Shifter

by Angela Knight, Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day

  He was breathing hard by the time he lifted his head. “I think,” Rance said hoarsely, “we’re both overdressed.”

  Her eyes went wide as he pulled off his gauntlets. They made a heavy, metallic sound when he dropped them on the deck.

  He reached for the tie of her cravat, and she froze, watching him with those big, lovely eyes. Her lips parted, tempting him with the thought of kissing her again. He could easily learn to crave her taste.

  Fighting his body’s clawing demand for haste, he slowly untied the length of white lace from around her slender throat. He tossed it across the copilot’s chair and reached for the gold buttons marching down the front of her scarlet jacket. As each button popped free, a bit of thin silk shirt appeared beneath it, warm and fragrant from her body.

  He was dying to taste her. To bury his face against the elegant curve of her lovely breasts, take her nipples into his mouth. Savor each silken centimeter.

  It had been months since he’d had a woman. Dehumanizing months of deprivation and torture, of grinding frustration and humiliation.

  God, he needed this. He needed her.

  The tiny pearl buttons of her blouse parted, revealing a thin lace chemise. Rance resisted the impulse to simply rip it in two. Instead, he drew it over her head and let it slide from his hands.

  She looked up at him, biting her full lower lip, as if uncertain of his reaction. As if he could feel anything but desire at the sight of her perfection.

  Her breasts were sweet and pale and curving, tipped by pretty pink nipples, furled tight with her hunger. They reminded him of candy.

  “You’re beautiful,” Rance told those hesitant green eyes.

  As shy pleasure filled her gaze, he reached for her. Her skin felt as soft and fine as the silk he’d just stripped away. Her breasts rode high on her narrow torso, not quite large enough to fill his hands. He stroked a thumb over one velvet nipple and watched it rise and peak even more, silently begging for his mouth.

  He bent and licked it. Swirled his tongue over the fine-grained nubbin. Suckled.

  Her moan was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

  FIVE

  Zarifa grabbed for Rance’s shoulders as he picked her up as easily as if the gravity had been cut. He laid her down on the pilot’s chair and seized one of her boots in those big, strong hands. Tugging it off, he dropped it with a thump and attacked the other boot with equal determination. It hit the deck an instant later, and he went after her skintight trousers.

  She watched him, dizzy with rising excitement. He still wore full armor, and every time he moved, light rolled over the shining nanotium like water. There was something shockingly erotic about being naked when he was dressed like an invading conqueror.

  His hard, angular face wore an expression of feral hunger, yet his strong hands were careful and warm as he stripped away her trousers.

  Zarifa shivered. She could feel herself tightening, growing slick and eager.

  Finally he stepped back and just looked, towering over her with that blatant male lust in his eyes.

  Zarifa licked her lips. “You’re still dressed.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “Does my mistress command me to strip?”

  Her mouth felt dry as sand. “I want to see you.”

  “You saw me.” His gaze went a little distant.

  Naked. Collared. Humiliated. “No. I want to see you as you are.”

  It was the right thing to say. A faint smile curled his lips as he reached for the seal of his cuirass.

  Zarifa watched, aching, as he removed each piece and set it aside with a warrior’s care for his equipment. She caught her breath at what he revealed: the long flex and play of his torso as he bent, the powerful bunch of biceps and triceps, the ripple of thigh and calf.

  And the thick jut of his cock, brash and male and eager. There was nothing subservient in that demanding thrust, in its long satin length, flushed dark rose with need. His balls were full and drawn delightfully tight, dusted in the same silken hair that snaked in a line up his belly to form a cloud over his chest.

  “You’re beautiful.” The words escaped her without her conscious intent.

  A flash of discomfort lit his eyes, but instead of denying it, he inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “I know this isn’t the first time a woman’s told you how handsome you are.”

  He grinned. “Well, no. But I have noticed they’re always naked at the time.”

  “So they’re, what? Under the influence of your powers of seduction?”

