Enslaved: Prisoner of the Amazon Queen (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle Book 6)

by Colette Gale

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped as the man slammed against the wall, then tumbled to the floor. “I shall come up, and you do not need to lay one finger on me.” She gripped Zaren’s arm, felt the muscles trembling beneath his skin as he fought to control himself.

  His face was a black mask of fury as they climbed the steps. Jane’s heart thudded, and she reminded herself to hold her head high and proud. Zaren would allow nothing to happen to her.

  On the deck, a terrible sight greeted them, and for the first time, her confidence was shaken. The crew of The Racing Gull had been taken captive by a group of men who could only be described as pirates. A second ship, close and dark and threatening, loomed next to the Gull, and Jane was quick enough to spy the gangplanks that had been dropped as two narrow bridges from vessel to vessel.

  Two distinct pools of blood, along with the heads and headless bodies from which they sprang, decorated the wooden deck in a grisly fashion. Captain Morris stood to the side, his arms bound behind him, and a man Jane vaguely recognized as one of the Gull’s mates had a gun shoved into his chin.

  “Take him!” cried a voice as soon as Jane and Zaren came into view. “Quickly, for he is a beast!”

  Zaren had only a moment to give Jane a desperate look followed by a wild cry before three men launched themselves from above, landing on top of him with a heavy black net, just as a fourth man grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of reach.

  She shrieked and began to fight, kicking and clawing as she watched the three men and their heavy black net imprison Zaren. He roared like a feral cat, the sound so lifelike and fierce that several of their attackers looked around as if to see a four-legged feline ready to pounce. And though her husband was magnificently strong and fast, the three subdued him with the help of the tangling net and the heavy wooden clubs they brandished. They slammed and thudded into him over and over, even as he roared and lunged while hampered by the heavy covering.

  “Stop!” she shrieked, whirling in the grip of the man who’d grabbed her. “Stop it! Whatever it is you want, you shall have…only cease beating him!”

  “Of course I shall have what I want,” said the man…who looked vaguely familiar to her. “And you are indeed the prize I was promised. I have no doubt you will easily snare Zenovia’s attention, and put me in a most welcome position.”

  Jane felt the blood leech from her face. “You! I know you… You were…you are a friend of Darkdale.” Her head was light, and the world spun a little as she remembered the faces and—more worrisomely—the cocks and hands and tongues employed by those who called Kellan Darkdale friend. He had no name, but she remembered him well.

  “Indeed. And you, my lovely, delicious darling, will be coming with me.”

  Zaren roared and lunged again, this time dragging the heavy weight of the net. He slammed into her captor, knocking both of them heavily to the ground. She pulled away, running, stumbling, dashing somewhere, looking for a weapon, something, anything to use to save herself, to save her husband and the good captain, but when she spun back around, she stopped as if slamming into a brick wall.

  “No!” she screamed. “No!”

  But she was too late. As she watched, the kicking, bucking, black-wrapped bundle of her beloved husband was lifted by no fewer than six men and heaved over the side of the ship…

  The resulting splash acted like punctuation to the sentence of her life: a short, sharp period. An end. The end.

  Jane ran to the side of the deck, slipping through spilled blood and evading the hands that grabbed for her. “Zaren! Zaren!” she screamed.

  The empty black net fluttered against the side of the ship, hooked on something that had caused it to unfurl as Zaren was pitched overboard.

  Even as strong hands dragged her away from the edge, Jane searched for something, for a shadowy head to emerge or a hand…

  And just as a heavy black cloak enveloped her, Jane saw him.

  Zaren. Erupting from the sea like furious beast.

  Relief and hope surged in her, and then everything went black.

  — II—

  Jane arched in a long, lazy stretch and reached languidly for her husband.

  The bed next to her was cool and empty. She opened her eyes, expecting to see him sitting in the chair, looking out the porthole with his spyglass.

  That was when she realized it wasn’t her bed.

  And she wasn’t in their small chamber.

  She bolted upright, suddenly assaulted by the memories and terror of the attack on The Racing Gull.

