Summer Shifter Nights

by Harmony Raines

  She spoke to her mother the next evening in the older woman’s suite. Adagia listened without interrupting. “Never forget you’re a pawn to them–even Malin. They would eliminate us from the inheritance laws if they could.”

  By us, Surah knew her mother meant females. Gargoyle warriors had a long, unpleasant history of suppressing the female gender. She’d always assumed it was rooted in the warlike nature of the culture, softened over the last several centuries, but still present. Any culture that celebrated physical strength and cunning would eventually cannibalize its own people–beginning with those it considered weak. Especially if the ‘weak’ ones possessed intangible strengths, such as intelligence or wealth.

  “Malin loves me,” she said.

  Adagia shrugged. The night was slightly chilly, and the digital fireplace was on, reflecting heat as well as the image of a cozy, winter flames. The light played across her mother’s skin, highlighting the structure of her bones, adding a deep sapphire hue to her hair.

  “I’m certain he does in his way. He coddled you enough when you were a girl. But be careful. A brother is a different man than a husband. And a Prince is far more different than them both. Never forget–he is Ciodaru’s eldest son. He hasn’t forgotten.”

  Surah worked, and ignored the ripples through the local gargoyle community over her changed status. And the sudden, sharp interest that told her she was correct to be concerned. She threw herself into wedding plans, realizing that as long as she remained unmarried, she was vulnerable. Because from the terms of Geza’s decree, her husband was the child’s regent. Not the child’s biological father. For whatever reason, Geza had completely eliminated his brother.

  And the increased pressure from Kausar to find a cure was driving her mad as well. She stormed into Malin’s study after a long night in the lab. “Tell your weapons master that if he asks me one more time if I’m any closer to a cure, I will meet him on the challenge field.”

  Malin looked up, studied her face, and sat back in his chair. Sometime in the last week he’d switched a human backed chair for one that would accommodate…wings. “I’ll speak to him again. Come here.”

  She obeyed, sliding onto his lap with a scowl, and was rewarded with hard fingers on the back of her neck, massaging. There was a healthy gray cast to his skin, a crushed onyx sheen to his hair, and his shoulders were broader than normal. It was night, and his gargoyle nature was subtly asserting itself–perhaps without him being aware. The latest serum formula was doing wonders for suppressing his human side. They were close. A year, two at the maximum all things considered. She closed her eyes, leaning against Malin as weariness overtook her. So close. And she was so tired. Tired of the perpetual soreness in her jaw. Tired of now not being able to reach for a glass of wine. Tired of worrying about Malin, when she just wanted to enjoy her future husband and live their lives.

  “You have a fitting tomorrow,” he said after several minutes of silence.

  His hands slid from her neck down her back, ran around her waist to crawl up her rib cage under her shirt, and cup her breasts. She shifted, straddling him, the familiar length of him hardening in the vee of her thighs.

  “Take this off,” he said, voice deepening.

  She drew her shirt over her head and tossed it away. “Ditto.” A moment later she’d unbuttoned his, noticing the style of the shirt as she bunched it up. The back was three pleats, designed to lay flat during the day but allow a gargoyle to shift at night without having to undress. Wings would push aside the pleats and the shirt would fall naturally around the new appendages. He hadn’t worn one like that in years.

  “Malin—” she began, distracted, when his fingers slipped inside the cups of her bra to pinch her nipples.

  “Yes?” His voice was edged. He bent his head, taking a stiff peak into his mouth.

  She couldn’t remember what she was about to say, hips grinding against him without conscious thought. He unclasped the bra, then buried a hand in her hair and held her around the waist as he arched her backwards, burying his face between her breasts. She shimmied her hips, managing to break his hold after a moment, so she could slide off his lap and push down her leggings.

  He watched, eyes burning, as she stood naked in front of him. “Turn around,” he said.

  Surah obeyed, slowly, and when her back faced him she bent over, arching the small of her back and spreading her thighs, looking at him teasingly over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. He was a deep, dark gray, fangs peeking out from his lips, shoulders and hands thickening with roped muscle as she watched.

