Tales of the Quiet Kitty 2: Dancing with the Devil

by Camille Anthony

  “By Sparkle, Brant, yes!”

  Willa’s passionate cries rang in the air, buffeted his ears, making his pulse trip and double in beat. Her head lolled back and her legs came up to lock about his hips as breathless pants and groans trickled from her slack mouth.

  Frantic with quickly rising lust, he gripped her ass in both hands and ground her pelvis against the hard ridge of his cock, the hardened length pressing against the restraining cloth of his tight uniform. He rubbed against her dripping slit, knowing the abrasive material would prove a maddening sensation that would electrify her swollen nether lips. His repetitive movements -- as much as the ecstatic pain of his bite -- threatened to toss her over the sharp edge of arousal.

  He shifted her lower body away from his, finally pulling back from her throat. “Careful,” he warned, his voice a husky rumble, gravelly with need. “Your pussy is soaking and I can’t have my pants getting sopping wet, little hellion. It won’t look good if I go visiting the mighty Landresid with your arousal smeared on my uniform.”

  The hungry snarl she gave as she fought to retain her hold rivaled his for viciousness. He delayed returning his mouth to her neck just long enough to swipe his tongue in a raspy path across her pouting lips. “If you’re hungry, it’s your own fault. No one told you to lock yourself away for two days. Now you’ll wait for satisfaction until I return. Bevel and leveB are under strict orders not to give you any relief. This is between us, and we’ll settle it together.”

  He smiled at her disgruntled look before bending his head and sinking his teeth back into her, piercing her skin and sucking at her jugular.

  He moaned as he held her closer while he drew her rich blood into his mouth. His entire body trembled. The taste of her only made him hunger for more. Concentrating, he produced the special enzyme in his saliva and released it into the wound he’d made. His cock throbbed, ached and grew as he drank life from her and gave his back to her, binding them together in an ancient Sh’Bahkyr mating ritual.

  He couldn’t fathom this sudden compulsion to mark her as his. Why should he need to? As captain of the ship, he held first rights to her service and her body. He didn’t really mind sharing her with Bevel-leveB because he knew the Jenari would never try to wrest her from him. Besides, in her depleted state, she needed more nourishment than he alone could provide. So the abrupt, unreasoning urge to place his brand on her stumped him. However, he’d been saved by listening to his intuition too many times to ignore his inner voice and right now it was screaming for him to establish uncontestable ownership.

  He reluctantly withdrew his fangs and backed away, cursing. “Damn, my cock’s gone hard as a stone asteroid. I want you, Sprite, but there’s no time --”

  “Make time!” Willa begged with a growl, pulling his mouth back down to hers. She bit at his lips and rubbed the tight points of her breasts against the soft swirl of fur covering his chest. “I love this uniform. It leaves so much of you accessible to me,” she purred, stroking her body over his in a practiced move, “but right now I want it off! You cannot spike my appetite so and then leave me hungry.”

  “I thought you were angry with me.” Brant caught her hands before she could open his crotch placket.

  A determined hand gripped the head of his cock through the cloth. “I was. I’m still angry with you and growing angrier by the minute.” A questioning frown wrinkled her forehead. “What has wanting to fuck you got to do with being mad at you?”

  Easing her away, he chuckled. “I’m glad to hear you think like that, because I have no intentions of ever again letting you deny me whenever you don’t get your way.”

  “Deny you? I would never!”

  She looked shocked at the very suggestion. He filed her reaction away for later study. “Willa, let go. I have to leave for my appointment. The Landresid consider lateness a deliberate insult. If you’re mad enough to get me killed all you have to do is keep delaying me.”

  “Answer me one question and I’ll let you go.” She smoothed her hands over the bulge rearing between his thighs.

  He couldn’t hide his instinctive reaction and a half smile came and went on her expressive face as she noted his helpless response to her touch.

  “Ask your question!” The growled curse that accompanied his order came from the depths of his soul. He glanced at his chronogram. How much time did he have before Landresi Ereh considered him late?

  “Why did you bite me?”

