“He wasn’t the final target,” he repeated for the seventh time. “I have tracers in place that state that the target is on the island. Your fancy computers aren’t worth shit.”
There came a mosquito-esque wailing from the phone as Manx reached for his keyboards and began to input a series of encrypted codes.
“I don’t give a flying fuck, Phillip. Your systems aren’t up to par. I have just executed my own personal security measures, and you had just better damn well get used to them.”
With that, Manx calmly hung up the phone mid rant and began to examine the data streaming across his computer screen.
“Voice pattern accepted.”
Manx grinned as the computerized voice growled out information in his Fatherland language, Old Norse. No one on the island spoke the language, therefore it was helpful at times like this.
Sure, Okibi and a few others he trusted knew a few short phrases, but it had been centuries since he had spoken the language with any true depth of understanding and nuance because there was simply no one there who understood.
Manx was a lonely man on this island in more ways than one.
He was the only one of his kind here, as well as the only one who really didn’t hold any special allegiance to the Cove.
Frankly, he could care less about the place. It was just a freak accident that had landed him here during the time of the great cataclysm that separated the Cove from the mainland of Scotland.
He had only been there to follow up on rumors and hunches when it happened, leaving his younger brother in charge of the Hunt. When the Cove finally had the capability to reach the mainland again through magic and will, Manx realized he was no longer equipped to deal with the Hunt. Times had changed and he, as isolated as he had been on the floating cove, had not.
Besides, taking over headship of the Wild Hunt meant challenging his brother to a death bout, something he refused to do.
He had also learned that his brother had spent hundreds of years looking for him, that the infamy of the Hunt had spread, that his people still carried out their missions, but on a clandestine level.
Secrecy was never Manx’s strong point.
His brother had ensured the survival and growth of his people, and that was good enough for him.
He left his brother with assurances that he would not try and reclaim his position, and with humble gratitude for assuming a leadership role far earlier than he should have. It was not easy, being saddled with the welfare of a nation, but Nox had performed more than adequately.
He still had frequent conversations with his only brother, but Manx had retired to the Cove as security expert. And he took his job seriously, too, as proven by the convoy of poachers he had just ingested at the merfolks’ caverns.
Poachers were nasty business, though they rarely put in an appearance. But this new problem pinched at his sense of justice.
Manx was sure -- quite sure, in fact -- that the culprit behind the missing recipes was a resident of the Cove.
Phillip didn’t enjoy hearing the news -- not that Manx gave a flying fuck. But Manx knew the thief was acting out of personal interests and held some position there.
Earlier, after dropping off his burden in his bedchamber, he had made his way toward the site of the last computer upload from the defective computer. All he found was a few crumbs of something called corn chips, an empty beer can, and a peculiar odor that he could not trace.
There were not too many creatures capable of such subterfuge when it involved The Head, but a few creatures could mask their scents. Mer people were good at it, as well as a few shifter species, but they all managed to mess up in the end. They would leave behind some valuable clue that Manx would use to track them and mete out his own brand of justice.
His computer tracking program would find the culprits the next time they attempted a theft, though waiting was not Manx’s strong point. He would rather, as his nature dictated, go out and hunt down the miscreants, but the program he had devised and playfully called watch dog would search the whole network on the island for traces of the original program he’d intercepted to discover the theft as well as any words or phrases used in the original captured uplink. He could attempt to follow the trail of the original uplink to its destination, but he decided it wasn’t that important. Stopping the idiot giving up valuable information on the island was the first step. The rest was hubris.
But he wished the idiot would hurry and make a move. He needed a good hunt.
It would help him burn off excess energy now that he no longer had Okibi to assist in manners of sexual relief, and he would be able to wrap his mind around what to do with the problem of the dark-haired woman in his bed.
She was mouthy, opinionated, brash, and was easy meat for anyone who wanted a bite.
And with her attitude and her obvious taste for bondage and the harder forms of sexual pleasure, she was very tempting meat indeed.
Before he could further contemplate the hatid, the feast in his bed, he heard an unholy wailing that raised his hackles and made his skin crawl.
He raced from the cove he designated as his work area into his bedroom to see his hound and the woman wailing loud enough to raise the dead.
Manx was not amused.
* * *
Abruptly all noise stopped, and Manx was left with two sets of dark eyes staring balefully at him.
“It’s not a rug. It’s a dog!” Mayleen screamed, feeling a bit foolish now that an unneeded rescue was there. She balled herself up in the sheet as best as she could, ignoring the tingles of fire that shot through her groin as the silky ropes rubbed at her skin.
The dog in question whimpered, shooting Mayleen an evil look before rising to his feet and making his way to his master.
“Did you try to walk on my Alpha?” the man asked, red eyes glittering as he knelt down to examine his pony-sized hound. “He is very sensitive and easily damaged.”
“He’s a damn dog,” Mayleen snapped, earning a glare from both canines and their master.
“He is a hound and has been my companion for longer than you have been alive, human.”