  “Malin—”

  If he was able to shift so easily, without pain, then the latest formula must be working better than she’d thought. She needed to get to the lab and—

  He reached out and spread her thighs even further apart, hands like rock on the inside of her thighs. She bit her lip, hands on the floor for balance as his fingers slipped inside her. Hard, thick, aiming for the place inside her he knew drove her wild.

  This was the first time he’d been in full gargoyle form while they made love. Their first time she’d felt the strength of non-human fingers inside her wet pussy, stroking her with a hardness similar to a human cock.

  Surah moaned, balancing her weight on one hand and reaching between her thighs to fondle her bud.

  “I’m coming, Malin.”

  His fingers fucked her faster, a growl deep in his chest as her body clenched around him and she cried out, juices slithering down her thighs.

  But that was just an appetizer. He pulled her back onto his lap without a pause, and she reached underneath to unzip his trousers, already straining from the breadth of gargoyle strong thighs, and unleashed his cock.

  It was huge; her hand couldn’t wrap around it. But he’d prepared her. Her pussy was wet, pliable, her mind hazy with desire. She lifted up, positioning him beneath her, and impaled herself.

  A scream ripped from her throat. Maybe she should have been more careful. Hands cupped her breasts, controlling her as she slid down his cock to the hilt. He stretched her wider than she’d ever been before, to the point where she feared her abused pussy would tear.

  “Slow,” he murmured in her ear, deep and guttural. Nearly unrecognizable. In this form he was even stronger, even more capable of command. But as his hands roamed over her torso, rough in passion, they were also gentle. Careful not to bruise skin, or turn pleasure into true pain.

  She rose again, riding him in a merciless rhythm. His teeth grazed her neck, a hiss against her skin as his hands on her body became increasingly impatient, a fine tremble in his fingers. Finally he grabbed her waist and took over the thrusts, forcing her to ride his cock even faster. She angled her hips, clawing at his thighs as her pleasure peaked, spilled over. For a moment her vision went black and the thunder in her ears–she couldn’t tell if it was Malin or her blood rushing to her brain. When she could see again he was cradling her, her body draped limply over his chest.

  “Surah?”

  “I’m dead,” she muttered. “Leave me alone.”

  She felt the rumble of laughter in his chest, and figured she’d have to put up with his increased ego for at least two days. He was still inside her, cock softening and she bit her lip as he helped her dismount. Her thighs trembled, her pussy felt raw. But her clit still throbbed, and her breasts tingled from his use.

  “I think I’ll be out of commission for the rest of the evening.”

  “You’re half-gargoyle,” he said, voice casual. “You’ll heal in a few minutes.”

  Her heart stopped. She looked at him, saw he was completely serious, and wondered what the hell she’d put in his serum.

  Adagia usurped Sililu at the last moment so Surah traveled to her fitting alone. She promised to live stream the fitting room so the two women could participate in the appointment, while they took care of other arrangements. There were things like flowers, color arrangements, seating lists…Surah had stared at Sililu when the woman mentioned it all.

&
nbsp; “Just make me a list,” Surah had said, covering her eyes with a hand. “And check boxes next to anything I have to make a decision on.”

  And then she fled to her lab for a few calming hours before grudgingly exiting to go to the dress appointment. She did call Malin on the way there to complain. She could tell he was in a meeting from the warm, though slightly distant expression on his face.

  “Princess,” he greeted. “How may I serve?”

  She sighed. “You’re working. I just called to let you know my mother and Sililu are planning the wedding. So if you want to elope, now would be the time.”

  His brow rose and he smiled. “I think Geza would take exception. And I want the entire court to celebrate with us, my love.”

  Code for, since his eyes hardened, him wanting the gargoyle court to know she was taken. Fine. “All right. Talk to you later.”

  “Be safe, don’t ditch your security.”

  The security she knew was trailing her at a discreet distance, both in air and on foot. Song greeted her when she arrived, effusive and restrained.

