Claimed by Fae: MMF Paranormal Romance (Magical Mayhem Menage Book 2)

by Lisa Gardiner

  Claimed by Fae

  A Magical Mayhem Menage

  Created by

  Lisa Gardiner

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Claimed by Fae

  Copyright © 2018 by Lisa Gardiner

  Magical Mayhem Ménage Bk 2

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ***********

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Highly Commended in the Passionate Plume Award for Best Published Paranormal under the name Wicked Wonderland

  Claimed by Fae

  (previously sold as Wicked Safari by Samhain Publishing)

  Prologue

  Zimbabwe, Africa

  Please let me keep this baby, Nhamo prayed as she pushed. Please let me keep this little one.

  The heat hummed with the buzz of cicadas, the sky above a rich cobalt blue, the sun on her head warm as a hot paw.

  Her mother, Chenai, knelt before her. Nhamo clutched the old woman’s shoulders, bearing down as hard as she could, bending her knees with the effort.

  The pain…will end…soon. Oh God, the burning.

  She gritted her teeth as the shoulders broke through, and at long last, her second baby slid into its grandma’s hands.

  Nhamo dropped to the ground, breathing fast. She’d carried this baby so long that she had already grown to love it, sight unseen. Every kick had been a bonding experience. This labor had been as fast as her first. Maybe an hour.

  Between her legs, the grass was sticky with blood.

  Please. Don’t give them reason to take another one.

  “A boy. A boy, Nhamo.”

  Another boy.

  Her mother seemed happy. Nhamo smiled. It was going to be all right. God, he was so sweet, so adorable.

  Mama Chenai had some muslin to wrap the baby in. But before her mother had even begun to wrap him, the humming began. Her new-born seemed to be humming, and he began to glow until he was incandescent with a silvery light.

  It struck Nhamo as a blow to the chest, a powerful wrongness. Tears welled. She knew. Oh, she knew what would happen to him. She knew she couldn’t stop it, and yet he was so beautiful.

  The emptiness in her soul from losing her first son, Pili, would be magnified tenfold by this second loss.

  Nhamo remained on the ground until the rest had been delivered, and her aunt had taken the after birth away.

  The little one squalled and beat his fists against his grandma’s body. The vibrations of the witch doctors’ drums pulsed through the ground. Their rhythm matched the beating of her heart and filled her with pain and fear.

  This can’t happen again. Not a second time. Not a second boy.

  She reached out to touch him again, brushing fingers over skin as smooth as the soft petals of the river lily. She took the baby from her mother’s arms and held him close. But when she turned toward the faces of her tribe, she saw their features harden.

  Three quick gasps burst from her like hiccups, and she let out a strangled sob.

  The strangers were already gathered here. These were not the witch doctors who had tended to her as a child, who had helped her when she was ill. These were a new sort. These were strangers, a gang of money-hungry men.

  Mukuru’s humming meant these witchdoctors would claim her son.

  Her throat constricted so it was difficult to talk. “He’s healthy. He’s beautiful. Help me keep him.”

  Her mother stared at her. Finally, she whispered, “He’s not natural.”

  Nhamo bit the inside of her cheek. “I’ll hide him.”

  “You can’t hide that.” Chenai pointed at the glow. “His name is Mukuru.”

  “Why bother to name him, child? He’s unnatural. A changeling. Not of our blood “

  “He is of our blood. He’s ours.”

  “Shhh. Don’t talk like that.” Her mother lowered her voice. “You must accept his fate or be killed yourself. Remember, he is not one of us. He is a changeling.”

  Clutching the glowing baby to her chest, Nhamo stood and followed her mother through the long grass, her heart thumping louder than the cursed drums as she wished for a miracle.

  She approached the thorn enclosure surrounding her family’s hut. Her mother pushed her toward the waiting men.

  The witch doctors sat at the back of the hut. Some were white men from South Africa, and some were BaTonga like herself. Some wore wooden masks. Some wore Levi’s, Rolex watches and Nikes.

  The smell of their magic was like matches, sulphur and eggs gone bad. By the light of the lantern, the men made music, faking the old tribal ways. Terror clenched in her chest. Her mouth and throat went dry.

  The male members of her tribe sat with the other men, her uncle, father and husband among them. The stolen teenage assassins, dressed in their lion skins, stood in the background, their faces impassive, waiting to see if another would join their brood.

  Her father, Bomani, stepped forward and held out his hands. When Nhamo did not give the baby to him, he glared at her but set about inspecting the baby without comment.

  Nhamo saw the traitorous glint in her father’s eyes; he knew the humming meant money. Her lip curled when she glanced down at his expensive sneakers.

