She wondered what would happen if she showed up at the doors of The Hunt, if she walked through the fancy dining room and confronted him in the kitchen. Would he look at her the same way? Would he touch her again? Then she looked down at her clothes, at the vivid green paint splatter on her jeans and her worn sandals, and realized that that was pretty unlikely.
Apple had every intention of hunting him down, but at the moment, she needed time to gather herself. Her reaction to him last night was simply so strong that she needed time to collect her thoughts, and to do so, she made her way down to the midtown market.
The midtown market was Colossal City's summer flea market. From April until October, the market took up an enormous four-block lot, and vendors of all kinds hawked their wares from stands, from wheelbarrows, from blankets and from carts. There were farmers selling rich colorful produce, booksellers, junk sellers, antique dealers and clothes vendors of every sort, and Apple thought it was her favorite place in the whole city.
Sometimes she bought things, but more often, she walked around, staring at the oddities that lurked in every bin and bag. She wondered if a pair of ancient tin soldiers would go well on her next piece, she petted an enormous friendly dog that was about the size of a pony, and on a whim, she bought herself a bag of roasted almonds to eat as she walked.
Apple found herself looking over a blanket that was scattered with all sorts of odds and ends, and for some reason, she found herself drawn to a leather book. It was small, barely the size of a normal paperback, but the leather was a deep rich brown, worn down by years of handling. She would have passed it by, but when she opened it, her eyes fell on a strange animal that she had never seen before. It had the body of what she thought was a lizard, but it had two cat heads on its shoulder. They both stared intently at each other, baring sharp fangs.
“How much?” she asked, and the man held up two fingers.
She passed him two dollars, and she ran home to devour the book. It was full of monsters, ones that sparked her mind and made her long for clay, for metal, for anything that would let her capture their sinuous curves.
Apple spent the day making sketches, trying to figure out how she could give life to the illustrations. The book was strange, with no publisher, and she could not understand what it was for. There were no words, only picture after picture of glorious monsters. Some of them swam, some of them flew, some of them were tiny and some huge, but they were all unique in their own way, with expressions on their faces that made her smile and shiver by turns.
She fell into bed fully clothed again, holding the book in her hand, and this time, her dreams took her straight to Bellaron's arms.
This time, they weren't interrupted, and he spread her out on that table so that he could see her, touch her, taste her all they wished. She could feel her hands curl around his shoulders as she drew him on top of her, and she could feel his hot lips on her mouth, her neck, her breasts.
“Come on, finish what you started, big man,” she said in her dream, and he grinned, doing exactly that.
Across the city, Bellaron awoke in his enormous bed in the apartment above the restaurant. Shards of his dreams came back to him, and panting, he fell back against the pillows. It had seemed so very real, her long brown hair, her laughing dark eyes, the feel of her skin under his hands. She was smiling at him, running her hands down his body.
Come on, finish what you started, big man, she had whispered, and oh, how he longed to do so.
Among his people there were false dreams and true dreams, and as he lay alone his bed, certain that he could still feel her breath on his cheek, he knew that the dream he had just had was true.
He had to find her.
He couldn't let anything stop him.
Far away, a crystal that hung suspended in the center of a dark chamber trembled and fell to the ground. Its ringing chime echoed throughout the stone room, and slowly, the figures that curled up on the floor around it started to stir. They shook off dust and rags, and for a moment, they were confused, snarling at each other and calling out.
The tallest and oldest among them strode to the center of the chamber, where he knelt and inspected the shards of the crystal. They were sharp enough to rip his fingers to ribbons, but though his skin was cut, there was no blood.
“It's awakened,” he whispered. “It is time.”
He was momentarily still, and then he began to laugh.