“Don’t say that like it’s a disease.”
“It’s not,” Manx was quick to assure as he ran his hands over his precious companion. “Humans are more like herd animals that have been given free range over this world. And when one strays or goes mad or the herder can’t get them into some semblance of order, they call in the hunters.”
“Like you?” she snapped.
“Humans are very tasty once you prepare them properly.” That was delivered with a leering, red-eyed grin and just the correct amount of ire to get his point across.
Mayleen gulped and slid backwards, once again ignoring the tingles from the ropes.
“Are -- are you going to eat me?” Mayleen asked, as the seriousness of her precarious position hit her.
“I hadn’t planned to, as I told you once before,” Manx snapped, rising to his feet. “But I can always make an exception.”
“No, don’t bother.” May raised her hands in a peace gesture. “You don’t have to go changing your plans on my account.”
Rolling his eyes, Manx scowled at both human and hound, then ran his hands through his hair, mussing the free-flowing, long mass around the top of his head, giving him the look of a demented demon from some B movie.
“I am surrounded by incompetence, plagued by humans, concerned about my friends, and now besieged by a creature that doesn’t know her place.”
“Um, bad day at the office?” May offered, a hopeful grin on her face… which got her a red-eyed scowl in return.
“Now, what am I going to do with you?”
“Clothe me?” May smiled again, needling him a little. This was kind of fun, in a sick, twisted, morbid way. Besides, she already had his assurance that he wouldn’t eat her, and she kind of trusted him.
Manx made his way to the bed and perched on the side, shifting the whole swinging mass as his considerable we
ight settled. He flopped to his back.
“I need a vacation.”
“From what?” May asked, as she tried to prevent herself from sliding too close. He was kind of cute and all, but she didn’t know him that well, and trust only went so far. Just because he said he wouldn’t eat her didn’t mean he wouldn’t gnaw on an arm or a leg or something. “Eating people and snatching witnesses?”
“Security,” he snapped. “And it is getting rather lax around here.”
“So, fix it,” May offered. “You look like a big shot around here with the dungeon bedroom of sex and death and all. So go and flex some muscle. Lord knows, you have enough of that.”
Manx raised his head just enough to scowl at her. “Hasn’t anyone told you that you talk too much?”
“Yeah, second master, but he wasn’t doing things right. I mean he gagged me for two whole days, only giving me a few food and water breaks, but he wasn’t doing his job right. I mean, how was I supposed to reach subspace in my head when all the man could do was call me his little kitty cat and put a damn bell around my neck. He was so not what was advertised…”
Mayleen trailed off when she realized what she was saying. She was giving an almost complete stranger facts about her personal life, like she had known him for years. A blush suffused her cheeks and she gave a small groan, then a whimper, covering her face with her hands and shifting her knotwork yet again.
The sound of his laughter made her move her hands and stare at the dark thing that was sharing the bed with her.
His head was tossed back, and he was doing that funny split jaw thing again as deep belly laughs filled the room.
“Kitty cat?” he roared. “You are more like a yapping Bichon!”
May scowled at him as his jaw came together and he turned tear-filled eyes in her direction.
“Thank you. I needed that laugh,” he sniffled, wiping at the tears running down his face.
“You didn’t have to laugh at my poor excuse for a master,” she sighed. “You are not freaked out by --”
“Lady, if you hadn’t noticed, I am not human, therefore human ideals don’t apply.”
“Even monsters may have some funny ideas about the lifestyle,” she added as the blush began to fade.
“I am not a monster by my people’s standards,” she was informed as he sat up and turned in her direction. “By our standards, I am considered very attractive.” He spoke with no false modesty.
He ran his hands through his long hair, as soft and silky as satin, and winked at her, drawing attention to those scarlet orbs he called eyes.
Despite how hard Mayleen looked, she could find no sign of the facial split that she knew existed in his bottom jaw. In fact, if you discounted the red eyes and the insanely long hair -- and the way shadows seemed to converge around his body -- Manx was a devastatingly handsome man.
“Our very existence is dependent on a dominant/subservient society --” His red eyes hardened as he scanned her body. “-- and knowing your place in it.”
All humor fled his face as he leaned in her direction, rising up on his knees as if to crawl to her, to place her in a submissive position.
“You smell like prey.” He growled low in his throat, making her ease back until she hit the stone wall behind her.
“You said you wouldn’t eat me.” Her voice was breathy and reed thin, one hand on her chest as if holding in her rapidly beating heart.
“Prey of another sort.”
He crawled toward her, his grace fluid and commanding. He began to stalk her, head low, red eyes gleaming, nostrils flaring as he scented her.
Mayleen ignored the combined thrill of the rope knots rubbing along her erogenous zones and Manx crawling toward her like hot, dangerous, raw sex, and tried to get as far away from the man as possible.
“Run,” he growled. “I like it when my prey puts up a fight.”
“B-but you said no eating…”
“Oh, I think you’ll enjoy this, little girl.” He moved closer, trying to corner her against the chains. “You need to learn your place. You will never settle down until you have your station in life mapped out.”
