Land of the Brave: Forbidden Spice (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Jools Louise

  Etu patted his brother’s shoulder, nodding sadly as he studied Flo’s face. She was sleeping now, the evidence of what they’d had to do smeared over her cheek. He prayed to their spirit totem that Flo survived the night.

  Chapter Six

  Mary rode at a ground-eating canter, Domingo’s hooves flying over the narrow, stony trail. They were close to their rendezvous, and she was eager to meet her mates’ family. She considered another reason for her haste…she was perpetually horny, and wanted sex badly. Her mates had teased her with sly glances and subtle touches. Glancing behind, she grinned as she saw Dustu’s intense expression as he easily kept up. Ahead, Maska and Kata took the lead, their horses fresh from their last rest stop.

  Dusk had fallen, the sounds of the river keeping them company as they traversed its steep-sided bank. Domingo slowed suddenly, and she looked ahead to see a small camp. Fires flickered away, and several people milled around the site. Maska stopped, looking angrily at the array of wagons. More interlopers invading their land. Quickly, before he could be seen, he urged the others off the trail, and into the thick stand of bushes. They would have to go around the camp.

  “Who are they?” Mary whispered, sniffing the air instinctively. It was a new thing, to go with her wolf’s blood, and heightened senses.

  “Buffalo hunters,” Kata replied quietly. “Most have gone to other places, but some stay, stealing from the settlers or attacking our tribes. They are murderous bastards at the best of times. And they have guns.”

  Mary focused, and spied several rifles. As well as something that sickened her to the core. Two big men, their skin as black as soot, were chained to one of the wagons, the crack of a whip sounding over and over as they were flayed viciously by a man wearing a thick buffalo hide jacket. Even from this distance, the hunter had a fetid stench about him, his thick arm rising again and again, the bullwhip he carried working with lethal skill.

  “Slaves?” she asked, and Kata nodded grimly.

  “It is not our fight,” Maska said, moving quietly, skirting around the camp.

  Mary scowled at him furiously. “Slavery is everyone’s fight,” she retorted. “Those poor men do not deserve to be whipped like that. It’s disgusting.”

  Maska glared right back, baring his fangs. “And just what do you propose to do about it?” he asked.

  Hands on hips, she stuck out her chin pugnaciously. “Aren’t you supposed to be some of the best fighters? Or maybe you’re just scared of a few white eyes,” she replied, seeing the outraged look in his dark gaze.

  “I do not fear death,” he replied in a dangerous tone.

  “Just buffalo hunters and guns,” she shot back, not cowed in the least. If anything, she felt empowered by taking a stand. It was a measure of how much she trusted her men that she could let loose her temper. In the past, her husband had slapped her for her temerity, should she dare to raise her voice to him, or disagree.

  “We will not risk your life,” Kata said quietly. “We have to meet up with our people. We must leave those men to their fate.”

  “Dustu!” Maska suddenly said sharply, keeping his voice as low as possible.

  Mary saw that Dustu was creeping closer to the camp, dagger in hand, staring at the big hunter with a vicious light in his eyes.

  “At least someone is prepared to fight,” Mary said, and dismounted. “I’ll lead the horses around to the other side. You rescue those men.” She grabbed the reins of her horse and moved ahead, giving Maska a light shove for good measure.

  “Woman, your bottom will be feeling the palm of my hand later,” Maska warned her, sounding furious. She ignored him, smiling to herself. He thought to spank her, did he? As though she was a child, not a grown woman? A tingling in her clit at the thought made her want to push her mate even more. To see what he would do. Turning her head, she crossed her eyes and poked out her tongue at him before moving away.

  * * * *

  Maska bit back a chuckle at Mary’s antics, his cock hardening at the thought of smacking her soft buttocks and turning the pale flesh red. He’d have to fuck that sweet ass of hers, as well, for good measure. Kata had enjoyed it two days ago, but she had been too sore to take them in that way since then. He looked forward to acquainting himself with her later. After the spanking.

  “Our little dove is growing feisty,” Kata said, grinning.