Do you like this book? Be sure to check other books in this series
Eye of the Beholder - Volume 14
Scars of my Past - Volume 15
Glory in Victory - Volume 16
Lynxar Series - A Star from Far Away: Books 14-16 (3-Book Bundle)
Be sure to check the other books of this series
Lynxar - Volume 1
Lynxar's Choices - Volume 2
Lynxar's Legacy - Volume 3
Lynxar's Ghost - Volume 4
The Ghost Rises - Volume 5
Triumph of the Ghost - Volume 6
Lynxar Series: Books 1-6 (6-Book Bundle)
Lynxar's searching Heart - Volume 7
Dreams of the Heart - Volume 8
Heartfelt Farewells - Volume 9
Strength of the Heart - Volume 10
The Heart of Danger - Volume 11
Deceptions of the Heart - Volume 12
A Heart for Family - Volume 13
Lynxar Series - The Vampire King: Books 7-13 (7-Book Bundle)
Delylah Fayre - Part 1
Synopsis
Bold, beautiful and brazen, Delylah Fayre has the world at her feet. One of the most successful female performers of her time, her rise from a singer in a church choir to a legendary diva has fulfilled her wildest dreams, but fame has also claimed part of her soul. What was once an exploration of herself through her music and her sexuality has transformed her into someone she no longer recognizes.
When Delylah meets infamous celebrity photographer, James Branagh, for an intimate photo shoot, she has no idea of the new direction her life is about to take. After the harrowing death of a young woman at one of her concerts, Delylah reaches a personal nadir, but in the process, also discovers a side of herself she thought she had lost, and returns home to reconnect with herself and her future.
Standing on a floodlit stage catwalk, Delylah Fayre rose like a mystical sorceress above her crazed, hand-waving audience. The firefly flashes of a thousand cameras dazzled her, her ears ringing from the echoing din of chanting, cheers and shouts that had transformed the massive domed stadium into a contemporary Roman bacchanalia. Despite a formidable wall of bodyguards flanking the catwalk, a human tsunami of fans surged closer, their ecstatic, upturned faces longing for a closer glimpse of their idol.
Bowing and throwing kisses, Delylah felt the hot glare of lights on her burnished caramel skin, the musky scent of her sweat laced with the ripe floral notes of her signature perfume. Her waist-length mane of coppery brown hair bore testament to her exotic mix of black and Creole blood, its wavy length swishing like a horse’s tail.
More than a little high on the raw, sexually charged energy radiating from the crowd, she flashed a dazzling white smile and strutted through a blaze of colored lights pulsing kaleidoscopically from the catwalk. Her voluptuous, beautifully sculpted body was provocatively emphasized in a skimpy leather and chain mail bustier that barely concealed her full, luscious breasts and the taut, protuberant mounds of her ass.
She swayed along on spurred patent leather dominatrix boots with a sense of confident sensuality that had both men and women lusting for her. Her ball-bearing hips rolled invitingly, and to amp up the tension even higher, she paused frequently to glance over her shoulder with smoldering green, Cleopatra-lined eyes to wiggle or smack her delectable cheeks.
Giant flat screens flanking the stadium relayed the pumping sound and dazzling visuals, but they could not recapture the immersive, almost orgiastic experience of standing amidst the audience.
More than once, Delylah had gli
mpsed provocative behavior from the audience. Male or female, the naked hunger she incited from those at her feet fed her more potently than any drug.
For Delylah was the drug, the high she offered more enduring than any hit on the market. The adoring crowd was more than her devoted slaves, they were willing supplicants worshiping a flesh and blood goddess who fueled their darkest fantasies and dissolved their inhibitions with the flick of a wrist or a tantalizing grab of her ankles.
A sultry soul diva with a honeyed-bark voice and a gaze that could melt steel, Delylah was a dark angel from a wet dream, a living fantasy who enjoyed her body on stage almost as much as she did offstage or in bed ... and how she used this power … from the graceful, tapered fingers that openly caressed her satiny flesh, to her full, glossy lips that fired the imaginations of those who yearned to feel her hot wet mouth on their body.
