by Jaide Fox
Melantha Mansfield uttered an unladylike growl of impotent fury as she closed the door behind her. “Rupert, you low down snake!” she muttered under her breath. Stalking across the room, she flounced down on the bench before her dressing table and began to snatch the pins from her hair. “Rusticate, he says! Hunting! Hpmh! A likely tale, that one! Months on end we do not hear a word and then he just sails merrily in with as rowdy a bunch of ne’r do wells as I have seen him with yet and suggests Grandmother and I take a trip to the seashore while he and his friends do a bit of hunting!
“With what, I would like to know?
“And what would they be hunting at this time of the year, I would like to know!
“Not but what Grandmother and I should not have any trouble at all finding a place at Brighton just now since no one goes there at this time of the year! But how we’re to pay for it is beyond me since we’ve hardly a farthing between us!
“If they are hunting anything beyond tarts to warm their beds I would be amazed. Grandmother simpering over him as if he’s the second coming, and she without a notion of what he’s about. Well I know and it cannot have been so long ago that she cannot remember.”
Having disposed of the hair pins, she grabbed the brush and raked it through her hair in angry, jerky movements and tossed the brush back onto the dressing table.
Dragging her long hair over one shoulder, she reached behind her to struggle with the lacings of her gown. “As God is my witness,” she grunted as she wrestled with the lacings at the awkward angle, “I will throttle that man if he looks sideways at Nancy! I cannot do everything in this house by myself. I will not leave her here with that rowdy bunch, I do not care what Grandmother has to say on the matter! Or Rupert either!
“If Grandmother and I must go, then she will go, too, and we will see how well he manages this blasted household without a maid of any sort!”
Having finally managed to loosen the gown somewhat, she got up from the bench, fought her way out of it and threw it across the room. Reaching behind her, she began to pick at the lacing of her corset, pacing now because she was simply too agitated to be still. “Mark my words, he will be after Grandmother first thing to hand over what little household money we have left, for he would not be here if he were not run off his legs again. And she will hand it over and apologize like a mealy mouthed simpleton when he demands to know why there is so little.
“As if we subsist on air whenever he is not about!”
Removing the corset at last, she pitched it toward the window, wishing she had something heavier to throw. Massaging her ribs briefly in relief as the pressure was removed from them, she dropped her hands to her waist and untied her underskirts next, let them fall to the floor and then kicked them to one side.
“I will not go! And I shall tell him that whenever he deigns to rise tomorrow. I am not a child any more. He cannot make me!”
She looked down at herself, discovered she was still wearing her stockings and slippers and flounced onto the bench again to remove them. “I will think of something,” she muttered darkly, staring at her bare toes and wiggling them once she had removed the hose and shoes. “He has a hunting box. Why did he not take them there if they were so keen to be all manly and hunt and kill for sport?
“He has lost it,” she answered herself. “Or he has come here for another reason altogether. What though?” she asked meditatively, rubbing her temples. Nothing immediately came to mind and after a few moments she got up and pulled her chemise off.
* * * *
Dizziness reminded him to breathe and, as if dragging in a gulp of air was sufficient to activate his brain, it commenced to sputtering an assortment of disjointed impressions and information. The instinctive side of his nature was working far better than the cognitive side, however, and as the woman on the other side of the curtain began to strip her clothing off layer by layer, it became increasingly more difficult for the thinking side of his brain to catch up since all of the blood in his body seemed to be pumping away from his brain and into his cock.
There was nothing vaguely mannish or aged about the woman striding boldly about the room teasing him with the bare flesh she revealed inch by excruciating inch until he was in a fever of impatience for her to reveal all. She stopped just shy of removing her chemise and he ground his teeth in frustration, for he could see just a hint of the pink tips of the heaving, bouncing, enticingly rounded globes of her breasts through the thin fabric.
Obligingly, she moved after a moment to the bench again and sat to show him more of what he thirsted for. Hiking her skirts up, she removed her shoes, untied her garters and rolled her hose down her legs, revealing a pair of shapely legs that sent another painful burst of blood into his groin.
He almost lost it completely, however, when he had scanned her legs from foot to crotch. For she sat with her legs splayed slightly apart, fanning them slightly and flexing her feet and toes. And each time she opened her legs he caught a glimpse of the gaping slit in the crotch of her pantelettes, a peek of pink flesh and dark blond curls that set a pulse to pounding in his temple hard enough he thought for a moment that he might black out.
As frustrated as he was that he could catch no more than a tantalizing glimpse to probe the mysteries of her womanhood, however, his cup runneth over when she got to her feet abruptly and stripped off the last barrier between his gaze and the entire upper portion of her body, standing before him in all her glory in nothing but a sheer pair of pantelettes.