  “Something like that.” Rance moved closer to the pilot’s seat and dropped to his knees. “I have a face like a z-boxer, and I know it.”

  Before she could object to the description, he caught her ankles and draped them over his brawny shoulders. Zarifa gaped, bracing on her elbows to look at him. “What are you…?”

  “What do you think?” He dipped his head with a white and wolfish grin. The first dancing stroke of his tongue across her outer lips almost catapulted her out of the pilot’s chair.

  Even as she cried out, he did something to the chair controls, leaning the seat back while keeping the leg rest tucked tight. Then he scooped his long fingers under her backside and lifted her into his mouth.

  And feasted.

  There was really no other word for the slick dance of his tongue over and around her inner flesh, for the way his teeth gently caught her clit, her labia.

  Her first lover had attempted to give her this pleasure, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. Delight seared her with every wet tongue flick, each lazy circle and stroke. Her legs tightened convulsively over his back. He made a low, rough sound of satisfaction.

  Something probed her opening, slid inside. She writhed, gasping helplessly, her hands grabbing for him, fingers tangling in the thick silk of his hair. He pumped that single finger deeper and swirled his tongue around her clit, laughing deep in his throat as she yelped.

  “How’s that, mistress?” There was just a trace of mockery in that last word, but Zarifa didn’t care.

  “Oh, sweet Lady!” She clenched her eyes shut against the storming pleasure. “More!”

  “Your wish”—he nibbled gently—“is my command.”

  As he slowly plunged a finger in and out in that maddening tease, his free hand found her breast, cupped her in warm strength, tugged and stroked her nipples. Pleasure rushed through her in a burning tide that had her muscles twitching. She tightened her grip on his hair, clinging. Drowning.

  And intoxicated.

  Rance loved the way she felt writhing against his mouth, her long, slender body arching under his hands.

  His. She might own him, but just now, he owned her. Her body danced to his tune, her breathless voice begged for the pleasure only he could give.

  He was hard as stone.

  “Mad Dog,” she moaned, rolling her hips against his face. “Sweet Lady, please!”

  He lifted his head, suddenly hating that name with a passion. “Rance. My name is Rance.”

  “Rance! Rance, you drive me insane!” There was a note of genuine desperation in her voice that had him grinning in dark pleasure.

  Oh, yeah. She was his. Taking his time, he savored her, enjoyed every whimper, every twitch of long, muscled legs, every roll of her hips. He cupped her breast with his free hand, squeezing and teasing her nipple, driving her hunger higher and higher.

  She jerked, making a desperate, pleading sound.

  And he could take no more. He had to have her.

  Now.

  In one hungry move, he pulled away from her, grabbed her slender hips, and lifted her. She gasped an incoherent protest, but he’d already moved between those long legs. Catching his aching cock in one hand, he positioned himself at the opening of her sex.

  That first thrust was a long, liquid slide that tore a shout from his mouth. She cried out in chorus and convulsed. Her legs wrapped around his butt in a fiercely strong clasp.

  B
racing one arm against the back of the chair, he began rolling his hips, grinding hard, taking her. Enjoying the hot, creamy clasp on his cock.

  And as he rode her, he watched her face, loving the way she threw her head back in ecstasy. Loving the blushing curve of her mouth as she gasped in time to his thrusts.

  Mine.

  It was an irrational thought, and he knew it. She wasn’t his, couldn’t be his. He didn’t even know who she was, what kind of game she was playing.

  And yet his body, buried deep inside hers, insisted this was just where he was supposed to be. And God, it was so sweet.

  Rance closed his eyes, letting the burning delight take him, feeling it pulse and tighten in his balls. On the verge of spilling over.

  She cried out sharply and convulsed. He opened his eyes to watch her orgasm flood her. Her tiny inner muscles drew tight around his cock, each delicate convulsion sending another jolt right to his balls.

  The convulsion took him by surprise, tumbling him with a bellow into climax.

  Mine, that primal something roared in his head, caring nothing for logic. Mine!

