Passion Unbound Wild, Wicked & Wanton
(Passion Unbound, Books 1,2 and 3)
Tawny Taylor
Copyright ©2011 Tawny Taylor
Smashwords Edition
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience.
And thus it was from the beginning of time. Two knights. One bride. They whispered their story to The Chosen, a human endowed with the gift of Hearing… The Chosen wrote the story and released it into the human world.
The bait was set. The spell was cast. And then they waited…
-- from the Ierd Kimeno, the sacred text of the Twelfth Knight Brotherhood
* * *
Passion Unbound 1: Wild Knights
Tawny Taylor
Copyright ©2011 Tawny Taylor
* * *
Chapter 1
Bastien’s gaze was smoldering, his thickly muscled body rigid, ready -- to take. To conquer. She shuddered as her second Master, Xander, crowded her from behind, capturing her wrists in one huge fist. He pressed his hulking frame against her back and forced her arms up over her head.
To be possessed by two powerful, dominant men. It was her most secret fantasy, a dream that was about to become reality…
Maggie Dunning sighed, tucked a sticky note in her book to keep her page, and dropped the worn, dog-eared paperback into her desk drawer. She’d read Conquered by the Knight at least ten times since she’d bought it a couple months ago, and yet she couldn’t resist coming back to it again and again. The story so profoundly touched her that she missed the characters the minute she closed the book.
If only she could find a real guy like either of the book’s drool-worthy heroes, Bastien or Xander. She’d dated enough men to know the strong, heroic type was a rare breed, indeed. Most definitely endangered in northeast Michigan.
But oh how amazing it would be to have such dominating, attentive and caring lovers. Where were they hiding? In Michigan’s upper peninsula, perhaps? Where the landscape was still wild, the climate as unpredictable as the tough men who lived there?
Hmmmm… maybe she’d head north for her next vacation. If she took a vacation next year.
Her head a million miles away, or rather a little more than five hundred, she finished up her last bit of typing, addressed some Christmas cards for tomorrow’s mail, filed some paperwork and ran next door to get her boss some dinner -- a Reuben on rye, extra thousand island dressing and a side of onion rings -- death on a plate. Then, another work week finished and another dollar earned, she waved goodbye to the quiet old gentleman with the sparkly eyes.
“Have a good weekend.”
A mischievous smile hinting at the troublemaker he’d probably once been, Mr. Holloway returned her wave. Sweet old man. Called himself a life insurance salesman, but he rarely sold much of anything anymore. She knew he just kept her around because he was lonely, and that was fine with her. She loved her job.
Humming a slightly off-key rendition of “Sleigh Ride,” she headed out of the diminutive building, sandwiched between the deli and an antique shop, and slipped and slid her way to her car parked behind the building. A constant stream of Christmas music kept her company during the short drive home.
Since her husband’s death, this was the time of day she looked forward to most. The world outside her apartment building was quiet and dark. She sat cozy and warm in her living room, a crocheted afghan spread across her lap while she caught up with her favorite reality show and slowly consumed her nuked Lean Cuisine.
The need for sustenance addressed, and her daily dose of television administered, it was time to be swept away into the world of her fantasies -- or, more specifically, into Xander and Bastien’s world of erotic domination and submission. Yay! She clapped her hands together and dug into her bag, where she’d stowed her book.
Sometime later, after enjoying a particularly stimulating passage, where Xander and Bastien both made love to the heroine -- at the same time! -- she lifted her tired, bleary eyes to check the clock. A little after midnight. How the time flew when she was consumed by a story.
She ran her fingers along the top edge of a page as she reached for her lukewarm glass of Diet Coke, accidentally giving herself a paper cut. “Ow, ow, ow! Darn it!” A single fat, scarlet droplet landed smack dab in the middle of the page she’d just read. She immediately tucked the injured digit into her mouth, skimming the last paragraph she’d read.
This was what she’d been searching for all her life. Never had she expected to find one lover who knew her so well, let alone two. And not only did they seek to fulfill her physical needs, but her mental and emotional ones as well. They understood her. They cherished her and protected her. Xander and Bastien were her fantasy men come to life…
“Oh, to be cherished.” She heaved a sad sigh. Since Jack Dunning’s unexpected death, her life had been wonderful. She had peace. Enough money to keep her in Lean Cuisines.
And she was free.
Yet she couldn’t help admitting there was something missing -- love. A kind but strong man who adored her and built her up instead of tearing her down. Would she ever meet a guy like that? Or were men like that not only endangered, but gone the way of the dinosaurs?
“Where are you, Bastien and Xander? Come, find me, won’t you?” she muttered around a mouthful of throbbing finger. Too tired to read any longer, she closed her book and headed to bed.
