by Zena Wynn
They both knew their species, with their isolation and racial purity policies, were dying out as a breed. They needed new blood, but their prejudices against other races wouldn’t allow them to reach out. “I’ll do it,” he said, unable to help the bite in his voice.
“I know you don’t agree, but I promise this will only serve to make her stronger. Please see to it without delay. We can’t afford for news of her transition to get back before proper measures have been taken. You know there are still those in power who would take pleasure in destroying her.” It was a stark reminder of the dangers still facing his charge.
“And what of the male?” he asked, wishing none of this were necessary.
There was a beat of silence. “Help him with her, but not too much. If he was strong enough to claim her, then he must prove he’s strong enough to keep her. Both their lives may depend upon it.” She disconnected without saying goodbye.
Jorlan’s chin dropped to his chest as his arm fell, allowing the phone to dangle between his spread legs. Taking a few seconds to collect himself, he rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he were doing the right thing. It seemed so disloyal to Reyna.
In addition, he hated all the secrecy. It felt more like he was conspiring against Reyna rather than protecting her. She should know the full truth of the circumstances of her birth, not the lies she’d been told. She deserved the opportunity to explore both sides of her heritage.
He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head on his neck, loosening tight muscles. Best get it finished. In this instance, his queen was right. Time was of the essence. The sooner Reyna was with her vampyr, the safer she’d be.
Jorlan lifted the phone and dialed another number.
“Club Gladiator.”
“Give your Master a message. The one he searches for can be found at Illuminator Incorporated.”
“Who is this?” a harsh male voice asked.
“Who I am is not important. Relay the message.” He hung up.
One task completed. Time for the next.
Enrique winced as another thud sounded from two levels above. At the rate Tariq was going, the whole penthouse would have to be refurbished. A deep pall hung over the club. The brethren went about their duties casting wary glances at one another. None had ever seen their Master go off the deep end like this, even the oldest among them who’d known him for centuries.
“Master Enrique.”
Enrique almost jumped but quickly suppressed the instinctive reaction. Mind elsewhere, he hadn’t noticed the fledgling’s approach. “Yes, Barrak. What is it?”
“A male called with a message for the Master. He wouldn’t identify himself,” he quickly added, forestalling Enrique’s next question.
“Tariq’s…busy,” he stated wryly as another series of thuds and thumps sounded. “What’d they say?”
“The one he seeks can be found at Illuminator Incorporated.” In the fledgling’s eyes was a curiosity he knew not to express. One such as he wasn’t privileged to know their Master’s business.
Enrique felt his gaze sharpen, along with his interest. “A male, you say? And he didn’t leave his name? Did you trace the call?”
He could see the answer in Barrak’s gloomy expression. “We tried and failed.”
“This male, he called Tariq by name?”
Barrak was already shaking his head. “He said, ‘tell your Master.’”
Curioser and curioser. While the general populace was aware of their existence, not many knew of the inner rankings of their society. “I’ll handle it from here. Dismissed.”
Enrique almost smiled at the expression of intense relief that crossed Barrak’s face with the knowledge he wasn’t expected to personally deliver the message. He couldn’t blame Barrak. Enrique wasn’t exactly looking forward to what could amount to a suicide mission, but someone had to beard the lion in his den. As second in command, the dubious honor fell on him.
He went to the private elevator, punched in his personal code and held his palm to the reader, gaining access to the penthouse. When the doors opened, he stood there for a moment, completely stunned. The furniture was annihilated. Wood tables and chairs reduced to splinters. Lamps, nothing but dust and fragments. Metal, what there was of it, twisted and warped beyond all recognition. Fabric ripped and shredded. Enrique spotted a lone spring, which at one time must have been part of the makeup of the leather couch, no longer in existence.
“Leave.” The deep, feral voice came from his left.
Schooling his features and emotions to impassiveness, Enrique stated, “We have a lead on your Heart’s Blood.”
Quicker than a blink, Tariq had him against the wall, dangling by the clawed hand at his throat. “Where. Is. She?”
“Illuminator…Incorporated,” he choked out.
Enrique waited with bated breath until a flicker of sanity appeared in Tariq’s eyes. To approach a Master in the midst of a blood rage was to put one’s life in jeopardy and when that Master was also a prince, pure suicide. Slowly the claws disengaged from his throat. Tariq allowed his body to lower until Enrique once more stood on his own two feet. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking the danger was past.
“Tell me.”
“An anonymous call came into the club. Male. ‘Tell your Master the one he seeks can be found at Illuminator Incorporated.’ He didn’t stay on the line long enough for the trace to work.”
He watched as the red slowly bled from Tariq’s eyes until he resembled his normal, calculating self. “Get someone on it. I want to know where the call originated.”
“Already working on it,” he assured.
He breathed easier as Tariq removed his hand from his throat and flicked a glance around the room. “And get a crew in here to clean this mess.”
“Yes, Master.” He spoke to Tariq’s rapidly retreating back.
Grateful he’d live to see another sunset, he went to carry out the Master’s orders.
