Hunting the Jackal

by Seressia Glass

  Her soap-slicked fingers slid down her belly to part her folds, stroking her clit. She would love to watch them making love, watch their tongues dueling as their cocks rubbed together. Caught up in the fantasy, she rode her fingers as her imagination drove her higher. She imagined joining them, sucking on Rashon while Kurik took him. Kurik’s thick length slowly filling her while Rashon sucked on her clit. The sensual overload of both men thrusting deep into her sex, over and over until she screamed in ecstasy.

  Orgasm slammed into her. Biting her lip against a groan, she leaned against the water-warmed tile, hips jerking as she milked every last sensation. It took long moments to regain enough control to wash her hair then finish her shower. The release had taken the edge off her need, but the hunger remained. Now that she had the memory of Rashon’s kiss to fuel her fantasies, she didn’t know how she could be in the same room with either man without combusting.

  But it was more than just the physical need that she hungered for. She’d come a long way since she’d been accepted into their clan, and Rashon was largely responsible for that. With his ready smiles, gentle teasing and easygoing attitude, Rashon had a way of lightening her soul, helping her break out of her self-imposed shell.

  Kurik, well, he had a protective streak larger than the Great Pyramid. He was a bulwark that shielded her from the other males. It was an unusual experience, having someone protective of her. Not that she relied on it—part of being accepted as a guard meant proving she could hold her own—but it was comforting and amazing to know that Kurik had her back.

  At least, he did before. Now, she wondered if she’d damaged that friendship by returning Rashon’s kiss and using the men in her sexual fantasies. Why? Why would Rashon kiss her like, like she was his partner? Kurik had been right there beside him. Rashon had to know that his lover, his partner, his mate, was beside him on the bed. His actions didn’t make sense. Blessed Anubis, what would Kurik think of her kissing his mate as if she was in heat?

  Gods. She finished blow-drying her hair and went in search of clothing. Only Rashon and Kurik brought her to this edge. Only the thought of lying naked and sated with them made her nipples tighten and her breath shorten with want. Was it because she’d considered them safe, knowing they were only interested in each other?

  That wasn’t true anymore, was it? Rashon’s kiss had changed things. Now, a new awareness settled into her skin, awareness of Rashon and Kurik and the heat between them. The only sex she knew had been about procreation instead of pleasure, but now she wondered. Wondered what it would be like to be hot and sweaty and panting with need for another person, to lick the salty satin of a lover’s skin, to taste the very essence of their pleasure. Wondered what would happen if the casual camaraderie she felt with Rashon and Kurik, the casual comfort she experienced when she hung out with them, deepened into something more.

  Frowning, she stood in front of her dresser. As a guard, she didn’t have to wonder what to wear—loose fitting cargo pants and a dark T-shirt topped by a jacket was standard daytime wear, her jackal form her nighttime uniform. No, she dawdled because of her newly discovered obsession: brightly colored cotton undies and matching bras. She hadn’t had her own money in her former clan and hadn’t the first clue what to do with her first payment except turn it over to Kurik and Rashon for room and board. They’d given it back to her and taken her shopping instead, which she discovered she liked very much.

  She chose lime-green bikini panties with blue polka dots and a matching bra, then strapped on her favorite knives before pulling on a pair of dark brown cargo pants. A long-sleeved turquoise tee came next, then her low-heeled boots. Dressed, she picked up her gun holster, fastened it to her belt. Most of the old school jackals preferred fangs and claws as their weapons of choice, and she’d learned to fight and defend with her natural gifts, too. The human weapons gave her an advantage however, and when you fought for your life, you took every advantage you could.

  Leaving her bedroom and morbid thoughts behind, she headed down the hall, pausing at the darkened alcove to say a prayer of thanks at the statue of Anubis for Rashon’s recovery. She continued on to find Kurik in the kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice. The smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee seduced her nose. So did watching the golden column of Kurik’s throat as he swallowed.