At twenty-four, she was a phenomenon, the darkly alluring dungeon stage an erotic playground where she translated her steamy sexuality into a controversial tour of sold-out performances and sensational tabloid headlines. Amidst the swirling mist and black satin-draped walls displaying chains, manacles and whips, her musicians, themselves specimens of male perfection, played relentlessly, their oiled, finely cut bodies writhing with a primal rhythm that perfectly characterized her music.
The last refrain of the closing song was almost over, and the hip-thrusting melody that Delylah had literally masturbated to wound down to its final pulsing notes. Now her body was drenched in sweat, her pussy chafing from the bustier’s G-string crotch that rubbed against her clit so tenaciously she had come twice on stage. There was no need to simulate. Everything and anything Delylah felt was genuine. That some though it an act while others thought it real made no difference to her. She had neither the time nor the patience to deal with the moralistic whiners who labeled her performances controversial.
Undulating slowly toward the stage, she breathed a brief sigh of relief. Tomorrow’s show would be the last for two weeks, and she was looking forward to a badly needed break. Seventeen shows packed into one month was grueling, even traveling in the luxury she was accustomed to. She thought of Therese and smiled. More than her closest friend, confidante and manager, Therese was her soul mate, the piece of a flesh and blood puzzle that fit her perfectly.
With a confident clicking of her heels, Delylah strode around the stage and shook her booty enough times to stir the audience into an even higher fever pitch. She waved and blew kisses as the musicians finally wound down to the last notes of the song. Her eyes scanning the bobbing crowd, she had long ago relegated individual faces to a mental shorthand of races and ethnicities. Three world tours had left little mystery, and despite cultural and physical differences, flesh and blood was flesh and blood, and the endless cavalcade of faces had become a blur.
So when her eyes were snared by a face staring up from near the stage, Delylah was at first confused, then intrigued. Rising a head taller than the sea of bodies around him, he watched with the cool detachment of a panther waiting in the brush to pounce on unsuspecting prey. Eyes as blue as the Caribbean stared not only at her, but through her, and she felt the distinct sensation of hands caressing her body. In his mid to late thirties, his tanned, chiseled face matched the sculpted planes of his body, his thick, sun-kissed hair sexily tousled.
Dressed in jeans and a denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves, he exuded such magnetism that the younger, prettier men around him faded into the background. The intensity of his stare snared Delylah with a heat she had not felt in some time. Sensing her reaction, he raised an expensive camera that belied the feeble flashes of phones around him, peered through a telephoto lens and snapped several photos in succession. He paused only to look up and briefly smile, the connection blazing through her body like an electrical jolt.
Instinctively, Delylah responded, her body moving to the seductive gaze of the lens. She was no stranger to photo shoots, but something about this man struck a chord with her, and she realized that there was something vaguely familiar about him. Feeling like a child lured away by the Pied Piper, she moved toward him, but the last song ended and the audience erupted in a volcanic explosion of screams, applause and swaying bodies that forced him to put away the camera.
“Lylah … Lylah …” the frenzied audience chanted.
Returning to the center stage, Delylah smiled, bowed and blew more kisses. “Thank you!” she cried, gazing at her adoring fans. “Thank you! I love you all!”
Slowly, she moved toward where the man had stood, but he had vanished into the surging crowd. Feeling almost a sense of disappointment, she scanned the faces, but the frenzied fans had prompted the bodyguards into action and organized chaos ensued. The dimming stage lights cast the audience into flickering shadows, and Delylah reluctantly retreated.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Therese standing by the stage exit, her gleaming mahogany skin almost seamlessly blending into the black drapes, dressed casually in figure-hugging jeans and a sexy but simple black halter top that more than emphasized her gorgeous, full breasts. Delylah blew her a kiss.
A dazzling smile illuminating her face, Therese blew a discreet kiss back. Poised and regal beneath a simple topknot and gold hoop earrings, she was a spray of cool water against Delylah’s sizzling heat, her warm amber eyes like liquid honey. Extending her arms toward Delylah, Therese gathered her in an embrace.
