by Mel Teshco
She’d always been an anomaly, forever having to prove her worth.
Introspection slid away with her rocketing pulse and heated skin. She fought to regain her composure and bring her beast to heel. Drawing in a breath, she concentrated on partly shifting her eyesight, enabling her to use her panther vision to better see her surrounds.
With her fear of the dark, it was the only shape shifter skill she’d ever consciously practiced. The ability would also help ease a little of her sudden need to change shape.
The physical pain of a fallout she was certain she could tolerate if need be. The debilitating, mental toll of darkness, not so much.
“I believe your mother once used these same tunnels to help save your father’s life,” Mahaya said in a hoarse voice that revealed his own needs. “It’s through her bravery that you’re here today.”
She lifted her chin, an act of defiance that was laughable if he only knew the truth. “I’m sure you’d be devastated if I wasn’t.”
It was sarcasm and derision rolled into one. So why was she the one without anything to say when his hand tightened on her arm and he answered with blunt honesty, “Without a doubt.”
Despite the fact that this man had kidnapped her; despite the fact he was a fabled nightmix,awareness continued to press on her senses, more forcibly than even the darkness that enclosed them.
“Did you know,” he continued, “that these tunnels lead to the very caves where shifters were forced to live, waiting and hoping for human acceptance?”
She didn’t answer. She’d heard the story of how her father, the great King Judas, had taken in shape shifters when no humans except a trusted few had known his true identity. He’d hidden the shifters in the caves with their network of tunnels, whilst rebuilding the larakytes palace close to the caves and a life giving oasis in the Helbelzcha desert.
His plan to integrate many of the shifters amongst the Zaneean people, ensuring they were accepted by at least a handful of humans before allowing them to shift shape and reveal their true identity, had worked for the most part.
Humans had shown no desire to turn their backs on the shifters—their friends—they’d come to know and respect. It’d been a long battle, but the Zaneeans had finally accepted shape shifters as equals. Or so she and most other larakytes had presumed.
What of Mahaya, then? He was a nightmix, a part shifter, so why did his allegiance lie with the human dissenters?
She didn’t have time to think upon it further. He steered her right, into another tunnel leading off the main one. It narrowed considerably and even with her many-times-better-than-human vision, her eyesight could barely penetrate the blackness ahead.
Disorientated and beyond anxious, she took deep, steadying breaths. It didn’t help. She felt as suffocated by the damp limestone and mildew scents as she was by the walls looming inward that created the near impenetrable darkness. She didn’t suffer from claustrophobia as her mother had, but right then she could well imagine the nightmare her mother had endured trying to save the king.
Mira’s one weakness, aside from her unfailing duty for her people, was her fear of the dark. She’d never told anyone, but she lived in constant anxiety that she’d inherited her father’s nightmix soul. A fear that had manifested itself until she’d even began to dread the coming nights.
An outer darkness that might well become a reflection of her inner darkness.
Perhaps that was why she’d never shifted shape? To become a panther and expect the silver coat of her larakyte heritage and instead see the black coat of a nightmix was too horrifying to even contemplate.
Her birth was unprecedented. A larakyte and nightmix had never borne offspring before. She was an unknown entity, forever trying to prove herself to everyone, including her own people.
Shame, self-doubt gnawed at her determination, eating away her confidence until she wondered how the darkness hadn’t already taken her over.
Darkness.
Her throat abruptly closed. She stumbled, then stilled. Had she wanted to, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe.
Mahaya’s hand moved to her back. His touch was warm and sure as he rubbed up and down her spine and said in an oddly gentle, coaxing tone, “Breathe, Mira.”
Except the panic within didn’t subside. Her skin prickled with sweat, her pulse thudding and her throat closing even further.
He drew her backward, far enough from the closed-in space to turn her toward him. With quick, sure movements he untied her hands. The jeweled circlet clattered unnoticed to the rocky ground as he brought her close, drawing her head against his chest while his arms shielded her from all harm.
She had no idea how long she stayed that way, slowly breathing, their bodies pressed together almost as one, their shifter scents infusing and drowning out the earthy cave odor that filled the air. But as her panic retreated seemingly right along with the darkness, something far more unwelcome advanced.
From their very first meeting her inner panther had responded to his alpha. Never mind that he was a nightmix and the last man on the planet she wanted to be near. Right then she craved Mahaya as much as she did the scant oxygen in her lungs.
And she wasn’t alone in her needs. She sensed his panther had stirred the same as hers.
She looked up, and in the pitch darkness the faint red gleam of his eyes revealed his shifter nature was much more pronounced. As was his desire.
What little air was left in her lungs expelled in a rush.
Energy. Attraction. Lust. It sizzled between them, an invisible shimmering of the air.
Mahaya groaned. His head dropped, his mouth crashing onto hers. She sucked in a breath—his oxygen. And in an instant every repressed need, animal and human, was released from the cage she’d kept within herself.
She wanted this man with his hard, muscled fighter body and his rough-skinned hands. Wanted with a quiet desperation the one male in the world she should be running away from with everything she had.
In that moment she didn’t care about what she should be doing.
