of rapture with each small circular motion. Jayla moaned, arched her spine, and adjusted her position again a little lower. The pleasure built as he stroked her inner thighs, his mouth moving between her legs, and he was right she found, she could rotate her hips so it produced the most acute sensation.

  On her hands and knees, she rocked slightly, the nibble of his lips on the most intimate part of her making her entire body quiver.

  And when Marc’s hands slid under her breasts, cupping the soft flesh, compressing her nipples, the inexorable rise of her climax began, the pleasure escalating until it was out of control, and she gave a low scream and would have slumped forward except two pairs of strong male hands held her steady.

  She was lost in the daze of the aftermath when they turned her over and one of them—she couldn’t yet open her eyes—slowly pushed his cock into her still-pulsing vaginal passage. The excess of sensation made her gasp out a short protest, but she climaxed again right then, her aroused body giving no quarter as she circled her arms around his neck—Damon, she discovered—and he chuckled.

  “So wild and reckless under that regal composure,” he murmured, and kissed her, the taste of arousal scintillating, the hard length of his penis impaling her. “What a perfect combination.”

  Whether it was perfect or not she had no idea, but the truth was, she luxuriated in his potent desire, in the possession of that part of him that made him male, and Jayla lifted her pelvis in response to his penetration. “You’ve always talked too much.”

  He chuckled and kissed her again. “I’ve been told, but never in such a delightful position.” His voice softened. “I love you, Jay.”

  It disarmed her. He’d always had that ability, but now, in this vulnerable and intimate position, it was magnified. Jayla glided her hand down his back, the hard muscles contracting under the pressure of her fingertips. “You’ve never been one to hide your feelings, Damon. I know you do.”

  Marc was listening. She knew it—so did Damon for that matter, the presence of the other male in the room somehow innately comfortable, as if there were simply no secrets between the three of them.

  Damon didn’t respond, beginning to move in long, slow thrusts. His hungry kiss was like being lit on fire and Jayla’s aroused body moved with him in perfect sync.

  And when he gasped and went taut, she was ready, clenching around his surging penetration, her inner muscles holding him tight as they both slid over the edge into heated paradise.

  Sated and breathless, she forgot momentarily about the possibility of conspiracies and conscienceless thieves willing to risk innocent lives to gain a fortune in priceless national treasures.

  She forgot about everything.

  Damon had always had a habit of being able to distract her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nathan Lettrick wasn’t exactly what he expected, but then again this wasn’t his area of expertise either. Damon studied the male sitting across from them and wondered if it wouldn’t be better if he left the room, but then again, Marc had requested his presence.

  Kartel rarely did anything without purpose and so he stayed.

  The rectangle of cool stone and pale, clean floors had no personality whatsoever, which fairly well described the man sitting across from them. He was blond, tall but angular, and had predictably regular S-species features. “Why is it, again, I’m here?” Lettrick asked with an affable smile. “I think Anasta law decrees that I be told the nature of my offense if there is an interrogation.”

  Mild-mannered. Yes. That was an accurate description. And cooperative. More adjectives? Damon considered the brother of a known subversive and contemplated. Out loud he said, “Pleasant, hard-working, anonymous. Just what they need”

  Lettrick gazed at him with mild inquisitiveness, his pale blue eyes narrowing only a fraction.

  That alone told him something. Most individuals, in his opinion, would be more alarmed over being questioned by the new Royal Consort and a member of the Ruling Council.

  Marc smiled pleasantly. “This is not an official proceeding. Have you ever heard of a paper called the Dominion?”

  “No.”

  First lie. They were off to a good start. Damon folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as he informed their guest, “It’s an underground publication started by a few militants…more thugs than actual terrorists, who rant about social reform but in reality just want to cause unrest. I happen to know a few people who inform me your brother is a frequent contributor using the pseudonym ‘The Prophet.’ Now have you heard of it?”

  “My brother?” Lettrick didn’t blink an eye. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see him often.”

  A few communiqués early that morning had produced evidence that Lettrick and his older brother had met two months before on Minoa at a bar that was about as safe as the one Damon had visited in Belgravia last evening, the seedy area on the outskirts of the First City also considered dangerous and monitored by security forces on a constant basis.

  “How long has it been?” Marc leaned back in his chair, his eyes watchful but his expression neutral.

  Lettrick shrugged. “Half a year maybe. He doesn’t have a reliable address.”

  Lie number two.

  “You work for the palace guard.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m sure you are well-aware that someone infiltrated the system at the highest level and arranged to have explosives go off if a designated person scanned in.”

  “Colonel Kale naturally told us that there was a problem but until now I did not know exactly what it might be.”

  That was also a lie. Damon could see it in the slight twitch of a muscle in Lettrick’s cheek, but even more in the sardonic skepticism in Marc’s expression.

  It wasn’t wise to underestimate the Kartel ability to read minds.

  “If you did not know, why did you send this communication last night to an unknown source on Minoa?” Marc turned and pressed a button on a handheld device and the screen glowed. He read out loud, “Skeleton force only. Janitorial doors programmed to deactivate.”

  “Shall I request my right to have a judicial activist present?”

  “You can’t,” Marc informed him with a small smile. “This isn’t an official interview. If you would like it to be, I can arrange it, but at this point, perhaps you’d do better just to talk to us.“There’s no use denying you wrote this. Kale had it traced back.”

  “I’m not denying or confirming anything.”

  Damon lifted his brows. “I’ve heard more than just the little tidbits about your brother. For instance, there seems to be a general movement in the underground to subvert governments by stealing valuable artifacts and using them as bargaining tools to blackmail for whatever concessions your group believes they want.”

 
; For the first time Damon saw a true flicker of emotion in Lettrick’s eyes. “Wants. Not believe they want. And that message means nothing that can be proven.”

  Conversationally, Marc commented, “Conviction is admirable, especially if you are planning to rob powerful planets…tell me, once there were casualties on Mega 3, you knew that murder was on the table, correct? When the Federation establishes a general threat, intergalactic laws apply. Anasta is particularly rigid when it comes to enforcing the harsher penalties.”

  It was true. Anasta still occasionally used death as a means of chastising those who crossed the realm of criminal into evil. Damon had in his youth not agreed with it, but as an adult, he was coming to terms with the realities of what it took to maintain an ordered society. Though on a moral level, he wasn’t sure it did not rankle.

  Yet, his father had been targeted, so perhaps he wasn’t quite as detached from the issue as he might usually be.

  “Think about that,” he said calmly to Nathan Lettrick, “and contemplate Kale’s efficiency. Once we informed him that you were a possible suspect, he sent out a Federation-wide request for information.”

  That might have been unwelcome news, but if so, Lettrick hid it fairly well. “I passed the security test to be admitted on staff, didn’t I? If there is a problem, I’m going to say it is your fault.”

  “What kind of problem?” Damon was only too aware of his father’s role as the assassination of choice and his voice was more brittle than he intended.

  “It depends on your point of view.”

  “Is that so?” Marc contradicted softly. “I’m getting distinctly the opposite impression. I sense excitement and anticipation…is there some timetable we’re not aware of?”

  Lettrick smiled. “Are you going to formally detain me or can I go?”

  * * * *

  Jayla nodded at a guard who had recognized her. The young man seemed startled, stammering “Princess. Wel…welcome.”

  “Thank you.”

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t visited the Royal Museum before���she had, many times—but it had been a while.