  Finally, he spoke. “This baby must go with the others. He’ll go with the witch doctors. Yes, this one must go. He’s a changeling.”

  “Please.” Her voice cracked on the word. “I’ll do anything to keep him.” Bomani sneered. “We will pay our debts with this child.”

  She held Mukuru tightly against her body, but suddenly her uncle grabbed her, holding her still, while her father snatched the baby from her arms. Bomani handed Mukuru to a man in a wooden mask. The witch doctor clasped the child and headed out of the hut. Two of his friends followed him. Her shock at the suddenness of their combined actions gave way to screaming. She
struggled against her uncle’s grip, but the big man would not release her.

  “Be silent. This will help your family. It is the only way to be rid of our debts. We don’t want an unnatural child in our midst.”

  “Runo, that’s your son! Stop that man,” she screamed at her husband. Runo only stared at the ground.

  Her uncle tried to reason with her. “The witch doctors pay good money for the babies who are not normal. Your son will wear lion skins, be trained as an assassin to kill those who do not pay their debts. You must be proud.”

  “We gave them Pili. Don’t let them take my second son.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Nhamo pulled at Bomani’s shirt, shaking him. Her father’s face contorted with rage. He lifted a large wooden spear and held it above her. Though she was terrified, she almost welcomed death.

  But another noise startled her father. He jerked around to stare at the entrance to the hut. Nhamo followed his gaze.

  Every member of the tribe could sense the lion’s magic as he entered the dwelling. Of that, she was sure.

  Even as she feared the beast, Nhamo’s heart leapt with hope. She had heard tales of a great lion who hated the witchdoctors. A beast who was also a man.

  The air around the lion sizzled with an electric charge, and golden sparks flew around him in a crazy whirlwind dance.

  His great gold mane was streaked with brown and framed a massive head and fierce face. The lion’s roar threatened like rolling thunder. The lion made eye contact with her. When she looked into his large goldeneyes, her anxiety abated. Something in his gaze told her not to be afraid.

  A young tribesman was the first to break the silence. He rushed at the lion with spear in hand, trying to be a hero, and Nhamo tripped him with her foot. Cursing, he fell to the dirt floor.

  The lion stalked toward Bomani as though he were prey. Bomani’s face went pale. He handed the baby back to Chenai. As much as Nhamo hated her father right then, she didn’t want to see him dead.

  “No, stop. Don’t kill him.”

  The lion cuffed the man’s head. Bomani fell, screaming. Blood flowed from claw marks on his scalp.

  The scent of this lion’s magic wasn’t foul and tainted like that of the witch doctors. No, she sensed the creature’s magic as heavy, golden, sensuous. Yes. She was sure now. This was the were-lion she had heard tales of. A were-lion who was part fae and part human, a Warrior of the Light, sworn to do as little harm as possible.

  The maned lion growled deep and menacing, showing his fangs, then it surged out of the hut after the man in the wooden mask who had taken her baby.

  Most of the medicine men stayed the whole night of the full moon, tending to Bomani’s wounds. There would be a very high price for so many hours of the doctors’ time. Nhamo lay in bed, hugging her legs to her chest, silent tears still streaming down her face. Her husband, Runo, tried to comfort her as best he could.

  Then, it was there again, that sense of something powerful about to happen creeping up her spine. She turned to look at the entrance to the hut. The lion padded into view. From the lion’s mouth hung a white muslin diaper with a sleeping baby hanging below.

  Nhamo’s heart sang. He’d done it. The lion had caught up with the witch doctors and their assassins before they got to the Storm Tower.

  The lion padded up to her and laid the baby on her bed. Mukuru cried. Nhamo picked him up and inhaled his new-born scent. She kissed his exquisitely soft cheek before bringing him to her breast. They would never make her give him up again. Not now the were-lion had intervened. They were afraid of him.

  Nhamo had her own baby back, but she wondered how many more children would be taken from the village. What would it take to save them?

  She looked up at the lion, wanting to make eye contact with him again and thank him. But he was already leaving the hut, stalking out into the night.

  Chapter One

  Long Island, New York. Five years later.

  “Are you interested in the sex life of lions?”

  August frowned and tugged up the top of her V-neck T-shirt. Professor Hendrik Kruger always seemed to address her cleavage rather than her face.

  But her former advisor, Professor Buis, had a job at Harvard now. She’d had to put up with this guy supervising her PhD instead.

  “Of course. I’m interested in everything about lions. My master’s thesis was on lions’ mating habits in captivity.”

  Dr. Kruger smiled and crossed his office to sit in his leather chair. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, catching the silver in his hair. August had heard other students in her dorm giggling about how hot Kruger was, calling him a “silver fox”. It was true that Kruger was tall, tanned and strong jawed, but his eyes were dark, cold, wet stones.