  He gave her a smile as he placed the glass in the sink. “Hey. I’m making a celebration breakfast—bacon, eggs, the works. I could use a hand with shredding the potatoes.”

  It was their usual routine, since her only kitchen skills consisted of knife work and other prep, but no way could she sit there and watch Kurik make breakfast and pretend that nothing had happened, no matter how hungry she was. And what if Rashon joined then? Talk about awkward. “No, thanks. Besides, I figured you guys would want more alone time.”

  “Rashon’s in the shower.” He smiled in obvious relief and satisfaction. “And we had our alone time.”

  “Good.” Her stomach clenched, but she didn’t know if it was hunger for breakfast or the images that bludgeoned her imagination. She edged toward the door. “I-I mean, he’s gonna be okay, then. I’m glad.”

  Kurik frowned, his amber gaze missing nothing. “Amarie, I can hear your stomach growling from here. You stayed in jackal form with Rashon and me for the past two nights, waiting for him to wake up. You need food. We all do. Sit.”

  She instantly obeyed the demand, sitting at the breakfast bar. He poured a mug of coffee, adding sweetener and an inch of cream just the way she liked it before pressing it into her hands. “Here you go.”

  Lifting the mug, she drew a deep breath in. Her eyes slid shut as she took a careful sip, then she moaned as caffeinated warmth slipped down her throat. “Gods, that’s so good.”

  A strangled sound had her opening her eyes. Kurik stared at her, unsmiling, his yellow eyes glinting with intensity. “Kurik, are you all right?”

  He blinked and then shook his head. “Yeah.”

  “Um—” she pointed behind him “—the bacon’s burning.”

  Snarling, Kurik spun away to handle the bacon. Amarie stared down at her mug, hunching her shoulders defensively. Kurik never burned food, and he’d never snarled at her, even when she’d made mistakes adjusting to the clan. She could only think of one reason why he’d be angry.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Silence. Then big hands slid around hers on the mug, trapping her. “Amarie. Look at me. Please.”

  The please did it. Slowly she raised her gaze to his. His expression had softened into another sort of intensity, one that made her stomach clench for an entirely different reason. “Why would I be mad at you, sweetheart?”

  “Because.” She licked her lips, conscious of the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers. “Because I kissed Rashon.”

  His low chuckle skated over her senses. “Rashon kissed you if I recall. Then you kissed him back. I wasn’t bothered. Well, maybe a little.”

  She dropped her gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. Leaving me out like that.”

  “What?”

  “Where’s my kiss?” A teasing glint lit his eyes. “Are you going to leave me hanging?”

  Kurik wanted her to kiss him, too? Her stomach fluttered. Was it just because he was jealous or because he wanted her kiss, and more? She didn’t know what was going on with the two men or why she’d suddenly become the center of their attention, but she liked it.

  The effects of that earlier kiss and her orgasm still swam through her system, prodding her into action. “Leave you hanging after you made me the perfect cup of coffee? I don’t think so.”

  She leaned forward. Kurik met her halfway, his lips soft, exploratory. Just like with Rashon, he tilted his head, slanting his lips against hers. But where Rashon’s kiss swept her up in a whirlwind of passion, Kurik’s was like being struck by lightning.

  It was a demanding sort of kiss, demanding her response, her passion, her surrender. Ravenous, she gave it to
him willingly. One moment she wanted coffee, the next, him. All of him. With a low growl, he cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer. She rose off the bar stool, ready to climb over the breakfast bar, ready to say yes to whatever he wanted.

  “So that’s why I smell burnt bacon.”

  They broke apart as Rashon entered the kitchen. Amarie realized she had a fistful of Kurik’s T-shirt when he had to tug away to tend to the stove. “I got distracted,” Kurik explained, “in the best possible way.”

  “Really now?” Rashon came up behind Amarie, sliding his arms around her waist, his lips brushing her ear. Her nipples hardened, making her thankful her bra was lightly padded. “You know if you keep distracting him like that we won’t get breakfast. We’ll be forced to eat cereal.”

