by I. T. Lucas
"For the love of Mortdh…” he hissed, turning around in a futile attempt to hide the tent that had sprouted in his sweatpants. "Please, just go. I want you so much, it hurts…"
Her eyes glued to the enormous erection he was trying to hide, Amanda was dimly aware that Dalhu was saying something.
Oh, dear fates… that would feel so incredible inside me…
And the prospect of another bite…
As a flood of moisture pooled in her panties, Amanda closed her eyes. And as she relived that bite in her mind, the coiling sensation inside her got tighter and tighter, threatening to culminate in a climax.
Gritting her teeth, she fisted her hands and pushed the image away.
What the hell?
Fates knew that there had been plenty of times when she'd been horny, and a few days without sex would usually send her climbing up the walls—or the first attractive male she managed to snag—but she'd never orgasmed just from imagining it…
When Dalhu turned to her, he was all predator, his nostrils flaring with the scent of her arousal.
Oh, no…
No, no, no.
This was so bad…
They were both lost.
With Dalhu's fangs punching over his bottom lip and his eyes glowing, there was very little of the man left—he was mostly beast now—a beast who smelled a female in heat…
She had to stop him… and there was only one way she knew how…
"You're not the only one in pain. Do you know anything about immortal females?" She threw out a hand to stop him.
"I know everything I need to know…" he hissed through his fangs, his whole body somehow getting even bigger and scarier.
"Do you know that we are exactly like the males in our need for sex?"
"Good, then there is no reason for you to refuse me…" He smiled, though with his fangs out the smile wasn't exactly reassuring.
Here it goes…
Amanda swallowed audibly. It was now or never because she was already out of time. "I'm over two hundred years old and since reaching the age of majority, which is seventeen among my people, I've been with a different guy almost every night…" she blurted in a hurry.
Dalhu looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice on his head. His fangs retracted and the tent in his pants deflated.
Which was good…
But the murderous look in his eyes was not… not good at all…
Whipping around, Amanda sprinted up the stairs—even though she had no clue where the hell she was going to hide from Dalhu's rage. But right now, getting away from him seemed like the smart thing to do.
The roar that left Dalhu's chest shook the cabin, and as she ducked under the comforter, she felt the cabin rattle again when he punched a wall—probably reducing it to dust by the sound of it.
A moment later, she heard the front door open and slam shut.
For long moments, Amanda lay huddled under the blanket, trembling as she listened to every tiny sound.
There were the chirps of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, and when the wind picked up, the rustle of leaves and branches swaying and rubbing against each other, but thankfully, no sounds of a madman stomping up the wooden porch steps.
What have I done?
This had been such an incredibly stupid idea. Who in their right mind told their abductor something that they knew would enrage him?
And to what end?
Like having sex with the guy would have been so bad… not! And who cared if she added him to her long list of partners.
As if one more would make a difference…
Though she had a feeling that this one would.
Big time.
Terrified, she waited for Dalhu to come back, fighting to stay awake until exhaustion won the battle.
CHAPTER 6: DALHU
As he stormed out of the cabin, Dalhu didn't know what to do with himself or the rage consuming him. The familiar red haze was clouding his mind. Luckily, trained soldier that he was, he still had enough presence of mind to pull on his boots and then grab a knife and a gun from under the porch floorboards where he'd hidden his weapons.
Who knew what was hiding in this forest? As strong as he was, Dalhu was no match for a full-grown bear, and a pack of coyotes could inflict some serious damage.
On the one hand, he craved the confrontation. A brutal, hands-on fight against vicious beasts would've been a great catharsis—a shortcut to getting rid of the raging storm inside his head. But on the other, he couldn't afford an injury. On the remote chance that Amanda's family or his own brethren were to somehow locate them, he needed to conserve his strength to fight them off, or at least give it all he had until they killed him. He wouldn't go down easy.
Unfortunately, he needed to find another way to work out his rage.
Crushing through the forest like an angry grizzly, it took him hours until his head cleared enough for him to think about what had gotten him so enraged.
He didn't know immortal females had a sex drive to match the males. How could he? They were as rare and mysterious as unicorns or honest politicians.
And why the hell had he gotten so mad? It's not like he was a blushing virgin, or even someone who had treated his own body with enough respect not to share it with hell only knew how many goddamned whores…
But that was the thing. He wanted a fresh start with Amanda—to forget what came before and start clean with someone he'd believed was purer.
It's not that he had any illusions about Amanda being a virgin, but to hear her say she'd been with a shitload of men was on a whole different level.
It had shattered his romantic fantasy.
Yeah, he was so goddamned romantic that his woman was terrified of him. Not that he could blame her. He had scared himself. Never in his life had he raised his hand to a woman, but he'd been too damn close to having done it tonight.
And for what? For admitting a truth that had nothing to do with him?
A truth about a physiology he was well familiar with and knew was impossible to deny.
He needed to go back and apologize.
Fuck, he shouldn't have left her alone in the first place—locking her in the cabin.