  August shuddered and folded her arms in front of her breasts.

  Kruger pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and picked up some papers from his desk, scanning them. “I see all your research was done at Bronx Zoo. Have you ever studied lions in a purely natural habitat?”

  She shook her head. The professor was still addressing her chest. Creepy pervert. Some men fooled themselves into thinking that women didn’t notice these things. Hello? We always notice, asshole.

  Kruger pushed his hands against his desk and stood. He put his finger on a poster on his wall. It was one August had noticed earlier, a blown-up photo of a magnificent male lion. The rich golden hues of his mane seemed so real, she imagined she could reach out and touch its softness.

  “Africa is the best place to study lions,” Kruger said.

  “Oh, are you from there? You have a very strong New York accent, but your name?”

  “My name is Afrikaners, yes. A lot of my relatives live in southern Africa, but I was born here.”

  “So, you’ve studied lions over there yourself?”

  “I had a personal relationship with a lioness in Zimbabwe once. The leader of her pride looked very much like this male.”

  August laughed. What a bizarre thing to say. “What do you mean, ‘a personal relationship’?”

  “She was a were-lion.”

  August stared at him, waiting for the punch line. Her stomach clenched. Surely, he didn’t believe in weres? Most people she knew at college didn’t believe in anything paranormal, and she liked it that way. She didn’t even believe in weres herself. In her twenty-three years on this planet she’d never encountered any. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand your joke, Professor.”

  “I wasn’t joking. And this brings me to another subject. You’re a fine scientist. I’ve actually read some of your master’s thesis. But if you want a job in this department beyond entry level, you need to do more field research.”

  She blinked, not understanding his casual change of subject. “I realize that.”

  “Good. Well, a wonderful opportunity has opened up for a student to do research in Zimbabwe. It would be a perfect fit for you.”

  It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. She imagined acacia trees, the sky an azure blue, the baked-yellow veldt and all the incredible wildlife.

  Mom was mad enough when I moved out of her house and cut ties with all her crazy friends. Would she tolerate my leaving the country?

  “That’s an amazing offer, but I’ll need some time to consider. It’s pretty far out of my comfort zone.” She tried a self-depreciating smile. “I lead a pretty boring, normal life.”

  Kruger lifted a brow. “Little half-fae don’t get normal lives do they?” His words were like the shock of a gut punch.

  “Y…you believe in the half-fae? Seriously?” Most people she knew thought the Half-Fae Conferences her mother attended were just a bunch of kooky people fooling around. She tried a little humor. “Professor, I don’t know anyone who believes in the half-fae except the half-fae themselves. And I’m not part of that crowd anymore.”

  Kruger grinned at her. The nervous flutter in August’s stomach became a desperation to make him understand. “My passion is scie
nce. That’s why I became a zoologist and an academic. I have no time for the half-fae and their…their nonsense.”

  “Well, it’s unlikely your academic contract will be renewed. There’s simply not enough money for us to take you on as a regular tutor this year. The zoology department is putting more money into overseas research programs.”

  A lump formed in her throat, and she clenched her fists. If she lost her teaching job, she couldn’t afford her apartment, and then where could she go? Back to Mother’s mansion? No way in hell. She tried to stop her lips from trembling. “I hadn’t heard that there were money problems in the department. I…I need this job.” She realized she was begging and clenched her jaw.

  Kruger’s smile was so smug she wanted to punch him. His gaze skimmed over her body, her black skirt, her legs, and back up to her breasts. Temper and anxiety knotted up inside her, but she kept silent.

  “Of course, you need this job,” he said. “Or, rather, you need money. I’m offering you a scholarship, an apartment to live in, a marvelous adventure to go on. The department will even pay your airfare.” Dr. Kruger walked around his desk to stand right next to her. He leaned close enough that she feared he might touch her. “You’ll be working with trained professionals, August. You’ll be working with this man, Arlan Leonard.” He turned around a photo that had been sitting on his desk so it faced her. It was a photo of a man.

  An Adonis of a man.

  Desire glinted in the depths of his green-gold eyes. He wore a khaki tank, revealing muscular tanned shoulders and hints of his well-defined pecs. August itched to slip her hands beneath the cotton and run her fingers over what she knew would be perfect abs. Blind hunger rose within her. She didn’t know this man, not even his name. But she could almost feel his strong body covering hers, her nipples mashed beneath his chest. His rough tongue licking along her neck, grazing it, making her whimper.

  A jolt of liquid heat shot between her legs, making her clench her thighs. “Handsome, isn’t he?”