“My-my station…?”
“I have come to a few conclusions, little girl. I can’t consume you -- you’ve done nothing wrong. I can’t take you back because you have seen too much. I’ve decided to keep you.”
“Keep me?” Mayleen squeaked, indignant.
“You already said you were on your own. The world out there will think that you are a victim of some criminal element, and as you pointed out, I’ve been having a few bad days at the office. I think I need a vacation.”
“I hear Bermuda is nice this time of year,” Mayleen offered, voice growing weak and high-pitched as this new development unfolded.
Damn, but she was turned on by this. She was one sick, sad individual.
“Yes, but I already have my destination mapped out.” His eyes traveled over her body, his gaze almost burning, until his red glare rested right between her legs. “Open up, little girl. It’s time for some shore leave.”
Chapter Six
“Oh, my God, he’s going to eat me!” May shrieked. She leapt to her feet and took off around the side of the bed.
She didn’t notice the amazingly amused looks on the hounds’ faces as they exited the room, or the fact that the candles burst into flame wherever she ran.
Her first thought was to get as far away from Manx as possible. Her second thought was that this was the most fun she’d had in ages.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” she whimpered to herself. She took off down a corridor, bare feet skidding along the smooth, warm stones as she took a turn running almost at full speed.
She chanced to look over her shoulder, quickly, and noted Manx was no longer behind her.
But she didn’t slow down. In most horror movies, when the victim turned or slowed, or went back to investigate strange and unnatural noises, that was when the big slash scene occurred.
Mayleen was not ready to be slashed.
She didn’t have much in her life, other than a rented room in a town where she hardly knew anyone, but her little bits were hers. She wanted to keep them and the life she was working on improving.
Mayleen noted that the rooms she was running through were huge. A teasing smell of warm water came from one area, which she avoided like the plague, and smells of an indoor garden wafted from another direction.
But then she remembered the man had huge hellhounds, so maybe they frolicked in the garden… which made it the place not to be.
The halls were eerily silent, which made Mayleen’s mind wander off into terrifying places as she turned again to check her progress. Damned if she knew where she was running, but her feet kept her moving.
But the amazing thing was that she was not scared.
She slowed, realizing she was thrilled, excited for sure, but there was no real fear. In fact, this all seemed kind of familiar, if she were to be honest with herself.
Shrugging off that stray thought like some forgotten notion, May began to pick up the pace.
Something brushed against her ankles.
She stumbled to a halt, confused. There was no one else in the hallway with her.
She looked around again, noting nothing but shadows and an overall increase of warmth.
Shaking her head in frustration, May took another step forward, and this time paused as something ran up her bare thigh.
“Manx?” she called out, her voice trembling. She looked around to see what was touching her. This was not a case of overactive imaginings. Something was caressing her thigh.
She reached down to swipe at her own skin when something grabbed her wrist.
May gasped and tried to pull back, but the gentle grip tightened a bit, holding her immobile as other tendrils began to weave around her body.
“Manx?” she called again, growing a little fearful, but the caresses felt so good.
Despite herself, Mayleen felt her juice
s bubble and run around the knots that pressed against her clit, felt warm wetness begin to coat the insides of her legs.
Suddenly, running didn’t seem all that important and shivers shook her body. Tingles began to fill her being as a low moan rolled from her throat.
Now there were more tickling caresses, and May could make out shadows -- dark, twining shadows -- converging on her body. Tentacles of warm, tingling pleasure slowly ran up her legs and around the wet, knotted rope that pressed against her hot points.
May’s nipples hardened into tight peaks and her breathing increased as pure pleasure settled in the pit of her stomach.
“I have you.” The husky whisper filled the corridor, sending shivers down her spine as she looked around to see where that voice was coming from.
Everywhere and yet nowhere.
“You didn’t try very hard,” it whispered by her right ear. A thick tendril ran over her labia, trailing back toward her sensitive anus before returning to tease and torment her clit, plucking the tender flesh.
“Manx,” she breathed out on a moan. She spread her legs, welcoming the touch that eased the ache in her pussy while driving her desire higher. “What are you doing to me?”
“Properly preparing my meal.” Another set of tendrils attached themselves to her nipples, tugging and vibrating around the painfully tight nubs.
“Mmm.” May could not hold back her moan of enjoyment as even more tendrils rose higher to wrap around her neck, to tease at the sensitive corners of her ears, to rub along her sides and her back, making her knees buckle as her whole body began to tremble.
“So tender and ripe,” Manx breathed. May felt her body begin to fall backwards.
But she did not hit the ground. Soft warm clouds of darkness cushioned her fall, holding her in a giant heated cushion of air as the shadows began to swirl around her form.
The tentacles seemed to grow mouths as they licked and sucked at her body, twisting her nipples, nipping at them with a painful burn before soothing the ache with tingling heat.
Rookery Cove: The Darkness Page 3