  “She is blossoming,” Maska said proudly, and they shared a delighted look. “Now, let’s make sure our brother stays out of too much trouble. We have some hunters to scalp. These men I have seen before,” he added, frowning at the biggest man with the bullwhip. He recognized several others, as well. “They have attacked our camps many times, and the settlements nearby. They hurt little children and pregnant women.”

  Kata scowled fiercely, palming his dagger and tomahawk. Maska did the same, and they spread out, stealth their biggest weapon. Before the hunters knew what had hit them, they would be dead. Maska was a little irritated with himself that he had even contemplated avoiding a battle. It wasn’t like either of the brothers to walk away from a fight. He was in a new situation, however, wanting to protect his mate at all costs. Even if she was someone with such a fierce heart that she would probably have tried to rescue the slaves herself, if Dustu hadn’t preempted her.

  Focusing, Maska heard a gurgle of sound, and knew that Dustu had claimed his first victim. They would collect scalps later, after dispatching their enemies. It would create too much noise to do it now, and they didn’t want to alert the rest of the hunters too soon.

  A young woman walked into view, looking thin and worn, her clothes in tatters. She had light blonde hair that hung lankly to her waist, her face bearing a large bruise, and her arm a brand mark. He frowned, and moved in behind her. Grabbing her, he placed his hand to her mouth. She froze, but uttered no sound, other than a short wheeze of breath.

  “You are not in danger from me, little one,” Maska murmured in her ear, trying to soothe her. “We only mean harm to the hunters who have murdered our kin.” She nodded hesitantly, and relaxed a little.

  Turning her in his arms, he stared into eyes of a clear blue; the color of cornflowers or a summer sky. “How many are there?” he asked.

  “Eight,” she whispered back, shivering a little. “Two are out gathering firewood, one has gone to the river to get fish.” She curled her lip. “The river is too fast to fish, but he’s stupid.”

  Maska smiled, and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I am Maska,” he said. “We will rid you of these stupid men, if you like.”

  “Hannah,” she said, introducing herself.

  “Hannah! Get your skinny arse over here, we’re hungry.”

  She flinched, staring fearfully at the camp, to where the big hunter was standing, looking angrily around him. He’d finished whipping the two slaves, who hung unconscious from their chains. Maska eyed the hunter, and vowed he would leave the man until last. This was a man with no honor, to whip a helpless man rather than face him in combat. He was a coward.

  “Go to him,” Maska whispered. “Continue your duties, or you will be in trouble and alert them to our presence.”

  Hannah nodded, and picked up her long skirts, stumbling through the shrubs toward one of the fires. Maska heard her explaining that she had to pee, nimbly dodging a blow from the big man as she went to tend to the large pot on the fire.

  Maska moved again, hearing another, and then another of the hunters taken out. That left five. One was in front of him, two more by the other wagon, their hands filled with firewood. The last must be by the river. Shifting, Maska padded on four paws, easily bypassing the camp, and made his way along the bank. He spotted the last hunter, sitting with his hat over his eyes, a fishing pole lying beside him. So, not fishing then, merely avoiding the chores. Maska smirked, and crept closer. His nostrils quivered with the unpleasant smell emanating from the man. Fetid and nasty, and it offended him. This man was one who was not only lazy, but butchered women and children. He shifted
back to human form and walked closer, not bothering to hide. The stupid man deserved to die for his stench alone.

  Straddling the man’s legs, he leaned closer still, kicking aside the rifle that was at the other side. Knocking aside the hat, he gripped a hank of greasy hair, seeing the terror in his victim’s eyes, right before he swept his dagger along the hairline and removed the hunter’s scalp as he screamed in agony. Slicing again, Maska ran the bloody blade across the man’s throat, opening up a slit that stretched from ear to ear, listening to the desperate attempts to catch breath. Howling triumphantly, Maska let the world know he was victorious, finally hearing matching cries from his brothers.

  “You will be food for the crows,” Maska said, as he stabbed into the hunter’s groin—justice for the women he’d harmed—before slicing open the man’s fat guts and leaving him gasping out his final moments.