She pushed onto her tiptoes and grasped his broad shoulders. Her tongue clashed and tangled with his and she whimpered into his mouth with a yearning she could barely contain.
If everything about him was hard and unyielding, his lips were soft and pliant. Yet he kissed with a relentless skill that left her giddy and weak at the knees. It was just a kiss, but it was so much more. Every part of her was branded, as if he’d claimed her as his own.
His mouth left hers for a moment, his breath hot in her ear. “I can’t take you, not here,” he said hoarsely, though his hands ran over her body and traced her every dip and line as though an artist forming his sculpture from clay.
His touch made her want him all the more.
His words were a cold douse of water in the face.
She stepped back. What was she doing? Had she lost her mind? “There will be no taking. We won’t be continuing this…ever.”
His eyes flashed. “Don’t lie, Princess. I’m a shifter just the same as you. My body responds to your body’s needs.”
She shook her head, though it was doubtful he could see. “Except you’re not just the same as me. You’re a nightmix.”
It was a slap in the face and she knew it. But guilt was a fleeting emotion when she heard his footfall and a torch abruptly flamed, shockingly bright and dazzling after the endless wash of black.
She shielded her eyes for a moment, too dumbfounded to react. Then, “You had this light and you didn’t even tell me.”
“There are a half dozen placed at various points along the cave walls, if you know where to look.” He shrugged, every bit the cold bastard she knew he was. “Guess I wasn’t in too big of a hurry to push you away. It was nice to be wanted.” He swept an arm forward. “After you, Princess.”
Tears pricked her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? Even knowing what he was she’d imagined he was something more…something better. And who did he think he was
fooling? As if he wouldn’t have women falling over themselves to be with him. She could well imagine them pining over his stark handsomeness and big, hard body. Not to mention the illicit thrill of perhaps calling to his darkness within.
Speaking from experience?
The tunnel was eerily cast in light and shadow as she marched stiffly in front of Mahaya, but she could only be thankful for the flame that pressed back the inky blackness. She kept silent, all too aware what they’d shared had dissolved too many barriers between them. Barriers she should have maintained with ease.
Instead their kiss had tossed fuel onto the burning needs of her inner cat, making her body even more inflamed with need. She lifted her chin. She could only hope his discomfort was as severe as her own.
She had no idea how much time had passed trudging through the tunnels while thoughts tossed around in her head as though sand in a strong wind. One hour, two? She only knew that those same thoughts didn’t dwell on escape or even the pleasure of killing Mahaya. No, she was too busy recalling the rightness of their kiss.
She shivered. She’d do well to remember Mahaya was a nightmix. His was an affliction that was unstoppable and relentless.
The same darkness her father had to live with day-by-day.
It was why she’d taken over much of the king’s daily tasks. The unyielding pressure of being ruler could well have pushed him straight into the arms of his own inner darkness.
The unmistakable pinprick of sunlight far ahead dragged her back to the present. Relief careened through her. They’d be out of this gods forsaken cave and tunnel system soon enough. Once outside she could get her bearings.
Plan her escape.
Mahaya doused his torch when they stumbled into the daylight and its fierce heat. She squinted against the stark brightness. The sun was high overhead. Almost midday. Comprehension rushed through her. Goddess above, she’d been in the dreaded cave system for hours.
Her eyes finally adjusting, she swallowed past her dry throat at what she saw.
Far ahead of them, the larakyte palace that the king had had rebuilt, stone by stone into its former splendor, shone in all its glory. She’d never seen it from this vantage point before. And though the oasis wasn’t within sight, she knew it wasn’t far from the palace, where her mother and father—the king and queen—now permanently resided.
As a child she’d divided her time between the larakyte and Zaneean palace, going wherever her parents went. A lump built in her throat. They had been such simple days, before she’d taken on the responsibilities of the Zaneean people.
She stilled ahead of Mahaya. In the distance, she could just make out a handful of the king’s personal soldiers who patrolled the palace. She grinned, then took a breath and opened her mouth. They might just hear—
A hand clapped across her lips. “Don’t even think about it, Princess,” Mahaya rasped.
She stiffened. Asshole! But she didn’t need her big cat canines to bite down hard. Jerking back a little, she sank her teeth into his hand.
His breath hissed and his grip slackened. She pushed away and took off running, hoping like hell his injury kept him still and hurting for a little longer. Even if he didn’t shift, his DNA would guarantee he’d heal quickly.
The scream she let loose punctured the still air. But the antlike soldiers in the distance didn’t deviate in their patrol.
Oh, gods. They were too far away, after all.
Footsteps pounded behind her and grew in volume, Mahaya’s long-legged stride quickly gaining him ground. She let loose a sob a second before he scooped her up as if she weighed little more than a hooded hawk on his wrist.
Her sob became a shriek, then reverted into a panther’s snarl as he turned her around to face him. She looked up into his hard face that had softened with pity. She glowered. She didn’t want his sympathy. Hell, she’d prefer his darkness, even his passion.
His eyes caught hers. “I won’t be so tolerant if you try that a second time.”
She pinned him with an even fiercer glare and fought to get out of the immovable constriction of his arms. “You bastard.”