  He hesitated. Over at the portal console, Bevel sat with head cocked, tongue lolling -- paying too damned much attention to what was none of his business. The Jenari knew what that bite signified. Brant absently rubbed his belly where an ache had started about the same time she asked that pointed question.

  “I -- I… haven’t figured that out yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” With a sigh of relief, he escaped through the portal. Even the thought of meeting with the powerful and deadly Landresi paled against having to face the feminine curiosity of the female he’d just bound himself to.

  Chapter Six

  “Captain Prince Brant Sylenus, welcome to Plador. My family has long desired to reveal themselves to you, to interact with you according to your true status. We know your true worth, that you are much more than just a mere ‘Captain’.”

  Brant cocked an eyebrow. The fact that this ruler had taken the time and effort to find out his lineage seemed ominous to him. He didn’t believe the crap the Pladorian was passing out for one minute.

  The Landresid were rumored to be more impatient than he was. They didn’t wait for anything very long before ordering it to their side. Much like he had been ordered to show up for this interview. But since he’d been named ‘Prince’ by the Landresi, he might as well play along and act the part. But what was all that about revealing themselves and interacting?

  Many long years had passed since he’d moved in the circles of royalty, yet the intricacies of court procedure -- drilled into his stubborn head by his equally stubborn father -- was something he’d never forgotten. Until he found out what was really going on, he would execute each step as if he were dancing the stately court roundelays at Sheiryn Castle, the heartplace of Clan Sylenus.

  Bowing from the waist, he barely dipped his head in a formal nod. “I am honored to be called into your presence, Imminence.” He straightened and boldly met the searching gaze of the being reclining on a sumptuous, pillow-strewn couch.

  The ruling Landresi didn’t look a day over forty-five. Despite the evidence of his eyes, Brant never questioned the reports that claimed Landresi Ereh was well over nine hundred standard years old. Large pale gold eyes -- like clear honey, filled with the vast knowledge garnered from almost a thousand years’ experiences -- were deep set in a frame of long, thick black eyelashes. A high, broad forehead tapered down to lean cheeks bisected by a strong, long nose with wide nostrils. His well-shaped, full lips set off a firm dimpled chin. His thick mop of black hair, held off his forehead by a thin band of beaten gold fell in long thick waves to the middle of his back, softening what otherwise would have been an overly harsh, commanding visage.

  Dressed opulently in flowing robes of scarlet and purple, the male’s almost feminine accouterments did nothing to soften the hard lines of his face -- a face that carried the look of a warrior who might have strode the sands of ancient Earth. He looked like a conqueror, a modern Gilgamesh -- stern and unyielding, a giver of laws. His tall, lean body rippled with muscle, each movement smooth and calculated. At the same time, a sense of immense power hung about him, power kept leashed and held under the control of a mental discipline garnered over almost a millennium.

  What does this man want with me?

  “It is true I am of the ruling house of Sylenus. However, my family and planet were destroyed during the hostile takeover of Sh’Bahkyr by the Corporation. Since then, I have been first a captive and now a fugitive. How could I possibly assist you?”

  Landresi Ereh’s beautifully mobile lips turned up in a small smile. �
��The more correct question is, ‘How can we assist you?’ But I am being unconscionably rude.” He stood and gestured toward a low divan. “Please, sit and be comfortable. Partake of my hospitality. What can I offer you as refreshment… some Evas wine, perhaps?”

  The question, far from easing Brant’s worry, caused the opposite effect. He hadn’t tasted Evas wine for over a decade. No one knew of his weakness for the potent liquor. If Ereh had done such extensive investigating, delved into his past and habits to this extent, then something other than krasn fruit was at stake.

  Brant’s heart rate increased. He fought to keep his expression bland and even. “Nothing for me, thank you, Landresi Ereh. I wish only to bring our usual business to a successful close.” He shifted uneasily. “Have you, perhaps, some concerns regarding our past transactions?”

  “No! None at all, Prince Brant, indeed, we are tremendously pleased with your fairness and business acumen. You are a pleasant change from our usual business partners. We often find ourselves having to deal with others who are not so even-handed.”