  He heard the alarmed cries from camp, and then an abrupt cessation of noise before an angry roar sounded. Running fast back to camp, Maska saw his brothers taunting the last hunter, the young female wielding a large kitchen knife. The hunter had a cut across one cheek, and Maska cheered silently. She was strong, and not broken by her time with these men.

  “Hank! Amos!” the hunter cried, roaring again when Dustu got in a few good hits with his dagger, aiming for the tendons in the back of the man’s legs.

  Falling to the ground, the hunter clutched his knee and grabbed for a piece of wood, his fat body scrabbling around like a trout in too-shallow water. Wielding it like a club, he lashed out, trying to hit something. Dustu, a grin on his face, kicked the wood away, and stabbed again, this time adding another cut to the man’s cheek. Kata lashed out with the tomahawk. The small axe embedded into bone, smashing the hunter’s shoulder. This was one enemy who did not deserve the consideration of a swift death—a coward, he would suffer as he had made others suffer.

  Maska eyed the two slaves, who were awake now, and watching the events with hate-filled eyes. A set of keys lay on the ground, and leaving his brothers to further play with their victim, he picked them up and walked up to the men. Their wounds were nasty, and they bore other scars, as well, as though they had suffered more than once. He felt ashamed that he had contemplated leaving them to their fate. Perhaps Mary should spank him later. Then he shook his head against that line of thought. They would all enjoy it when he finally had Mary across his lap, her red bottom burning from each smack, and her pussy dripping with her mouth around his brothers’ cocks, alternating between the two.

  “Here,” he said, handing the keys to the first slave. “You deserve to take your revenge. We will leave him alive for you to do with what you like.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the slave said gratefully, unlocking the cuffs around his ankles first, and then his wrist before handing the keys to his companion.

  “You should thank my mate,” Maska said dryly, seeing his little dove walking nonchalantly into camp, the horses following like well-trained puppies. “Meet your savior.”

  “I am Harmony,” the slave replied, bowing slightly to Maska and then Mary. “This is Raven.”

  Maska blinked. Those sounded like Native American names.

  “We have been slaves several times,” Harmony said dryly, his dark eyes glinting with surprising humor. “We were born in America to slaves, and taken to a plantation in the south. After the war, having grown up there, we were released, only to be captured by a band of Apache when we headed west. The hunters killed them, and decided to use us as their personal torture toys. We have been with them for two weeks.”

  Harmony tensed as they all heard movement in the trees. Maska relaxed as his people suddenly converged on the camp, a welcome sight.

  “We heard the call,” Paco said as he rode up on a black and white appaloosa. His brother, Onawa grinned, stopping just behind and sliding off his paint stallion. Nitis and his cousin Neka followed on their own mounts, a pinto with liver and white coloring, and a palomino the color of sand, its mane a silvery blonde.

  The rest of the tribe dismounted, tying their steeds next to the hunters’ horses, who greeted the newcomers with soft whickers. Jacy had taken charge of the two females among them, Petunia and Pavati, protecting them. They were all human, but knew of the wolves in their midst. They hadn’t hesitated when asked if they wanted to join Chatan and head north. All had their own sad stories to tell, and in recent times, there had been many battles with the buffalo hunters, settlers, and the soldiers who sent out their troops into Comanche territory. Everyone seemed to want to tell the Native Americans how to live their lives, demanding they stay in their safe little boxes to be counted. Chatan and his breakaway tribe refused to be imprisoned.

  “We may as well camp here,” Onawa said, slapping Maska on the back. “These hunters have been considerate enough to prepare a fire for us.”

  “That was me, not the hunters,” Hannah said dryly, looking Onawa up and down and rolling her eyes as he did the same to her, his eyes straying to her pale hair more than once. She had pert little breasts, barely covered by her tattered gown, which had rips in places that revealed more than she probably imagined.

  “Your hair is as pale as the moon,” Paco said, looking awestruck. He dared to step closer, stroking a finger down the long tresses, his tone reverent. Hannah stared at him and Onawa, looking a little bemused.

  “It’s dirty,” she said, ducking her head shyly.