He propelled her away from the palace, past the tiny cave opening they’d exited, which was little more than a hole in the ground and would be near impossible to detect unless shown.
The desert heat was merciless but he didn’t falter. He only slowed when the approaching distant specks on the horizon became more than a dozen horses with their riders.
Evidently Mahaya had more than one larakyte dissenter accomplice. She should have known he’d not acted alone. But who in their right mind would accept a nightmix into their ranks?
She stared resentfully, careless of her royal heritage. What good were her refined manners and leadership skills now?
The lead rider reined his huge, skittish roan stallion to a halt before acknowledging Mahaya with a nod and then her with bow from the waist. “Princess, on behalf of the men and myself,” his stare returned to Mahaya, “and our commander, allow me to apologize for any inconvenience this experience has caused.”
Commander?
She ignored a sudden jolt of hysteria at the man’s outrageous apology. All her senses instead latched onto the fact the men before her were both human and shifter, and would surely know of Mahaya’s nighmix flaw?
“Who are you?” she asked the human.
“Most of the men here call me Deakes.”
“Deakes…I could almost forgive you and your men for your unjustified hatred of us larakytes—”
Deakes frowned. She ignored him and instead twisted a little in Mahaya’s grip, aware of the fire in her eyes when she pinned him with her stare. “But you I could never forgive.”
“Oh? Is my nightmix blood that untenable?” he mocked.
She ignored the discomfort within that her words had caused him—he deserved far worse. “Yes,” she hissed. His hands tightened. She ignored the pain. “But even worse is your treachery.”
Deakes spoke up. “Mahaya has never—”
Mahaya put up a hand, instantly releasing the pressure to one of her arms and stopping Deakes’ excuses midway. “It’s better this way,” he said to Deakes; to his men. “I’d hate the Princess to question her beliefs.”
She turned away from him, lips compressed. She despised him and his revolting convictions with more force than she could put into words.
Deakes raised a brow. “If you say so.”
The men shifted uncomfortably on their horses, some exchanging affronted looks.
Too bad. She’d never asked to be taken from her home, her people. She’d devoted her life for the greater good. And this was how they repaid her?
Deakes allowed his stallion to take a half dozen, jigging steps closer to them, before he dismounted and handed the reins to Mahaya with evident relief. “Jax is all yours.”
Mahaya nodded, launching himself into the saddle without need of the stirrup irons. He held out his uninjured hand to her.
She stepped back and said the words no well-bred princess should. “Fuck. You.”
He raised a brow even with his men’s background mutters of disbelief. “Don’t mind if you do.”
Anything scathing she might have said in return was lost to his men’s laughter, then to the distinct thud of approaching horses’ hooves that vibrated the firm-packed sand.
Glee tore through her at the latter. The soldiers had heard her scream after all!
Chapter Three
No sooner had the thought formed that Mahaya’s hard hands enclosed her forearms and she was lifted bodily onto the stallion. He pulled her against his chest, holding her immobile.
Stunned, she didn’t have any time to protest or even fight. Her peripheral vision noted Deakes throwing himself onto the back of the nearest mounted horse, evidently trusting the animal had the strength and stamina to carry two men.
Then Mahaya and his men wheeled their mounts around and pushed them into a full blown gallop.
Oh, gods.
&nb
sp; The brilliant-white of the sand beneath them became a blur. Yet the tough shift and flex of the stallion’s muscles were so powerful she couldn’t help but think the animal was a perfect match for Mahaya.
The stallion easily outpaced the other horses and she wondered if even her father’s soldiers’ war mounts would be able to keep pace. The horses these men rode weren’t of pure bloodstock. But they’d evidently been bred for stamina, toughness and speed.
The stallion abruptly launched into the air, sailing over some jagged rocks that’d appeared seemingly from nowhere, no doubt uncovered by a past sandstorm. She’d never been much of a horsewoman and right then she could only be thankful for Mahaya’s strength that held her tight against him.
Long minutes passed—hours?—where she wondered if even his strong arms would keep her from slipping off his horse. Her legs and butt were numb. Her throat was parched from the hot wind, it only reinforced how tough the men and their mounts were to endure this kind of hardship.
The stallion’s breath was sawing in and out of its lungs by the time Mahaya finally slowed enough for the rest of his men to catch him. He thrust an arm forward even as he nodded to his right. The men appeared to understand. He pulled Jax into a sharp turn. As his horse maneuvered down a slight embankment of sand, the others galloped onward, no doubt expecting the soldiers to follow them.
Mahaya coaxed Jax through a shallow opening of rock, which opened into yet another cave. Except this one had no escape route should her father’s soldiers find them. The sandstone interior was just barely big enough to contain them.
She could have sung for joy when he dismounted and opened his arms to her. She might hate this man her body was attracted to, but she wasn’t about to pretend she didn’t want to get off his horse. As the stallion got its breath back and picked halfheartedly at a small pocket of straggly grass, she all but fell into Mahaya’s embrace, weak kneed and trembling after the hellish ride.
So why did she not protest when his hands—unscathed now by her teeth marks—moved to her waist, when his too-astute gaze seemingly read her every reaction?