  “We took the sketch you approved—”

  “I approved a sketch?” Surah asked.

  Song paused. “That is to say, your beautiful handmaid, the Lady—”

  “Enough said.”

  “I’m sure you will love it,” he continued. “The Lady has excellent taste. We are also designing her gown and the Lady Adagia’s dress for the ceremony and reception ball.”

  “We’re throwing a ball?”

  Song ushered her into the round, plush fitting room. “Don’t worry, Princess. You do important work. We will take care of these gentle matters. You must not be disturbed.”

  It sounded like Sililu had coached him. She tried on three different styles of gowns, the last a simple sheath of satin with a medium length train. The skirt floated around her legs in different hues of rich, dark red fabric, a slit up the center that appeared when she moved abruptly or turned. It left her arms and shoulders bare and nipped in at the waist. She stood in front of the mirror.

  “I think this is the silhouette,” Song said, decisively. “Lady Sililu—”

  She hit her forehead with her hand. “I forgot to bring them on the screen to watch.”

  “Ah.” He moved to the wall that held the flat screen and punched a few buttons. “Connecting now.”

  There was no commotion. Uthman simply stepped into the room, and Surah immediately knew something was wrong.

  She whirled around. There was a tall, delicate floor lamp next to the dove gray bench. She grabbed it, swinging it around like she held a bladed stick in her hands. She counted another six gargoyles advancing into the room.

  “What is this?!” Song exclaimed. “This is a private—”

  “Song, get in the corner and say nothing,” she said.

  He must have heard it in her voice. He obeyed, and the gargoyles ignored him. He wasn’t a threat and as savage as they could be among their own kind, they didn’t go around harming non-combatant humans.

  The fight was short. She was a scientist and though she’d brushed up on her training, these males lived and breathed it. They took her down in a matter of minutes, Uthman watching the entire time with his arms crossed, a smile on his face. They looked like yuppie businessmen–anyone who didn’t know the signs wouldn’t know they were anything other than human.

  “Malin will destroy you,” she said. Two gargoyles on either side had each of her arms.

  Uthman approached. “He won’t get to us in time. Are you going to cooperate or do we get to do this the fun way?”

  She grit her teeth against a reply. She needed to stay conscious, as much as she wanted to respond.

  “Disappointing,” he said. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for our wedding.”

  Chapter 3

  When they entered a four person aerial transport, the windows dimmed to black and Uthman put the computer on silent. It lifted off and joined traffic, the flight smooth—and giving Surah no clue where they were going. She couldn’t judge speed, so the forty minute trip could have taken her ten miles away or two hundred.

  “What’s the logic behind this kidnapping?” she asked Uthman. “You can marry me against my will–but Malin will follow you and make me a widow. So…I don’t get the strategy.”

  “Malin won’t be following,” Uthman said. “And when he’s dead, Prince Geza will have no choice but to recognize our marriage or brace himself for war over your hand, and control of the Heir.”

  She didn’t bother suppressing a pained grimace. It was so clichéd. And there were any number of holes in his plan–which seemed to hinge on his belief that whatever attack he was planning on Malin would succeed. Of course, it could. So she spent the trip tense, worried. She wasn’t afraid of rape–Uthman wouldn’t touch a half-human with a pole, in that he was similar to Niko. Though at least Niko was a bit more graceful about his prejudice.

  They finally set down, and when the doors slid open, all she saw was the bare walls of a large garage. She was escorted into a house, up a flight of stairs, and placed into a room with a door that locked on the outside.

  “There’s food and a toilet in the suite,” Uthman said shortly. “Figure it all out.”

  So much for gargoyle guesting customs. She explored, more to understand the layout of her prison than from curiosity. There were no windows, of course, but there was a wall screen she could program to reflect an outdoor scene or stream live entertainment. Evidently, Uthman wanted his future wife imprisoned in comfort. There was nothing she could do, so she ordered a meal from the digital menu, changed into a nondescript set of clothing left for her in the drawers, and settled on the bed to wait.