* * * *
As Melantha dropped her chemise to the floor she discovered she had tossed her clothing in every direction as she had undressed. Shrugging dismissively after a moment, she moved to the armoire and took out a night dress, slipping it over her head and buttoning it as she turned toward her bed. She froze abruptly as something out of place penetrated her anger. Pivoting on her heels, she stared in disbelief at the open armoire, or more specifically the bare spot at the bottom near the back.
* * * *
He wasn’t at all certain that his instincts would have saved him if not for the fact that the woman took that opportune moment to ‘bring the curtain down’ over the display that was causing him so much pleasurable discomfort. His instinct for danger did kick in, but sluggishly as she pivoted on her heel and stared hard at the armoire. He rather thought it was the expressions that rapidly crossed her lovely features that finally penetrated the heated red fog that had been suffocating his brain in favor of another portion of his anatomy, though, for she turned first deathly pale, and then bright red before her face contorted in a ferocious scowl.
Perhaps it was at least in part the hard edges of the casket he became keenly aware of digging into his ribs at just that moment. Whatever the prod, his decimated brain leapt from the cabinet to the box beneath his arm and the threat of discovery just as she whirled and stalked toward the door to the hallway.
She stumbled over the shoes and clothing that littered the floor on the way. “Damn and blast it!” she growled furiously, giving them another kick and marching purposefully toward the door.
The instant she snatched the door open, stuck her head out, and bellowed a woman’s name, he closed and latched the panel, gritting his teeth as the hinges let out the squawk he had feared it would, and then peered into the room through the peep hole.
She had heard it. She was no longer looking down the corridor. She was staring around the room, her blue eyes as wide as saucers.
An excerpt from Seduced by Darkness by Jaide Fox (Erotic Fantasy Romance):
Touching an unconscious woman held no appeal for Raphael. But the actions of a few rogue hunters forced him to make amends.
The woman had been bathed, and her wounds cleansed and tended to the best of their ability. It had done little to ease the fever racking her body. Doubtless her flight through the woods had only worsened her injury.
She’d been placed on his bed, soft furs draped around her body. In the room, lit dimly by basins of flame and the watery light
of the red moon, she appeared unnaturally bleached and sickly. Her dark skin was dry when it should not have been--should have been soaked through with perspiration at her heat. He wondered that the wound affected her so harshly, but suspected dark magic had more to do with her illness than any natural cause.
Raphael climbed into the bed and knelt beside her. He smoothed a gold strung lock of brown/black hair from her face. He’d never seen the like of it before and the highlights threading through her coarse dark hair fascinated him.
Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her heavily lashed lids, her body twitching slightly, her mouth parted on a sigh. She was dreaming, likely of the chase or some other horror he could only imagine.
Anger seeped into him. He clenched his hands into fists, then realized what he was doing. Deliberately, he drew and released a slow breath, forcing himself to remain calm. Reckless anger would do neither of them good.
From Blasien, he knew the kharez was inherently sexual. Blasien’s woman had healed him with her body and unintentionally formed a connection between them. Sensual touch sparked the reaction. And it was time to begin, before she worsened ... or roused enough to refuse him.
Raphael traced a finger lightly over her lush parted lips and down her right arm. Her skin was soft as down, smooth and perfect. Taking her hand in a gentle grip, he lifted it to his face and pressed his lips to her fingertips, feeling the rapid pulse beat of her heart. He moved over each slowly, lingering, sucking each small pad into his mouth to rake lightly with his teeth and soothe with his tongue.
She moaned softly and shifted, drawing closer. The furs slipped down at her movement, revealing the soft, generous globes of her breasts, tipped with delightfully dark nipples in the light.
His hands itched to curve around them, test their weighted softness in his palms. Heated blood rushed to his groin, his length swelling, hardening beneath his short kurt. Long had he been without a woman to touch ... to taste ... to bury his hard shaft deep inside. This woman--the human--tempted him.
Smoothing his palms over her alluringly defined collarbone, he moved lower, watching her face for reaction as he skimmed her breasts with the softest touch. Her lips parted on a breathy sigh as her nipples pebbled, begging, needing more.
He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He pinched the tight buds, rolling each between his thumb and forefinger until she moaned and arched her back, thrusting her breasts closer to him.
Unable to hold his baser side back, Raphael growled low in his throat and descended, brushing his lips down the column of her neck. He suckled her flesh, dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat, felt the fragility of her life beating against his tongue.
His teeth elongated with the bloodlust surging through him, the pulse beating at the base of her throat tempting him to taste her life’s essence. He’d not felt such longing in many years--had banished that side of himself that ached for the taste of innocent blood.