Tomorrow, after running a few errands, doing a little Christmas shopping for the niece she never saw, she’d have plenty of time to spend with her two favorite men.
Maybe it hadn’t always been this way, but life was good. Not perfect, but very, very pleasant.
* * *
She felt their presence before she was fully awake. Someone, or rather several someones, were in her bedroom. Broken in. Should’ve forked over the extra hundred dollars a month for the apartment with the security system and intercom.
What now?
Playing possum until she could think of what to do, she made a conscious effort to keep her breathing slow and steady -- no easy task, considering she was petrified. Her heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s, and a mega-dose of adrenaline was pounding through her veins.
What did these guys want? How many were there?
She heard at least two sets of footsteps treading softly across the carpet. They were coming closer to her bed. To her.
Ack!
This couldn’t be good. Her eyes still closed, she tensed her arms and legs and psyched herself up for what promised to be a harrowing escape. She’d never had to run for her life before. Would she make it? She wasn’t exactly athletic. Nor did she know a lick of self defense, outside of the tried and true kick-’em-in-the-balls routine.
The footsteps stopped. She guessed there were two intruders, both standing on the same side of the bed. This was both good and bad, since that side also happened to lead to the most direct route out of the room.
On the count of three. One, two…
Two and a half…
Two and three quarters…
Two and five eights…
Something brushed the side of her face.
Three!
She snapped open her eyes, log-rolled to the far side of the bed, and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Her head smacked into the corner of her nightstand.
“Ouch! Dammit!” Twinkling stars obscuring her vision, she staggered to her feet and groped her way down the side of her bed.
The sound of someone racing toward her, coupled with the slowly clearing image of two enormous males headed her way, inspired her to speed up her progress toward the door. Full speed ahead, she made a desperate dash for freedom.
A blow from behind sent her tumbling to the floor but she didn’t let that stop her. Escape. Door. Ohmygod!
Panic mounting, she scrabbled on hands and knees, her gaze fixed on her target. Unfortunately, she was stopped dead in her tracks when some two hundred plus pounds of lean, hard male landed on top of her, literally flattening her to the floor. Her nose jammed painfully into the carpet, the musty odor giving rise to an irrational vow to have the carpet steam cleaned if she got out of this situation alive. She wheezed, struggling to refill her oxygen-starved lungs with air, and squirmed, the adrenaline now blasting through her body in massive tidal waves, giving her a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.
She fought like a pissed-off wolverine, yet it wasn’t enough. The man on top of her easily overpowered her. Before she could beg for mercy, she was dragged to her feet and forced to face her captor for the first time.
Ohhhh…
A strange and completely inappropriate ripple of desire turned her thoughts from the business of escape to the pleasures she might gain by abandoning a few inhibitions.
A stunning man. In her bedroom. The possibilities were endless but oh so much fun to imagine.
Uh… what the heck was wrong with her? She’d just imagined herself getting naked with this stranger! Oh my God.
Both puzzled and intrigued, she rubbed the tender spot on her head while twisting around to see where the other guy was hiding.
Gone? There had been two, hadn’t there? She had seen two men. Did she have a closed head injury? Bleeding on the brain? Double vision?
She grappled for a reasonable explanation for her confused state, her runaway imagination, and the bizarre urges sweeping through her body. Unsteady, warm, and not nearly as scared as she figured she should be, she turned to face the man who she assumed had knocked her down.
Wow. And wow again.
Tall. Dark. And dangerous. Yes, that he was. With sharp eyes, angular cheekbones, deep brown wavy hair and lips that inspired erotic fantasies wicked enough to make her blush. He made last month’s Playgirl centerfold look like regurgitated dog meat.
Frightened and befuddled, she staggered backward. Her knees buckled, and someone caught her from behind, pinning her arms against her back and supporting her with a pair of seriously strong hands.
Okay, there had been two intruders. She hadn’t been seeing things. So where’d Number Two been hiding?
The man looming before her sure was big, possessed a presence that left her mouth dry. She tried to speak but all that came out was a little yelp. Number Two tugged her backward until her arms were smooshed between her body and his. More heat whooshed through her, making her simultaneously sweat and shiver.
She supposed if a girl had to be attacked in her bedroom, in the middle of the night, by strange men, it could be worse. She hadn’t been hurt. Her assailant was easy on the eyes. And so far no one was whipping out knives or guns.
“There is nothing to fear. We will not hurt you,” Attacker Number One said in a deep, bedroom voice.
Yet another pulse of desire pounded through her system. She twisted her wrists in a half-assed attempt at breaking free. Her wrist brushed against a very noticeable bulge. The fact that Number Two had a hard-on should’ve frozen her blood to ice. But quite the contrary, it was spiking her body temperature to near lethal levels.