  Long minutes went by before he recovered enough to drag himself off her, pick her up, and take her place in the pilot’s seat. She moaned in sleepy protest but subsided as he arranged her across his lap. Slender arms wrapped around his neck, and she nestled her face against the underside of his jaw.

  Rance sighed and wrapped his own sweating arms around her. He let himself relax, float in the aftermath.

  God, how could he have forgotten how damn good this felt? After so many weeks of helplessness and humiliation, it was delicious being a man again. Being treated as a man again.

  The sweet pleasure lay on him as weightless and dreamy as a feather spinning in the breeze. Until she spoke.

  “Mad Dog? I mean, Rance?”

  “Hmm?” He wished she’d settle down and let them both sleep.

  “I think it’s time to tell you what’s happening. Why I need you. What I’ll give you for helping me.”

  He jolted from the sweet lassitude and opened one wary eye, then lifted his head to look down at her. His muscles grew taut. “I’m listening.”

  She took a deep breath. “My name isn’t really Lady Selan. This isn’t even really my face. My nanos are broadcasting a simmie disguise.”

  “I suspected something like that.” He studied her cautiously. “So who are you?”

  “That’s…a long story. It would be easier to show you.” Then, as he watched, change spilled across her face. It wasn’t a big change—largely the color of her hair and eyes. The shape of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the high, proud angle of her cheekbones remained the same.

  Yet the instant her hair went to blazing flame red and her eyes a deep violet, a sense of disorientation rolled over him. Rance knew that face. He’d seen it on news documentaries and entertainment simmies so many times, it was branded on his consciousness.

  “Zarifa,” he breathed. “You’re Empress Zarifa Lorezo.”

  Fury spilled over him in a blazing wave. She’d played him for a fool.

  Zarifa knew that look. Recognition. Contempt. She’d seen it so many times on so many faces.

  She’d hoped a Freeworlds werewolf wouldn’t be quite so informed about Empire gossip, but apparently she was juicy news even light-years away. So much so that he’d instantly forgotten how she’d kept Casus from torturing him.

  “So this was a game after all.” Rance’s voice was cold, distant. His arms dropped from around her. “You were never in any danger.”

  Bitter disappointment rolled over her, so intense she itched to slap his arrogant face for it. She rolled off his lap and started gathering her clothes. “I assure you, Mad Dog…” She used the name with a sneer. “…I’m not playing games.”

  He didn’t bother to rise as he watched her. “Why would a woman with her own palace guard need the protection of a shifter slave?” It was obvious he thought this was another drunken, scandalous lark, the kind Throneworld’s simmie reporters adored.

  The kind Umar regularly ensured she supplied.

  “Maybe it’s the palace guard I need protecting from.” Zarifa jerked on her shirt and buttoned it with hands that shook with temper. She should be used to this now. And to a certain extent, she was. An hour ago, it wouldn’t have bothered her to see that look in Rance’s eyes.

  But that had been before she’d made love to him. Experienced his breathtaking tenderness. Felt almost as if he’d cared.

  Why in the hell did I ruin it? But he’d had to know what they faced, and she’d been afraid if she waited much longer, she’d lose the courage to tell him.

  “Your own guards tried to kill you? Why didn’t you tell Umar?” His lip curled when he said the regent’s name.

  “Because they do what Umar tells them to do.” His face went so stony with disbelief, she swore and snatched up her pants. “I don’t have the patience for this. Do you want to be free or not?”

  Rance blinked, surprise replacing contempt. Didn’t see that coming, did you? Golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’d free me? Why?”

  Because I know what it’s like to be a slave. Not that he’d believe her. “I need to get back to Throneworld and meet with Kuarc Lorezo.” She jerked her trousers over her hips and buttoned them, then grabbed the nearest boot and sat down on the copilot’s chair to put it on. “I’ve got some information he needs. Your job is to protect me from the regent’s men while I find him.”

  Rance rose from the pilot’s chair and stared down at her, big fists braced on his naked hips. “You expect me to believe you want to help the Bastard—when you’re the one he’s rebelling against?”