He wrenched away from that temptation, breathing ragged and harsh, but she caught him, held his arms tight. Looking at her dark face, he saw that she watched him. Her eyes were slumberous, dark and glazed with lust and fever. She licked her lower lip, drawing his gaze, maddening him beyond reason.
Descending on her with a ferocity borne of long denial, he crushed his mouth to hers. Sucking her lips, he nicked her with his sharp teeth. Traces of blood mingled with the sweetness of her mouth, fueling the lust consuming his senses, threatening to push him over the edge of control.
Swan made small, whimpering throat noises, moans of pleasure as he thrust the furs aside and settled his body against her naked flesh. He groaned into her mouth as she rubbed her tight, lithe body against him. She closed her arms around him, digging her nails into his back, clutching tight as he ravished her mouth. Sliding his tongue inside, he probed her dark crevices, curling his tongue around hers as she sucked him deeper.
Her heat enveloped him, searing sanity, banishing reason. His hands moved with a mind of their own, down her taut stomach, past the thatch of coarse dark hair hiding her sex. His fingers teased her slit, moist with her desire. The evidence of her arousal was nearly his undoing. Raphael dragged his mouth away, along her jaw to her ear. Tracing the shell with liquid heat, he plunged his tongue inside as his fingers sought and found her clit.
She moaned loudly, gasping as though she could not get enough breath. She spread her legs wide, tilting her hips to him. Fingers rapid, he worked the nub in tight circles until she lay panting beneath him. He broke his hand away from her lushness to rip his kurt away, until nothing barred him from taking her.
His cockhead nudged her opening, wet with her juices. She was smaller than he’d reckoned, tighter. Bliss beckoned his possession.
“Yes. Please,” she begged, her voice husky as she wrapped her legs around him.
Beneath him, he could feel her body wracked by an unnatural heat, a fever that overtook her, leaving her senseless to his possession.
He stilled, poised above her, tense. He’d lost his damned mind. Strained, his arms shook with the effort to control himself. A cold sweat broke out on his body. It would take little movement to sink into her depths. She was slick and needy for him.
Swan arched beneath him, and his cockhead teased her entrance, jerking with need. He groaned, slipped infinitely inside. His arms shook more violently as restraint slowly crumbled. Her wet heat enticed, threatening to snap the remainder of his control.
“Don’t stop. I beg you,” she cried, tossing her head back and forth on the silken furs, her eyes squeezed shut.
“You know not what you ask,” he said through gritted teeth, pained with resistance.
“I do,” she whispered and went still of a sudden, collapsing back.
Raphael drew up as though the tension between them had shattered, surprised as her arms and legs fell away. Moisture beaded on her body, sliding down her curves. Her skin brightened to a warm sun-infused brown, suffused with life, healthy and perfect. The fever had broken.
He moved from between her legs, beside her prone body. Tension shook him to the core, for he still felt that desperate need to claim her body in every pore. How he’d managed to not sink into her depths and ease his lustful needs, he did not know.
Kneeling over her, he touched her face. She slept. Her skin was cooling. No longer did the scent of illness cling to her.
Had the kharez worked?
He could not know, but it was likely so. And dawn was fast approaching. If his suspicions were correct, she would be changing soon.
Raphael stood and covered her once more. His body thrummed with need, insatiate. He touched his still hard cock and groaned at the pleasurable pain. He promised himself that he would have this human when next he saw her, until the unbidden lust she aroused as woman and prey was cleansed from his body.
* * * *
An alien hardness nudged the opening of her sex, probing, painful. She arched her back, welcoming the intrusion with all her being....
Swan awoke with a start, gasping with remembered sensation, a cold sweat broken across her brow. Shivering, she wiped the moisture away, realized she was trapped in place. An unfamiliar heat lay at her back, cradling her length. She shifted, but a heavy weight held her in place, draped across her hip.
Looking around from her vantage point, she saw she lay in a strange bed, covered with dark furs. Beside the bed sat a squat table with the remnants of her robes. Bed posts rose from the corners, carved in the likeness of rampant wolves. In their teeth, dark gauze stretched between them--a net that could be dropped to protect from annoying insects, she presumed. Large stone blocks made up the walls of the room. An arched window was cut into the side wall she could see. Further down she could see a basin of flame that gave off flickering light and warmth.
Her attention returned to the bed, the other occupant, and the hand draped possessively around her. She had no memory of coming here. And she was as naked as the day she was born. Swan wondered frantically if she’d been sodomized, but
a mental body check confirmed there was no tenderness, no aching, torn flesh. Her sexual muscles were relaxed and whole as the rest of her body.
The weakness she’d last recalled was gone, as was her nagging injury. Swan flexed her left hand in wonder. The consistent pain had vanished though the shock of the missing digit still greeted her. What magic did these beastmen possess?