  Brant nodded. “I’m a firm believer that a profit can be made without gouging the customer. After all, I stand to make more in repeat sales. Draining the customer is counter-productive.”

  “It certainly is, yet there are those who have attempted to do that very thing.” Ereh swept his robes out of his way and settled back on the couch. “They were quickly shown the error of their ways.”

  “I’ll just bet they were!” Brant murmured beneath his breath, eyeing the Landresi askance. “So if you’re not upset with the way I do business, why am I here? We’ve always completed our transactions remotely, never face to face.”

  “We were not sure, before, if you were deserving of the honor. Recent events have proven otherwise.”

  “Thank you… I think.” While he spoke, he fought back a sudden anger. How dare he imply I am untrustworthy?

  Ereh’s eyebrows twitched together. His face went blank for a second. He took a deep breath and ordered his expression back to the smooth, placid one with which he’d greeted Brant.

  “Again I find I must apologize to you. That last comment… should never have been spoken. At any rate, it was not meant as an insult. If you feel I have impugned your honor, I will offer restitution.”

  Brant waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I have taken no insult.”

  “Yes, Prince, you did.”

  “Please, Landresi Ereh, I ask that you no longer think on it.”

  “Prince Brant Sylenus, length of years and power do not excuse impoliteness. My true offense was not in speaking the words, it was in deeming you less than myself. The present wisdom and grace you show in this situation is the golden frame showcasing my gross discourtesy. Reparation must always fit the infraction.”

  Ereh rose from his couch, his movements graceful and eye arresting. His golden eyes warm with an emotion Brant could not name, the powerful ruler held out his hands, indicating Brant should take them.

  Hesitantly, unsure what was going on, Brant reached out and clasped hands with his host.

  Ereh’s fingers closed over his in a firm, warm grasp. “As I grasp your hand, so do I grasp your life and intertwine it with mine. By taking you into my personal family, I erase the stain to my honor.”

  The words rolled through the room like thunder, the sound of them ponderous and weighty, fraught with inevitability, incomprehensible at first.

  “What?” The shock literally knocked Brant’s legs from under him. He sagged, falling against the taller man. Ereh caught him, his muscular arms easily embracing his shoulders and pulling him closer to his chest.

  “From this day forth, you are a son of the Landresid of the house of Ereh. I offer you knowledge of my family name: Ehoneh.”

  Brant straightened away from the ruler, intently studying his facial expression. He could find no hint of guile, no indication that the Landresi toyed with him. “This… this is no light matter, sir!”

  Ehoneh Ereh nodded solemnly. “You are correct, donesi. It is of the gravest matter. This action binds both of you to us -- me and mine -- morally and legally, for all time.”

  Donesi? Ereh had called him son!

  The door opened and a tall, dark-skinned female erupted into the room.

  Brant braced to attention. So did strategic points south. He couldn’t help it. The Landres entering the chamber had the body and face of an earthy goddess: long, lush lines at face, breasts and hips. She looked Nubian, possessing the dark, exotic beauty of that ancient Earth race that had faded from the scene millennia ago.

  “But I am Nubian, youngling,” the woman chortled. Her face was wreathed with smiles; gray eyes glinted silver with welcome and what looked like a healthy dose of glee as she glided up to him.

  “I have come to greet my new donesi. The news already spreads throughout the compound.” She held her hands out, palm upward, offering a formal embrace to Brant. He countered it automatically, so taken aback he could not gather the words to respond. He blushed.

  “Oh, Ehoneh, at last you have granted my desires! And look… he is practically a babe! I shall have years and years with him before he is grown. Thank you!” She blew a kiss toward her smiling husband before turning back to Brant.

  “Be at ease, my donesi. I am Amecis, but you must call me ninomo -- mother. I know how unexpected this is --” she slanted an elegant eyebrow at Ehoneh Ereh, her mouth quirking in a teasing smirk, “I have never known my Lord to be so impulsive.”

  “This once, his timing couldn’t have been worse!”