“You were amazing,” she said, brushing her lips against Delylah’s. “Honestly, no matter how many times I watch the show, it's a different experience each time.”
Stepping behind the curtains, Delylah pulled Therese into a deep kiss. Full, succulent lips hungrily sought each other, their tongues fencing.
“Mmm…” Therese said, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “Someone's worked up an appetite.”
A flash of the blue-eyed man popped into Delylah’s mind. Feeling an intensely sexual thrill, she took Therese’s hand and hurried to the dressing room before her entourage swarmed her. The din of the stadium receded, but not the urgency she felt coursing through her body, and she wanted no talking, no distractions. Pulling Therese inside the luxuriously appointed suite, Delylah locked the door, pushed Therese against the wall and molded her body tightly against Therese.
Before Therese could protest, Delylah began kissing her with such intensity Therese gasped for breath. Delylah felt Therese’s instant response, which fueled her desire even more. Their hands sought each other, Delylah’s hot, moist flesh sizzling against Therese’s cool fragrant skin. Impatiently they stripped each other naked, Delylah’s chain mail costume clinking to the floor as the entwined women sank to the lush carpet. Lips locked against lips, nipples brushed against nipples, engorged, moist pussy lips unfurled like petals to mingle juice with juice.
Their hands urgently explored each other … caressing, teasing, probing and finally penetrating. Outside, Delylah could hear voices and footsteps, but her only focus was the aching heat coursing through her body. While she usually made love to Therese after a performance, this evening she felt compelled to fuck like an animal.
Her heart pounding as though she had run a marathon, Delylah pushed Therese onto her back, straddled her, and worked her mouth from the rigid chocolate buds of Therese’s nipples down the satiny planes of her stomach, smooth hips and finally to the dusky valley of her shaven pussy. Whimpering, her flesh erupting in beads of sweat, Therese writhed and arched beneath Delylah’s frantic ministrations. Her hands rose in supplication, seeking Delylah’s body, but Delylah pinned Therese’s wrists over her head and continued her exploration.
The inevitable knocks at the door came, but Delylah ignored them, along with the persistent ringing of both the suite phone and her personal phone. She had given the audience what they wanted, had fed their primal needs for two sweaty, sexually charged hours. No doubt many would be releasing their own pent-up energies. It often happened, especially during the performance. Surrounded by the crush of bodies and the ripe, pheromone-charged
air, Delylah frequently glimpsed an exposed breast, a bobbing head or straying hand.
Incited by her provocative movements on stage, many succumbed to their own desires and followed suit, and it was beyond the abilities of either security or the bodyguards to chaperone thousands of fans. Sometimes the giant screens captured the activity, but it was mere glimpses among a surging crowd moving like a storm-tossed ocean.
The more conservative lambasted Delylah’s concerts as legitimized orgies, but an age limit of over twenty-one was strictly enforced for each performance. Male or female, many fans captured her eye, but as her success attained meteoric heights, practicality eventually surpassed spontaneity, and those invited backstage were now carefully vetted. Despite Delylah’s free spirited and open bisexuality, and despite the privileges of fame and fortune, inevitably there were also pitfalls. Freedom to live her life the way she chose was important to Delylah, but being wise about her choices was also a critical factor of her lifestyle.
A familiar voice called out from the door. By now, Darien Stone’s routine had become as familiar as breathing. Though her relationship with her manager, mentor and first lover had evolved since the heady days of discovery and her relentless rise to fame, Darien was still a key figure in her life and remained her proverbial lion at the gate.
While she heard his words, Delylah chose to ignore them and knelt between Therese’s inviting, toned thighs. Spreading them wide and raising them until Therese’s gleaming folds of flesh were completely exposed, Delylah trailed her tongue and gently lapped pearls of salty sweet nectar. Therese gasped and jerked, her breasts heaving with her panted breath. Her hands clawed at the carpet, her nails digging at the fiber. Delylah glanced up and watched a palette of expressions cross Therese’s face, the fluid movement of her body a sensual symphony.
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