  “Zaren,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, Zaren…” Her heart thudded harshly and her stomach roiled. “What have I done?”

  Then Jane shook her head. No. She’d saved the lives of any number of sailors who would have been beheaded—or worse—if she hadn’t stepped forward. But had her stubbornness caused the death of the man she loved more than anything?

  Jane bit her lip, drawing in a long, deep breath. She had seen his head bobbing in the ocean. She had.

  If anyone could have survived that fall, that attack, it was Zaren.

  And if he were alive, he would stop at nothing to find her…wherever she was. And so she must do everything possible to stay safe and alive until he did.

  She sat up and looked around the chamber. It was smaller than the one she’d shared with Zaren, but the gentle rolling of her environment told her she was on another ship. She was still dressed in the shift she’d pulled on before leaving her room with Zaren…and it boded well for her virtue, such as it was, that she was still clothed.

  Just then, the door opened.

  “Ah, then. You’re awake, lovely Jane.” The man who’d taken her—the man she recognized as a friend of the controlling and masterful Kellan Darkdale—stood in the doorway. “I’m very glad to see that, for you’ve been sleeping for three days and we are very nearly at our destination.”

  Three days? She vaguely remembered a pinprick in her arm and realized she must have been drugged.

  “I am Lady Hampstead to you, you disgusting cur,” she said haughtily. “And I need not tell you what fate awaits you when I return to London and inform the Met that you’ve abducted a lady of the peerage and attempted to murder my husband. However, your immediate cooperation may possibly lighten your sentence.”

  When his eyes raked over her, she made a move to cover herself with the flimsy blanket. He laughed, stepping inside the chamber. The door closed sharply behind him. “You need not bother, my dear Lady Hampstead. I have no interest in you in that way—at least at the moment. However, it’s the rest of the crew about which you should worry. And that is what I’ve come here to tell you.”

  She drew herself up, aware of the picture she must make: disheveled, half dressed, and with her reams of fiery hair tumbling over her shoulders and the blanket. This nameless man was probably the first one she’d ever encountered who did not wish to touch, probe, stroke, taste, or otherwise enjoy her body. But she shivered at the reminder of the rest of the sex-starved crew, and what might happen if she were given over to them. Jane pulled her courage and every bit of strength about her. “Return me to London immediately, whoever you are. If you are lucky, my husband survived being thrown off the ship and you will only be charged with attempted murder and kidnapping—”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady. I am remiss in not introducing myself. Captain Bradley Holt, at your service. And unfortunately, my lady, your request must be denied. You see, I do have plans for you, but they do not involve returning to London.” He smiled and gestured to the sea beyond the walls of the chamber. “We are headed for the Lost City of Amazonia, which is on an island in the Atlantic not far from the coast of Nigeria, but well off the normal trade routes. It is a place with which I’ve been desperate to do some trading—for they grow the most valuable of all hallucinogenic substances there, called blinkalo lobia—known more commonly in the opium dens as heather-hash. It can only be found in their gated city, and the Amazonians ar
e very shrewd trading partners. You are going to be the key to my new arrangement with them, for I am certain they will find you quite fascinating.”

  A knock came at the door. “And there is your bath, my lady. I will need to you to wash and dress, for the last three days have left you rather…pungent.” He wrinkled his nose. “You smell of coitus and other unpleasantries. And unless you require assistance, which I’m certain any number of the gentlemen on this ship would be happy to provide, you will refresh yourself quickly and without help. For we will be approaching the city within the hour.” His eyes danced with excitement.

  Before Jane could respond, he opened the door and three men came in, carrying a large tub half filled with steaming water. As she watched in astonishment—and lust, for it had been some time since she’d bathed—more of the crew came in bearing buckets of warm water.

  Each of them looked at her with hot, lascivious eyes, clearly more than ready to assist with any sort of lady’s maid task in order to be alone in the chamber with her. But her captor stood guard at the door until the tub was filled and an elegant emerald and sapphire gown was laid upon the bed.