  “A fate worse than death for growing jackals,” she joked, though her mind reeled. Rashon had moved far beyond their usual displays of friendly affection, and while she craved it, it also made her nervous as she wondered what Kurik thought.

  Her eyes slid to the red-haired man. He didn’t growl, didn’t set his shoulders stiffly and didn’t exhibit any of the signals that would have sent her hiding in her old clan. Sure, he’d said he wasn’t bothered by their kiss, but this was different, wasn’t it? This was—gods, Rashon’s hands cupping her aching breasts, pooling liquid heat between her thighs—this was more than a kiss. This was something that would make her ask for something she wasn’t sure she’d get. Unless both men offered.

  The thought made her light-headed. Trying for nonchalance, she lifted her mug to her lips. Rashon took that moment to kiss her neck. She fumbled her mug, sending coffee running along the granite slab. “Darn it!”

  “Here, let me.” Rashon caught the towel Kurik tossed, quickly sopping up the liquid. “Doesn’t look like any got on you. There’s no reason to get upset.”

  “But it was good coffee.” She pouted. “Kurik put his special touch on it.”

  “Of course.” Rashon smiled at his mate, a sexy smile that made her warm, and she wasn’t even on the receiving end of it. “Kurik’s touch makes everything good.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kurik said as he rounded the counter. “There’s more where that came from—if you’re good.”

  She stared at him, trying to read him, doubt and hope warring inside her. If he could tease, so could she. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

  Kurik froze and then smiled. The dangerous glint of his eyes thrilled her. “I like the way you say that. You’ll get more, but first, give Rashon a proper good-morning kiss.”

  Rashon spun her bar stool until she faced him. He stepped between her thighs to kiss her, and gods, it was even better than the first. Her arms wrapped about his shoulders as she gave a hum of appreciation. Dimly she was aware of Kurik pulling her gun holster off her belt, placing it on the counter. Rashon pulled her off the stool. She pressed against him with a little moan, needing to feel his lithe body against hers.

  Kurik moved behind her, reaching past Amarie to grip Rashon’s waistband and pull him even closer. They sandwiched her in, and Rashon deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue past her lips. Kurik’s big hands cupped her breasts, unerringly finding her nipples through two layers of clothing, his fingertips tracing the sensitive peaks. Once again she was swept up, caught between thunder and lightning as the men tantalized her with hands and mouths. She circled her hips, pressing forward to feel Rashon’s hardness, then back against Kurik. Inwardly, she cursed the need for clothing in human form.

  After long moments, they broke apart, gasping for air. Amarie’s entire body thrummed with want. It curled within her, tightening her nipples, dampening her panties. Desire that she’d thought she’d tamped down flared again, demanding satisfaction.

  “What is this?” she whispered, wondering if they could hear the need in her voice.

  “The start of something good,” Rashon whispered against her cheek.

  “Really good,” Kurik added, nipping her shoulder.

  Finally. They pressed against her, and she leaned into them, wanting to taste, to touch, to share twice over. The trill of a cell phone sliced through the anticipation like sleet.

  “Crap,” Kurik growled as he unclipped his phone. He stepped back, answered. “Good morning, sir.”

  Only one jackal in the clan was called sir. Markus. Amarie watched as Kurik transformed into the soldier he was. “Yes, sir. He awakened this morning. Yes, she’s here, too. We’d like to thank you and the priestess for saving him. Of course, sir. We’ll be there.”

  Kurik disconnected. “We have a guard meeting in thirty. Markus said we can meet with the priestess after.”

  “I guess that means no celebration breakfast.” Amarie tried not to pout, but she had more than food on her mind. Rashon and Kurik were finally offering what she’d been wanting, and she didn’t want them to have second thoughts. She wanted the good stuff, and she wanted it now.

  “We’ve got time for eggs and toast. Our celebration will have to be postponed, not canceled.”