  Brant’s head snapped around to locate the owner of the harsh voice sounding a note of discord amid all this suspicious peace. His breath stalled at the sheer masculine beauty of the being leaning nonchalantly against the portal.

  This newcomer could be no other than Ehoneh Ereh and Amecis’ true son… this golden-eyed prince with smooth ebony skin as sleek as the newborn fur of a Sh’Bahkyr Ghost cub. Except for the darker tone of his skin -- a color which he seemed to have inherited from his mother -- and the fact the younger male stood a head taller, was a touch slimmer, father and son could have been twins.

  Right now his massive arms, corded with thick muscle, crossed a broad bare chest sporting an impressive set of rippling pectorals. Long, powerful legs were encased in a pair of camouflage combat dungarees that hugged his muscular lines, tapering to a tight cuff that folded over a pair of spacer’s boots buckled at instep, ankle and calf.

  A holstered blast pistol hung low on his right thigh. Brant didn’t for a moment doubt the Landresi’s proficiency with the weapon. Nor, eyeing those restless, tapping fingers, did he doubt the male’s present desire to use the blaster on him. It would seem the Landresi did not wish to have a new brother.

  “You are correct on both counts, Sh’Bahkyr.” The words were snarled through straight, white teeth that flashed between full, sensual lips. He exuded a brand of arrogance universal to the males who knew themselves desired and valued sexually. The man knew he was damned attractive and extremely sexy. Females of many species probably fell over themselves to get at that coiled, heated potential.

  Brant wondered what Bevel -- given the opportunity and the right circumstances -- would make of this prince, if he’d enjoy exploring some of that sexual potential. Hell, he wouldn’t mind watching that encounter…

  His thoughts skidded to a halt as he watched those manly lips thin. Suddenly he became convinced the aloof beauty could read every thought passing through his wayward mind.

  “And it’s not giving me much entertainment, kitty-cat. Right now I’m thinking about frying up some Tygyr-fricassee.” The Landresi licked his thick lips, moaning, “Mhmm… yummy! Nothing tastes better than sizzling Sh’Bahkyr.”

  Every muscle in Brant’s body tensed at the naked threat. A growl erupted from his throat even as he rocked on the balls of his feet, keeping his balance fluid and ready to move in any direction in a heartbeat.

  “Taelen, stop teasing and get in here so yo
u can greet your brother correctly.”

  “He’s not teasing, sir.” Brant kept his eyes on Taelen as the prince pushed away from the wall and sauntered into the room.

  “Cease broadcasting hostility, Taelen.” Ereh’s brows drew together in a heavy scowl as he snapped the command. “Proper respect is needful.”

  “Respect for what? And how dare you give my family name to this… this… interloper.”

  “Whatever and whomever he was before your father claimed him, he is now your brother and my younger son… my younger son, Taelen. You would do well to remember that.”

  “Ganging up on me, ninomo?”

  “You’d best remember I am your ninomo, and as such will have your obedience.”

  Taelen stopped short. As stiffly as a puppet controlled on a set of strings, he bowed in deep obeisance, his facial expression at once forlorn and chagrined. Brant suddenly felt sorry for him.

  Taelen whirled about, teeth bared in warning, face fierce. “I have no need of your sympathy, cat, only of your ship.”

  Ice coated Brant’s spine, stiffening it, bringing him erect with claws extended. “My ship?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you want with the Quiet Kitty? Not that you’re going to get your hands on her…”

  “No one wants to steal your ship, donesi.” Ehoneh glanced over at Amecis and shook his head. “Taelen is actually correct in this being the wrong time to give into impulsiveness. The boy will never believe he was wanted for other than his ship and the service we require of him. I strongly suspect my impulsiveness was manipulated. I have never given so many insults in so little a time…”

  Amecis bowed her head and bit down on her bottom lip, worrying the full morsel between pearly white teeth. “I might have gotten carried away in my eagerness --”

  “We will discuss this in more detail anon, my dear.” The blalor-shark grin that slashed across Ehoneh’s face at his wife’s admission gave Brant pause.