  When she sat mutely on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest, Holt’s face darkened. “You will be ready in three-quarters of an hour…or I will allow the entire crew to take their turns—er—assisting you to prepare. And then, whatever is left of you, I will leave to bake in the sun for two days on the deck where all can see you.”

  With that, he left the chamber.

  Jane fumed, but she wasn’t a fool. Whoever the Amazonians were, she would at least have a chance to plead her case to them. Once she explained she was a lady of the peerage, surely they would help her return to England. Perhaps they’d even assist her to find Zaren, and The Racing Gull.

  Amazonians… Hm. The Amazons were legendary female warriors. Could these be descendants of the storied women? If they were, surely if it was a matriarchal society, they’d be even more willing to help someone of their own gender. Especially when they learned she’d been abducted and brought there against her will.

  Jane sank into the bath, unable to completely muffle a sigh of pleasure as she submerged in the steaming water. She was feeling slightly more optimistic at what lay ahead. At least she was to remain untouched and kept safe from Holt’s crew, and even he had no designs on her.

  All that would be left was to convince the Amazonians to help her return to London…and to pray Zaren had made it safely aboard a ship or to land.

  She was nearly ready at the appointed time, garbed in the emerald and sapphire froth—but not without difficulty, for the evening gown was heavy with many layers of crinolines and skirts.

  “Allow me, my lady,” said Holt when he opened the door to find her struggling with the buttons. He made quick work of them, then stepped back to examine her appearance.

  Jane had no mirror, but she’d braided part of her long hair into a slender plait, and then pinned up the rest of the curls in a loose knot at the back of her head. She could not deny the gown was stunning and highly fashionable. With her green eyes and fire-gold hair, she knew it looked good on her, and her fine appearance would likely give credence to her story of abduction. The bodice cut straight across her chest, leaving arms and shoulders bare, then molded to her breasts and waist like a pair of greedy hands. Lace and flounces decorated the skirt in tiers, and dragged across the floor in a short train when she took Holt’s arm to follow him out of the chamber. He had also seen fit to provide flimsy silk slippers and a lacy green wrap to cover her bare shoulders. However, she was given no jewels.

  “Perfect,” Holt said, looking at her with a cool, objective eye. Not a hint of lust or desire in his face, but something more like satisfaction. He made no other comment as he escorted her from the ship’s hold up and out onto the deck, where his crew watched avidly. Jane shuddered, glad she’d escaped the fate of their dirty hands and lascivious mouths on her…and held her head high as they disembarked the ship.

  The City of the Amazonians was white, and it sparkled in the sunlight as if coated by silver. Jane saw many domed roofs of various heights, most of which were decorated by white and blue flags. In the center was the largest and most ornate building—presumably where the ruler lived—and it was a beautifully symmetrical collection of tall, slender domes. The entire city was barricaded by a seemingly impenetrable wall made of white marble, and as she and Holt approached, along with a contingent of his own men, they were met by four tall, powerful guards at a massive gate.

  “Identify yourself and your purpose,” demanded one of the helmeted guards, holding—but not brandishing—a long, curved sword. It wasn’t until the guard spoke that Jane realized it was a woman…a tall, muscular woman who stood larger than most men. Like her companions, she was wearing black leather breeches and a matching vest over muscled arms and legs. Long boots reached over her knees, and her armor was of hammered silver. Her shoulders were broader than that of Jane’s captor.

  Holt released Jane’s arm and stepped forward. “I am Captain Bradley Holt, at your service. I’ve come to discuss a trade agreement with High Chief Zenovia.” For a moment, Jane considered the option of bolting forward right then and asking for the guards to give her sanctuary from her abductor.

  “And what makes you believe the high chief would deign to see you?”

  “We bring gifts, of course,” replied Holt, gesturing to the chest two of his men carried between them. “Gems and jewels…as well as a special adornment from my native England…all carefully chosen to appeal to the high chief. Please be assured, I offer a most lucrative proposal in return for an audience.”