What if there was a fire and she was trapped inside?
Panic flaring to a bone-melting fear, Dalhu ran, his progress faster and easier on the path that he'd cleared trampling down the mountain before, even though he was going uphill this time.
As he got nearer and detected no smell of smoke, the vise around his heart eased, and as he got to the cabin's front door, he offered a prayer of thanks that nothing had happened to Amanda while he was gone.
It would never happen again.
Nothing was more important than Amanda, and he'd never allow his goddamned temper or anything else to jeopardize her safety.
Dalhu returned his weapons to their hiding place and took off his soiled boots. Leaving them out on the porch, he manipulated the lock with a few turns of the wire to get back inside.
Careful to close the door soundlessly behind him, he locked it, then tiptoed to the couch. Hopefully, Amanda was asleep, and he was too ashamed of himself to risk going upstairs for a change of clothes and waking her, having to face her. Instead, he dropped his dirty sweats on the floor and lay down, covering his naked body with the thin blanket Amanda had left for him.
But despite his physical and mental exhaustion, sleep eluded him as his thoughts kept running in circles.
He was failing miserably at this whole being a good mate thing. And to think he'd been so sure it would be easy—taking good care of Amanda, providing for her, keeping her safe.
He'd failed on all fronts on the first day.
She didn't have anything good to eat, nothing decent to wear, and he'd gotten her so terrified, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to make her feel safe with him again.
Who was he kidding—as if she ever had—him kidnaping her and all…
Then, he'd left her alone in a locked wooden st
ructure, with no one around to come to her rescue if something went wrong.
He didn't deserve her.
Of course, he didn't.
But he'd make sure to do better tomorrow.
Because, failure was not an option.
CHAPTER 7: SHARIM
As Sharim emerged from the underground tunnel, the bright tropical sun blinded him momentarily before he swung the Range Rover to the left, where palm trees shaded the road. Slowing down, he leaned over to the glove compartment and pulled out his sunglasses.
Why, in the name of Mortdh, had his father chosen to live above ground?
The fucking, tropical island was relentlessly hot and humid—the sun glaring without mercy day in and day out, all year round. Living in the underground complex on the other side of the island made so much more sense. No sun, no heat, no humidity. Perfect climate control twenty-four-seven.
He didn't believe for a moment that his father chose to live topside because he loved the vivid green of the tropical vegetation and the magnificent view of the ocean, which was Losham's official excuse.
Sharim knew better.
Living in the plush villa adjacent to Navuh's mansion, symbolized Losham's elevated status as their supreme leader's eldest son. And to live in the underground facility among the rest of the troop would have undermined his position, even though he would've been residing in the luxurious family wing.
In a way, it was stupid. Navuh's other sons had villas in the luxury resort as well, but for obvious reasons still spent most of their time in the underground. It was a lot more comfortable, not to mention necessary for keeping close tabs on the soldiers.
But his father wasn't a military commander like the others. He wasn't a soldier at all. His main function was providing Navuh with an affable companion.
Soft-spoken and intelligent, Losham managed to appear as if he'd some sway with their exalted leader, and maybe to some small extent he did, but the truth was that he was nothing more than a lackey.
Nevertheless, Losham's lofty aspiration had saved Sharim from becoming just another meaningless cog in Navuh's machine, prompting Losham to adopt Sharim as a way to further differentiate himself from Navuh's other sons—Losham's younger half-brothers.
Praise Mortdh.
Besides Navuh, none of the other immortal males was allowed to father immortal sons. With Dormants being forbidden to them, the children they sired on mortal females were only mortal.
Sharim had been born to Losham's Dormant sister—the fucking bitch may she burn in hell.
With some clever groveling, his father had gotten Navuh's permission to adopt Sharim—regrettably, though, only once Sharim had been old enough to be taken to the training camp.
Sharim must've been the only boy who'd found living conditions in the camp to be a huge improvement over what he'd been used to in the Dormants' harem.
His mother—the bitch may she burn in hell—had hated him with rabid ferocity even before his birth, and it had taken the combined strength of five females to drag her away from the bucket she was trying to drown him in immediately thereafter.
Or so he'd been told.
But considering the way she'd treated him whenever she could put her hands on him, he had no reason to doubt the story.
He'd grown up sleeping in different nooks and crannies and eating scraps from the garbage. Not because the cooks hadn't wanted to feed him, and not because he hadn't been offered a bed to sleep in, but because whenever his bitch of a mother had found him, she'd made sure to let him know just how much she'd hated and despised him.
It had been a miracle he'd survived his mortal childhood to reach the age of transition, and getting there without any permanent deformities had been even a greater miracle. She must've broken nearly every bone in his body…
More than once…
Later, when he was old enough to put one and one together, he'd understood the why.
Not that that understanding had led to forgiveness.
Never.
The bitch had been Navuh's daughter, but unlike her brother Losham and her other half-brothers who'd been turned immortal and became leaders, she'd been cast into a whore house, relegated to mortality and to serving mortal men with her body for as long as she'd remained fertile.