  His comm beeped just as he was leaving his office. Malin checked the screen to see if it was his errant betrothed, a little irritated she hadn’t returned his message yet.

  “Nikolau,” he said, deciding at the last moment to accept the communication. His friend rarely called before sundown; something must be wrong.

  “Is Surah with you?” Niko asked, voice edged.

  “No—”

  “Alert her security. The Mogrens are going to try and take her.”

  “One moment.” He tried to connect to Surah’s security, and when he couldn’t get through, issued a panic order. Every gargoyle loyal to him and every employee on staff as security would be alerted, and follow already established protocol.

  “Who is your source?” Malin asked, voice cool. He transferred Niko to his wrist unit and left the office, heading to the rooftop, where his daytime air transport was stationed.

  “Petru. He was approached. The Mogrens are fools. They think anyone with ambition can be bought.”

  Petru had honor. Though he wanted Surah, he’d never take part in a plot to take her from Malin the coward’s way. Malin controlled his rage, promising himself that when the time was right, blood would be spilled. He was able to keep calm because he knew Uthman’s goal would not be served by harming Surah. She would be safe in the short term. He clung to the thought while he issued a second command to lock down his home, with orders for Sililu and Adagia to remain inside. When the women spoke to him, veiled panic on their faces, telling him what they’d overheard in the dressmaker’s shop…Malin’s blood boiled.

  “Malin, I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t do anything yet.” Niko disconnected. He must have moved to the city, to be so close.

  Malin entered the small, private bedroom off his office and approached a far wall. On display was one of his family swords. Double edged, utilitarian. He hefted the weight, retrieving the sheath and belt and adjusting it around his waist before leaving. If he was right, Uthman’s next move would have to be to kill Malin. He had to know that the scheme he’d concocted would fail if Malin was alive to hunt him down. On high alert, he took the elevator to the rooftop and stepped out.

  His instincts were always right.

  The remnants of a small meal were on the bed, and she’d been able to doze
for a few minutes. She didn’t feel pregnant other than the incessant morning sickness, but her feelings didn’t really matter. She might not be hungry, but the baby needed nutrients. So she’d made herself eat a little, also because she’d be next to useless weak from hunger, once Malin finally found her. For the first time she wished she’d taken up an old high school friend who’d once offered to teach her what he knew about hacking computers—her mother had insisted Surah attend a mixed species school her last two years, for ‘culture’. There was likely some way to use the household computer to contact her fiancé.

  The door to her room opened. Surah looked up as Uthman entered, a female at his side. It was night—she’d felt the shift as the moon replaced the sun in the sky’s affections. Her shoulders blades tingled, the pads of her nails itching as if claws wanted to burst free. For a moment it was as if a sheen of pearl-gray coated her skin and then it was gone. She faced the moment of instinctive heartbreak and keening sorrow with her usual stoniness, and then that, too was gone.

  Uthman and the woman were in full gargoyle form. Clawed hands and feet, broad shoulders and hard, chiseled faces. Uthman smiled at her, self-satisfied, and his fangs peek out from his lips.

  “I’d say here comes the bride, but you’re already here,” he said. “Go put the dress back on. It’s decent enough for a wedding, though I don’t know what natural female would want a dress the color of dried blood to wed in.”

  She curled a lip, not bothering to move. “You can go through this farce all you want. It means nothing.”

  “On the contrary, girl, it means everything.”

  Surah’s heart stopped, and she forced her face to remain contemptuous. She couldn’t control the spike in her heart rate and everyone would hear it–but her body didn’t rule her.

  Lavinia Mogren stepped around the other woman, and entered the room. She shimmered, and after a moment Surah realized Lavinia was a projection. So they managed to sneak telecomm equipment into the room–or Geza had caved and allowed it–but Lavinia hadn’t escaped.

  “Getting plenty of beauty rest while you await trial?” Surah asked, smiling sweetly. “I heard Malin’s lawyers asked for a stay–for a year. So you’ll be locked up awaiting trial, away from the moon, oh gosh…that’s just terrible.”