  She jerked the boot on and grabbed its mate. “Umar’s the one he’s rebelling against.”

  “And if your brother kills you, Umar’s screwed. His son loses his chance to be emperor, Kuarc takes over, and the first thing he’ll do is order the regent’s execution.”

  Was that an expression of actual concern for her on that hard, wolfish face? Probably thinks he’ll die trying to keep me alive. “Kuarc won’t kill me.”

  “He can’t afford to do anything else.”

  She remembered the laughing older boy she’d adored as a child. “My brother’s not a murderer.” Standing, she stomped to settle the boots on her feet.

  Rance watched her, his expression impatient. “There’s a war on, Zafira. Killing’s what war is all about.”

  Zarifa bent forward and stared hard into his eyes. “So keep me alive and get me to him, and I’ll emancipate you. I’ll strip the control codes off your nanosystem and issue an imperial decree making you a free man. You can go home to all the other werewolves and forget any of this ever happened. Even kick Casus’s ass on the way home.”

  “If you live that long.” His blatant sneer told her he didn’t believe a word out of her mouth.

  “You’d better make sure I do. Or you will die a slave.” Unable to take any more, Zarifa turned toward the door. Before she stalked out, she snapped, “Go take a shower. You smell like sex.”

  So did she. And she refused to let it hurt.

  SIX

  Naked, Rance left the bridge and stalked aft, looking for the head. Her Imperial Highness was right; he needed a shower.

  What the hell kind of game was she playing?

  Assuming she was playing a game at all. He couldn’t reconcile the woman who’d come to his defense against Casus with the feckless party girl he’d always believed Zarifa to be.

  And why was she so determined to talk to Kuarc? What information could be so important that she’d risk her life to communicate it? And why not just get on the comm and call the man? Going to him in person virtually ensured she’d end up dead or a hostage, and there was damned little one werewolf could do to protect her.

  Unless she was trying to set some kind of elaborate trap, with herself as bait. Which, frankly, struck him as nothing short of stupid.

  Even if Kuarc didn’t kill her, the rege
nt was going to be out for her blood. Whatever she had to tell the Bastard was guaranteed to be something Umar wanted kept secret. He’d send every man he had after her.

  Frowning, Rance found the ship’s main head and walked in, rubbing at the ache he could feel growing between his eyes. A transparent cylindrical shower stall occupied the center of the room, and he headed for it. Its door slid open, and he stepped inside. “Ship, full jets, thick foam, thirty-eight degrees Celsius.”

  Hot soapy water sprayed from the stall’s countless tiny nozzles, hitting his body from all directions. Rance sighed in pleasure. He’d had nothing but sonic showers since his capture, and he’d missed the pounding heat of real water.

  He’d missed so many things.

  An image flashed through his mind: Zarifa’s slim body rising against his, meeting his thrusts with an endearing, clumsy eagerness. Rance frowned. She certainly hadn’t made love like the borderline slut she was reputed to be. More like someone who was all but a virgin.

  Which made no sense at all. The media had linked her to countless men, including her fiancé, Gerik Natalo, the regent’s son. A woman like that would know her way around a man’s body. Why would she pretend otherwise?

  Rance stayed in the shower, brooding, until the nozzles started blowing hot, dry air over his skin, sending his hair whipping in the miniature windstorm.

  By the time he stepped out, he was clean and dry again. No trace of Zarifa’s scent remained on his body. To his surprise, he found himself regretting the loss.

  He padded into the next room, which turned out to be the captain’s quarters. Zarifa’s, judging by the suit of female armor that stood in one corner.

  Again, the room wasn’t what he’d expected. Instead of clothes strewn over every surface, the cabin was as neat as a nun’s cell and about that stark. A bunk barely wide enough for one curved from the deck, covered in a walnut veneer that gleamed softly under the overhead lights. The bed had been made with such obsessive neatness, he could have bounced a gold imperial off the dark blue spread.