Navuh's daughter hadn't accepted her fate as meekly as the other Dormants. She'd fought off every client, biting and scratching and kicking until overpowered. Consequently, she'd been assigned to males who relished beating and raping her. But though there was never a shortage of those, she'd needed weeks to heal after each assignation before being presentable enough to service the next client, which was probably why she'd only conceived once.
Bless the holy Mortdh.
Parking in his father's driveway, Sharim left his jeep in front of the entry, ascended the three wide steps leading up to the front door, and rang the bell.
One of his father's whores opened the door, her bright, welcoming smile turning into an involuntary cringe when she saw him. She recovered quickly, though, plastering a fake smile on her face. "Greetings, master." She inclined her head. "Please come in. Your father awaits."
Sharim smiled back, committing her features to memory. She was safe for as long as his father kept her around, but eventually Losham would tire of her and send her back.
Sharim would pay her a visit then.
Losham didn't share his son's sadistic proclivities, and after the one time he'd offered Sharim the use of one of his whores, he had never done it again.
Couldn't stomach the screams.
His father was such a soft male.
After all, it wasn't as if Sharim was inflicting permanent damage on the merchandise. The venom healed the bruises and welts in two days tops, and he was always careful not to break any bones or injure any internal organs. That kind of damage took much longer to heal, and he didn't want to be held accountable for all the lost profits from the time it took the whores to recover.
Compared to what his own mother had done to him, Sharim was tender…
Walking behind the whore, his eyes followed her swaying ass. With the two pale cheeks separated only by a narrow strip of red bikini and bouncing enticingly with each of her steps, he imagined adorning them with a different kind of red stripes—crisscrossing the welts—his cane striking mercilessly as she screamed and begged for mercy…
Mercy that he wasn't going to grant.
Whoa… He had to rein himself in.
To greet his father with dripping fangs and a hard on would be a total lack of decorum…
Digging his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood, he shifted his eyes away from that enticing ass and focused on the light reflecting from his shiny Dolce & Gabbana loafers.
As the whore pushed through the double doors to his father's study, Sharim wasn't surprised to find the guy seating on the couch with a pretty on each side.
"Good morning, Father." Sharim bowed his head a little.
"Come in, son." Losham kissed each pretty on the mouth before gently pushing them up. "Go, have some fun in the pool, girls." He got up and ushered the three out, closing and locking the doors behind them.
This is strange…
Why lock the doors?
“Let's play some chess." His father motioned to the table he'd dedicated to the game.
As always, the beautiful black and white ivory pieces were set up and ready for a new game, and Sharim took his place at the white army's side. His father, a true chess master, always insisted Sharim should have the advantage of making the first move.
Losham poured them each a shot of Macallan whiskey, and handing Sharim his glass, sat across from him in front of the black.
"I was surprised at your summons today, Father. Our game night was just a couple of evenings ago. May I assume you have more than chess on your mind?" Sharim pushed a pawn up.
"Naturally, but why waste an opportunity. It is always an exciting challenge to play against you, Sharim. You're a worthy opponent."
/> "Yet, you win every time."
"Yes, but it's getting harder. One of these days you are going to best me. And I think sooner rather than later."
"Thank you, I appreciate your confidence in my ability, but I'm afraid it would take another century or two for me to finally win, if ever. You've been winning for a millennium. Nothing has changed."
"Well, this is not entirely true. The name of the game had changed. It used to be Shatranj. Remember?"
"Certainly." Sharim waited patiently for his father to get to the real reason behind the meeting.
Losham made his move and leaned back in his chair. "I am sure you are aware of the success reported by our team in America, yes?"
"Of course."
"In light of his spectacular achievement, eliminating one of our enemies' main assets, the leader of the team requests reinforcements. He wants to go hunting for more of Annani's clan members."
"Yes, I'm well aware of that. But what does it have to do with me? Surely you don't think this kind of mission requires someone of my caliber…"
"Actually, I do. Dalhu got lucky. But this is above his pay grade. And besides, I have more in mind than a simple hunt." Losham smiled.
"Go on…"
"As you know, since the beginning, we have been using two main tactics in our war against Annani and her clan. The first was to support the enemies of her Western allies—those who didn't get to benefit from her stolen knowledge and envied those who did, eager to destroy them. The second was to sow seeds of destruction from the inside, nurturing them with clever propaganda until they grew and multiplied, eating up and destroying from within all of the progress previously achieved. Like we did in WWI and WWII, and many other smaller implosions."
Nothing new here, Sharim thought as he nodded, waiting to see where his father was leading with this simplified rehashing of their age-old strategies.
"But we have never been able to do it to the Americans. Unhindered, they had become the main power to contend with. Lately, though, it seems that the clever Americans lost some of their acuity, letting weeds of their own take root and grow unchecked. They are weakened from the inside; taking away resources from their armed forces and abandoning allies to various bullies around the world…"