Ironic, but she’d seen this scenario in a book once, and she’d immediately dismissed the heroine as too-stupid-to-live because she hadn’t busted out the Kung-fu moves and kicked some kidnapper ass. But now she was here, and they were there. And Attacker Number One was looking at her like he was about to eat her alive -- in a very good way -- she could see where that heroine was coming from. It wasn’t every day a girl had a man who looked like a god giving her a second look, let alone an I-have-very-naughty-plans-for-you look.
This scene sure didn’t inspire her to inflict damage to his dangly parts. Quite the contrary, a few bits of her anatomy decided it was party time. Krumping and breakdancing ensued. Her blood rushed to her groin. And her tongue swelled to fill her entire mouth… or so it seemed.
In all reality, she just stood there, tongue-tied and pathetically drooling at the good looking guy who’d decided to pay her an impromptu nocturnal visit.
Was he going to say something? Anything? Why was he here? What did he want with her?
A thought struck her. Mr. Studly could’ve broken into the wrong apartment. There was the blonde chick she loved to hate, the one with the world’s most perfect tits. Blonde Chick lived in the next apartment. Surely that was the kind of girl a guy who looked this scrumptious would want to visit at two in the morning.
Life was so unfair!
With cold reality slapping her in the face, the ability to communicate finally returned to her, and she managed to mutter, “I’m guessing you’re looking for apartment Three-A?”
Studly’s eyes never left hers. “No.” His tongue swept across his lower lip, and she wondered what it might feel like to have that mouth slanted over top of hers. Naturally, she didn’t expect something so shocking, so impossible, to ever happen. She wouldn’t even dream it.
That was, until Mr. Studly gave her the shock of her life by sauntering up to her, capturing her upper arms in his fists, and dragging her forward until there wasn’t but a whisper between her soft curves and his hard bulk.
She gave a little “eep” of surprise before going brain dead.
Uhhhhh…
He was tipping his head to one side?
His gaze was focusing on her mouth!
He was going to… kiss her?
Ohmygod, ohmygod… Oh. My. God!
Had she died and gone to heaven? Was the man with the soft, yummy lips an angel?
If so, she’d clearly been a very, very good girl. Must’ve been those countless Sundays spent in Catechism as a kid. Who would’ve thought singing some songs and reading a few bible stories would earn her a heavenly reward like this?
His grip on her upper arms tightened to the point of distraction. Yet she couldn’t even think of complaining. His mouth was so gentle, so absolutely delish, she could have cared less what the rest of him was doing.
His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, and being an accommodating type of girl, she welcomed it inside, where it stroked and teased and tormented hers. She was beside herself with wanton lust in a single heartbeat. It had, after all, been a long, long time since she’d been kissed. And never kissed so well.
As Mr. Amazing Lips broke the kiss, her knees threatened to buckle again. In fact, they did. The world around her started spinning round and round, and she closed her eyes to shut out the dizzying sight. Before she could question why all this was happening, she found herself the meat in a studly-man sandwich, the two pieces of bread supporting her wobbly body while she weathered the dizzy spell.
And then it was over. And the sensation of big, burly bodies pressing possessively against her much smaller and softer one was gone.
Awwww, man. It had been only a dream. A very vivid one, but a dream nevertheless.
Perhaps her boss was right, she had been reading too many romance novels?
Nahhhh. That was just silly.
A chill swept up her chest and goose bumps prickled the skin of her arms and shoulders. Had she been sleepwalking? Again? She blinked open her eyes, expecting to find herself lying on her living room couch, or even out in the hallway.
Uh. Oh. Where was she?
Stone walls? Stone floor? A tiny glassless window…
Oh God, she was naked!
Confused and panicking, she hugged herself, a pathetic -- and most definitely failing -- attempt at hiding her most embarrassingly naked parts, and sprinted for the heavy wooden door on the other side of the tiny room. Only one thought registered in her head -- must go home!
The door groaned open, the rusty hinges creaking. She staggered out into the corridor, dark, narrow, and terrifying.
Which way? Right? Left? Both ends of the hallway seemed to be swallowed up in heavy, black shadows. She couldn’t see where it ended. Where it began. She couldn’t see much of anything.
Again, where was she? And why was she naked? The damp walls of hewn stone and musty odor of stale air reminded her of a tunnel. Or a cave. Or even the bowels of a castle.
How the heck had she gotten here? This made no sense.
Suddenly feeling woozy, she staggered back into the room. It reminded her of an ancient dungeon or prison cell, dreary and sparsely furnished. She dropped onto the rickety wooden cot sitting along one wall. Fear made her cold and hot at the same time. Her face heated while shivers quaked up her spine.
Stop panicking! Think.
She forced herself to take a couple of slow, deep breaths. Okay. Someone had brought her here. That same someone would come and explain what was going on… sooner or later. Right? Should she sit here and wait? Or go out and search for answers?