Chapter Three
A disorienting weightlessness cradled her when Reyna woke from her nap. Her last memory was of falling asleep in her cat form surrounded by her pride. When had she shifted back to human? Awareness quickly snapped into focus. She knew this sensation. Horrified, she struggled violently, flailing both arms and legs despite knowing the futility of her actions. She was well and truly trapped and wouldn’t be freed until others deemed it so.
She let out a primal scream–part rage, part fear. Dear God, not again.
“Reyna, calm yourself.” Jorlan’s calm, commanding voice cut through her panic like a knife.
She hissed at her cousin, all the fury in her locked onto him as her target. He was responsible for this. Despite not being a queen, officially she was the leader of this pride. However, the younger ones all followed Jorlan’s direction without question, as normally did she.
“Why? I shifted, damn it. Why are you doing this?”
“It’s necessary,” he answered calmly.
“Necessary for whom?” Enraged, she shifted to feline—proving she could now do so at will—and twisted and turned to no avail. Part of her knew the effort was wasted. Jorlan would simply wait until she exhausted herself before beginning.
A firestorm. Hadn’t one trip through hell been enough?
Felini females couldn’t shift until after puberty. Then they had their first estrous, or heat. It could begin as early as age thirteen or as late as twenty. All females needed a little help jumpstarting the hormones that kicked puberty into gear. In most cases, a bit of heavy petting—the kind engaged in by human teenagers—was enough to start the process. However, if a female reached the age of seventeen without shifting, on her eighteenth birthday she went through a Firestorm.
At the age of seventeen, Reyna had the appearance of a fully mature human female, but sexually she’d been stunted. She had no interest in the males of her species. Had never had a crush and try as she might, didn’t understand why the other
females her age seemed to lose all sense and become sex crazy when one of the boys their age came around.
Jorlan had repeatedly assured her she was merely a late bloomer. When she was ready, her sexual appetite would develop and be as strong as any Felini female. However Reyna hadn’t believed him.
Already feeling like an outcast from the rest of her pride because of her differences, Reyna had been pleased when the morning of her eighteenth birthday arrived. Her ritual was scheduled for ten a.m. and she couldn’t wait. Finally she’d rise above the shame of her birth and be on track to becoming a queen like the rest of the mature females of their pride. Reyna had desperately wanted to be normal, and her mother had convinced her the Firestorm would give normality to her.
At nine a.m. she was taken into the bathing area and cleansed from head-to-toe by her mother and the rest of the queens of the pride. Ensconced in a robe, she was escorted to the breeding room. Minutes later, she hung spread-eagle and naked, suspended two feet above the mating bed in a clever contraption comprised of netting made of tiny silken threads with the strength of reinforced steel and flexibility of bungee cording. The device left every surface of her body exposed and accessible.
Next, four of the pride’s best breeders were called in. They took their positions: one at her head, one at her core, and one to her right and left. Clothed only in skin-tight leather pants, they were a sight to get any female’s juices flowing.
As was proper, her mother Isabella stepped forward and stated their purpose for gathering. To Reyna’s disappointment, even now her mother could barely look at her. Isabella reminded the breeders of their limitations. They were to arouse only. No copulating allowed. Then they were loosed to do that which they excelled—bringing a woman pleasure.
Eight hands and four mouths, all concentrating on taking her to the highest level of ecstasy. They began with the lightest of strokes, easing Reyna into a state of relaxation, gentling her to their touch. Gradually they increased the intensity, randomly straying and toying with erogenous zones when she least expected it.
As her arousal rose, so did the level of expertise displayed. They played her like a fine instrument and her body responded like a violin in the hands of a master. It sang.
Higher and higher she’d climbed, closer and closer to the peak of orgasm only to be eased from the precipice before she could launch off. As soon as she’d catch her breath, the climb would begin again, achieving elevated heights she’d only imagined before once again she was left hanging. On and on it continued, until what was once pleasurable became torturous. Until her skin was so sensitized, the very air and the bindings brushing against it hurt. To escape, she’d withdrawn deep inside herself.
Long after they should have, the queens finally called a halt. When Reyna came back to herself, she discovered she’d been released and lay curled in the fetal position on the mating bed. She shivered convulsively, her tears making a huge wet spot under her head. Jorlan stood nearby watching over her, cursing a blue streak.
It was a day before the trembling stopped. Another two before she could stand fabric against her skin. An additional three before she could be touched without jerking and crying out in pain. Months before the nightmares ceased.
And it had all been for nothing.
The queens waited forty-eight hours for her to shift. The normal response time was twenty to fifty hours. Not only hadn’t Reyna experienced her first shift into her Felini form, the whole experience had left her sexually cold. When her mother mentioned trying again Reyna had suffered a severe panic attack, proving to Isabella how weak her daughter really was. Reyna had determined then and there to remain a Quork—a Felini who couldn’t shift into their animal form—before putting herself through that torture again.
“Don’t do this, Jorlan. You remember what happened last time.” Reyna hated the fact she’d been reduced to pleading.
“I must, my queen.” In his eyes she saw determination, a hint of sadness, and a touch of regret. Only Jorlan knew she still had lingering nightmares about her Firestorm, despite it happening over a decade ago.
Jorlan, friend, confidant…betrayer.