  The guards conferred, then it appeared as if some sort of messenger was sent off into the depths of the city walls. Jane thought once again about asking for help, but Holt returned to her side and took her arm firmly.

  “Remember my promise, dear lady,” he murmured. “Behave yourself and act appropriately, or you will be a welcome feast for my crew. And then for the sun and wind and rain.” He smiled down at her with something like affection.

  She lifted her chin haughtily and turned away. Bastard. The moment she had an opportunity to speak to the high chief, she would explain the situation. It was obvious the Amazonians were not particularly welcome to strangers. Surely that would be a point in her favor.

  “The high chief will see you.”

  Holt’s excitement was palpable as he took Jane’s arm firmly. They followed the messenger into the city, walking on a white stone pathway. Everything inside the walls was just as clean and white and sparkling as it had appeared from her view on the ship.

  The only color was that of green grass and leaves, along with the occasional brown trunk of a tree—and even those hues seemed subdued. All other vegetation was white flowers or silvery leaves. The bricks were white. The lampposts were white. Even the clothing of the few people (all women) they passed—which seemed to be a sort of livery—was spotless white, down to the shoes.

  Jane didn’t realize until this moment that Holt and his men were dressed all in black and white, and she was the only spot of color in their entourage.

  Indeed, as they made their way toward another gate that led into the palace, she felt countless pairs of eyes watching them…watching her. And when they crossed over a small moat that surrounded the castle, she caught a glimpse of herself in the company of all the black and white: a beacon of sapphire, emerald, and fire. Intense and bold.

  Her palms became damp as they were led into the palace. Double doors, guarded by more female sentries (these not quite as large and hulking as the others, but still taller and more muscular by far than Jane), were flung open…and there in front of them spread a circular room.

  Holt strode forward, leaving Jane to follow behind the two men carrying the chest of jewels. She hesitated, but was prodded forward by Holt’s other men, who were positioned behind. The female guards looked at her with cold interest as she stepped into the chamber.

  Vast. Ta
ll, open, and opulent. The décor was silver and white with an occasional—very occasional—glittering aquamarine accent. Light poured in from windows set around the base of a domed ceiling that rose high above a dais, on which there sat a silver throne.

  Next to the throne was a much smaller chair—unoccupied—and arranged on the circular stairs leading to the dais were several guards, ladies in waiting, and other servants. As far as Jane could tell, every one was female. They stood such that they could see both the throne and the chamber at large. Silvery trees and palm fronds ruffled lightly from some unknown breeze. An unfamiliar scent hung in the air—something sweet and lush and heady. It seemed to be wafting from a trio of shallow bowls on three-legged stands.

  On the throne sat a woman.

  She was tall and solid, and her toned, muscular arms were bared by a black, toga-like gown. She wore a silver band around her upper arm, and another silver one across her forehead like a low-riding tiara. The band was a crown, and it kept her thick, moonbeam hair from tumbling into her face. Instead, waves of it fell over her shoulders. Even from across the chamber, Jane could see intelligence in the woman’s dark eyes. Yet the expression in her attractive face was one of boredom and distaste as Holt came forward and made a very low, obeisant bow.

  “Captain Holt. You again. Why on earth would you believe I will consider a trade agreement with you when I have already indicated my disinterest in such an arrangement?” The woman—presumably the high chief—had a voice that filled the room with its volume and confidence. In fact, every element of the woman exuded power.

  Jane’s sliver of hope grew into something larger. This was someone who was no victim, no subservient female.

  Holt rose from his bow. “But this time, your grace, madame High Chief Zenovia, I have brought you gifts. I was remiss in not doing so during my last visit—”

  “Gifts? What on earth would I have need of from you, you puny, weak Englishman? I have all I would ever need here in my beloved city. I have no interest in anything from you, and the only reason I allowed you audience was to make certain you would not darken my court ever again.” She turned and gestured languidly to a group of six female guards who stood at the ready. “Take him. And all of his men and put them to work until we determine which of them might be put to other use.”