  “Dinner then,” Rashon decided. “That way we can take our time. We’ve got a lot to celebrate, and I want to enjoy every moment of it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  They made their way to the clubhouse on foot. It was a beautiful sunny day, and several of the clan’s children took advantage, biking and skating along the sidewalk under the watchful eye of several females sitting on a porch a couple of doors down. Markus’s clan had an entire planned community to themselves, a collection of single-family homes and duplexes surrounded by thick woodland that disguised the abundance of high-tech and magical security that protected it. It was so far removed from the rundown small town in the middle of nowhere her former clan called home that Amarie still had difficulty accepting the blessing of her changed circumstances.

  The walk also gave Amarie plenty of time to fully appreciate the striking package of masculinity that was Kurik. There was nothing about the red-haired jackal that was small—from his shoulders to his hands and feet and his appetites. Yet his bulk didn’t make him clumsy. Instead, he moved with deliberate and graceful purpose, as unstoppable as the heat rising from the desert. Picturing the play of Kurik’s muscles in the throes of passion made her breathless with want. How did Rashon deal with all that power bearing down on him?

  Rashon sidled up next to her. “Great view, isn’t it?” he asked, a knowing and wicked grin lighting his eyes.

  She didn’t think to lie. “Amazing.”

  “It’s an even better experience. If you’re willing, that is.”

  Breath swooshed out of her lungs. “Seriously?”

  “What do you think all that kissing was for?” He captured her hand. “I almost died, Amarie. That near-death experience only solidified what I’ve been thinking for a while. If anything, it gave me the kick in the ass to act. You know I love you. Now I’m letting you know that I want you. So does Kurik. We want you, tonight, tomorrow night, the night after. If you’ll have us.”

  “Rashon.” She’d dreamed of hearing those words, never believing she ever would. Now dread crawled through her. She couldn’t give them tomorrow, or the night after. She couldn’t give them forever. Male jackals wanted children. The Children of Anubis had lost too many of their kind over the centuries, especially the females. The need to increase their numbers was a biological imperative felt by all the jackals, but not her. Not anymore.

  “Amarie?”

  “You’ve been the centerpiece of my fantasies for the past three months. But I don’t want there to be any weirdness between you and Kurik or you and me and him. Both of you are too important to me to mess that up. Our friendship is too important.”

  “Thank you for saying that.” He lifted their hands, placed a quick kiss on the back of hers. “So how about we just start with tonight and see where it goes from there?”

  “All right.” One night. One night to experience the giving and receiving of pleasure, to feel like a normal female. Surely one night of bliss wouldn’t hur
t? She looked at Kurik ahead of them, wondering if he’d heard their conversation. Wondering if he agreed with Rashon. The guys had probably already talked it out, but while she knew Rashon liked her, she didn’t really know if Kurik was interested in her on more than a friendly level. Still, after what she’d experienced back home, Kurik’s friendship was a better foundation than she could have hoped for.

  She dropped Rashon’s hand as they entered the massive clubhouse that dominated the center of the jackal compound. Guards filled the main area, some seated, most standing in clumps of two or three. All of them fighters, ranging from decades to centuries old, dedicated to standing in the breach against the Lost Ones. So noble, so brave.

  So few.

  Their race was in trouble. They needed to protect and increase their numbers, and many of the guards had hoped Amarie’s addition would help. She wanted to help, desperately, but she couldn’t in the way most of them preferred. She wasn’t good mate material and did her best to deflect the men’s interest without having to spill the details of her tragic history. All her focus went into using her instant affinity for firearms to be the best guard she could be, protecting the people who’d accepted her into their family, their lives.

  Kurik and Rashon flanked her as they always did. She’d only thought of them being protective of their roommate before, but now she wondered if they had been silently claiming her all along. Today she smelled even more like them than usual, and she wondered if the other jackals could scent the change. Could scent the yearning that still spiraled inside her.