He went to the door and called for the males to enter. The four young trainees, at Jorlan’s direction, took their places at the four points of her body—head, feet, to the right and left of her torso. Once in position, they stepped forward. Reyna immediately tensed.
These were males of her pride. Had they been home within the main pride, at ages twenty and twenty-one these juveniles wouldn’t be considered old enough or sexually experienced enough to have reached formal breeder status. For the first time, she regretted not claiming the leadership position Jorlan always tried to force on her. Since queens ruled in all matters of breeding, if she were queen in truth Reyna could command them not to do this and they would have no option other than to obey. But the males followed Jorlan’s lead and Reyna knew from experience, once Jorlan settled on a course of action ‘for her good,’ he wouldn’t relent.
“You know the rules, but let me reiterate them for you. This is a firestorm, not a breeding ceremony. Your purpose is to arouse Reyna into her first heat—”
“Smells like she’s already in heat,” Rick muttered, hand rubbing the bulge in the tight fitted jeans he wore in what appeared to be an absent caress.
With a narrowed-eyed stare at the interrupter, Jorlan continued. “Mouths and fingers only. There is to be no penetration with your penis. If I see you going for your zipper, I’ll rip your balls off with my claws. Understand?”
The males, some ten years her junior, swallowed audibly and quickly nodded their heads. The scent of their arousal dampened perceptibly.
“Jorlan, this serves no purpose,” Reyna said, unable to help herself though she refused to lower her pride and beg.
He ignored her. “Stroke her. Caress her all over. Don’t just grab for her breasts or pussy. The entire body is an erogenous zone. Start with a light touch and as her arousal grows, press more firmly. You can use claws but don’t break the skin. Begin.”
They touched her and Reyna expected her body to turn cold, unresponsive—her usual reaction whenever a male touched her with sexual intent—but it didn’t. The vampyr had done something to her, changed her somehow. Now her nerve endings quivered in anticipation of their caresses, just as they had to Jorlan’s. The feline inside of her arched and stretched, preening at being stroked.
No, she wouldn’t have it! Reyna fought to remain unaffected, stiffening her muscles to the point they screamed with tension. She clenched her teeth and locked her jaw to keep from yelling at them to stop. To beg and plead with them to let her go. Not to do this to her again.
“She’s really tense,” Rick said with a hint of worry. “I don’t think she wants this.”
“She’s nervous,” Jorlan said, dismissing Rick’s concerns. “It’s your job to relax her. Harlan, massage her shoulders and neck. Rick, massage her scalp and Zander, massage her calves.”
“I thought we were supposed to arouse her.” Brad sounded confused.
“You’re to do both,” Jorlan snapped. “She’s nervous and who can blame her? You’re young, untried youths. Not the mature pride males she was taught to expect to guide her through this. Follow my lead and all will be well.”
Their shoulders straightened with pride and a look of determination settled on their faces. This was now a matter of ego. They had to prove they were worthy of the honor bestowed upon them. Jorlan knew exactly how to get the results he wanted.
Despite Reyna’s best intentions, her muscles responded to their ministrations by loosening. Shivers ghosted over her skin as Rick kneaded her scalp. Zander used his thumbs to press deep into her calves, untangling the knots he found. Harlan’s fingers stroked and rubbed, and when they found the spot where the Vampyr had bitten her, streaks of fire raced from her neck, down her spine, and into her core. The low level arousal she’d been fighting all day surged to the forefront, increasing in intensity. Reyna could smell herself
and knew the others could, too.
“Good, she’s responding.” Jorlan’s voice oozed satisfaction. “Brad, use your mouth on her torso. Lips, tongue, and teeth, but go easy. Keep the cat locked inside. I’m looking for pressure more than sharpness. Zander, work your way up from her feet to her hips. Rick, keep massaging her scalp. Harlan, her arousal kicked up when you touched her neck. Focus your attentions there.”
As the males’ confidence rose, so did their level of expertise. Reyna’s mind might still be balking at what was happening, but her body reveled in it. Unbidden, her thoughts flashed to the night before with the vampyr who thought to claim her.
Her breasts tingled and her sheath clenched as the mouths and fingers touching her became his. He’d sunk his fangs into her neck and it had been like being injected with liquid nitrogen. The injection site had frozen her to numbness only to burn like acid as it raced through her veins. Much as it was doing now as Harlan rubbed the bite mark. Then it had hit her vagina and exploded into a need she’d never felt before, not even during her disastrous firestorm.
By the time the vampyr had pinned her to the wall, she’d been desperate for him. She hadn’t known or cared where they were. Hadn’t cared who or what he was. All that had mattered was having him fill her and satiate this craving which was sure to drive her insane.
The past merged with the present. The mouths suckling her nipples became his, as were the fingers probing her sheath and the tongue licking her clit. It was too much but at the same time, not enough.
Reyna could feel him inside of her—thrusting and pumping. He was thick, and long, and hard and stretched her tender, untried muscles to the limit. It hurt but the pain only added to her pleasure. She’d clawed and bit, and gorged herself on his blood. Each swallow had amplified the ecstasy until she couldn’t think, only feel.