  Paco moved closer still, and tilted her chin, frowning at the bruise on her face. “Who did this?” he asked, stroking a thumb over the dark imprint of a fist.

  She cast her eyes in the direction of the hunter who was whimpering in a heap, his body bloodied by the various cuts that now adorned him. His coat had been slashed to pieces, the sharp daggers ripping it to shreds, his unwashed body looking pale and unhealthy.

  Paco snarled and made as if to walk over there. Maska stopped him, holding his arm firmly, and nodding at Harmony and Raven. “They have the right to take his scalp,” he said.

  Paco stared at the slaves, his eyes widening as he looked at their bloody torsos, and nodded. “You have the right,” he agreed, and handed Harmony his dagger. “Unless you’d prefer the whip.”

  Harmony eyed the dagger, turning it over in his fist, before shaking his head. “No, sir, this should do just fine.”

  He strode over to the hunter, kicking him hard in the ribs. As Maska had done earlier with the sleeping fisherman, Harmony grabbed a hank of hair, and sliced the man’s scalp, smiling grimly at the screams that rent the air.

  Raven took hold of the whip, and wielded it with skill. Everyone stepped back out of range, and the entire group watched as Raven grabbed the hunter by one ankle, and dragged him away from camp.

  “We don’t want this mess in camp, do we?” he asked, and disappeared into the trees. Seconds later, more screams were heard, followed by the crack of the whip like a bullet in the still air. Over and over the chilling sound rang out, until the screams trailed off. Raven returned minutes later, his eyes hard. A second later, he stumbled, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Jacy said. His dark hair draped over one shoulder in a neat braid. He wore a breech clout and moccasins, his chest bare. His hazel eyes looked sad as they looked at Raven, and he went to his horse and grabbed a bulging leather sack. “I have salve and bandages,” he said, kneeling beside the bigger man.

  “I’ll help to move him,” Harmony said, only to wince as he moved. With a gentle sigh, he fell like a great tree, crashing to the ground as unconscious as his friend.

  “We’ll put them by the fire,” Hannah suggested, gesturing for Paco and Onawa to help her. The big slaves were heavy and it took four men to carry each of the injured to a blanket by the fire. Jacy got to work. He and Hannah cleansed the wounds, and applied a healing poultice to help remove any impurities before bandaging the wounds to keep them clean.

  * * * *

  Hannah breathed in de
eply, feeling all tingly. She had retreated to rest in one of the wagons, exhausted by the events of the day, but was somehow energized at the sight of the two gorgeous braves who had just joined her. She stood, bare to the waist, her nipples perked as a cool breeze wafted over her. She was cleaning herself, using a damp rag to wipe off the dust and dirt from her skin. She felt dirty, and not just because she had not bathed properly in days. The hunter, Eli, had been a brute, vicious and violent in his attentions, treating her like a whore whenever he had the urge.

  She tensed when she saw the young warriors, but saw the warm light of concern in their eyes, at odds with the fierce weaponry they carried. She felt a tingling go through her, a warmth as she viewed their obvious approval as they both looked upon her nakedness.

  “Your skin is so pale,” Paco whispered, and then flushed a little, which Hannah found enchanting.

  “I don’t tan easily,” she replied, shrugging. She should cover herself, knowing that she was being decadent in leaving herself bare to their dark perusal. She found that she wanted to preen for them, rather than shy away. She wanted to feel their gentle caresses soothing her, healing her. It had been too long since she had felt a loving touch.

  “You are beautiful,” Onawa said huskily, moving to kneel beside her. His dark eyes seemed to glow with promise, and she licked her lips when he took the rag from her. He dipped it into the bowl of water she’d filled for the purpose, and then looked questioningly at her.

  “May I help you?” he asked, hesitating. She nodded slowly, her breath shuddering slightly as she inhaled, reacting to the feather-light stroke along the upper curve of her breast.

  Paco moved to her other side, cupping her cheek and smiling warmly at her. She smiled back and leaned into him, moaning slightly when Onawa brushed her nipple with the cloth and rubbed back and forth, stimulating the little bud until it was a deep pink and hard as a pebble.