She was naked. Did she really want anyone seeing her like this? She glanced down at her pasty thighs, the lumpy skin spreading out from her hips. Her flabby stomach. Oh God, no. It was too shameful to let anyone see her nude, even her doctor.
She’d go with Plan A, sit and wait. There had to be a reasonable explanation for all this. Or maybe someone had made a mistake. There were no dungeons in Michigan. No castles. No caves or tunnels. And it wasn’t like she’d been hurt, outside of a bruised ego at being stripped of her clothes. No use panicking prematurely when there was no immediate danger to be seen.
Arms wrapped around herself to try to ward off the chill, she settled in for what she hoped wouldn’t be a long wait. But then the distant echo of a woman’s scream made her instantly doubt the wisdom of Plan A.
She set Plan B into motion at the second hair-splitting shriek.
Chapter 2
Plan B, run like hell, was working for Maggie pretty well for the first thirty seconds or so. Until she saw Mr. Perfect Kisser striding toward her, a determined scowl giving his handsome face a cruel edge. Pretty sure he was not there to throw her a welcome party, she did a one-eighty and headed in the opposite direction.
She had yet to figure out where she was going, but at the moment, she didn’t care. All she knew was that someone, some woman who had probably also woken up to find herself in this dark and frightening place, had just belted out a screech of terror. Or pain. Or both.
There was no way she was going to sit around and wait for the same thing -- whatever might have inspired that scream -- to happen to her too.
Something was very wrong here. Wrong with this place. Wrong with the man behind her… who wasn’t really chasing her, more following at a casual stroll.
Sure he was beyond sexy, but he had to be bent. Missing a few screws. A few cards shy of a full deck. And a half dozen or so other clichés. He’d kidnapped her! Why? How?
What had happened in her room?
The kiss. That had to be it. He’d slipped her a drug when he’d kissed her. Maybe he’d pushed a capsule into her mouth. Or spit some kind of liquid. Or injected something. That’s why she’d gotten so dizzy. She’d probably passed out.
Who knew how long she’d been unconscious?
Gosh, he could’ve smuggled her out of the state, or even the country. Maybe he’d sold her to some Arab guy in the desert, to become part of a harem… or maybe he was a vampire and he’d taken her to his castle in Romania? Or she could’ve been stolen by aliens and taken as a sex slave on another planet?
If she was really open-minded, all of those possibilities were believable. Heck, she’d read at least a dozen novels about those very scenarios the last few months, including Bastien and Xander’s story. They’d kidnapped their bride and taken her to their world in an alternate dimension.
Of course, she knew those were just stories. Fiction. That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life… right? Right!
As she rounded a corner at the end of the hallway, she realized why her kidnapper had not bothered to run.
Dead end.
Trapped.
Did she bother even trying to fight off the man slowly prowling closer, dark eyes glittering, muscles bunching and rippling? She was no match for him. His body was obscenely powerful. She wasn’t particularly clever either, not devious enough to trick him into releasing her. Not to mention, she had no idea where she was.
No car. No money. How would she get home?
Placating the man and biding time was probably the wisest move. Although the memory of that terror-filled scream made her doubt her decision from the moment it was made. Really, what other choice did she have, though?
How she wished she’d taken a self-defense class!
Shaking, both from the cold sweat pouring from her skin, and from terror, she watched him warily, trying to read his face, his eyes, his posture. Strange, none of them seemed to be saying the same thing.
Talk about sending mixed signals.
His expression was stern, like he was ticked off. His posture tight, like he was prepared for battle. But his eyes… she couldn’t precisely interpret what she saw in them, but she felt calmer, reassured, as she looked into them.
“There is no escape. Come.” He motioned back in the direction from which she’d run, then, obviously under the assumption she’d follow him, he started back down the corridor.
Hey!
Come? What was up with that? What did he think she was? A dog? Fetch. Sit. Lie down. If that was what he was thinking, he’d have a surprise coming.
She stood in place, arms crossed, hip thrust out, and watched him retreat. A girl who pretty much saw the good in every situation and was rarely ever riled, Maggie didn’t get upset or insulted easily. But the way he’d talked to her just then. So cold and distant. And the attitude he’d shown, how he’d assumed she’d just merrily skip back down the hallway because he’d barked a command at her like she was an animal…
She didn’t take that kind of treatment anymore, oh no, she did not.
Someone had better start talking. Quickly. Or… or something dramatic and very bad was going to happen.
Who was she kidding?
The kidnapping, cold-talking jerk hadn’t bothered to check and see if she was following. He’d simply walked away. To somewhere down there. In the dark.
Why didn’t he turn on the fricking lights?
Cursing the cheapskate who might not think twice about flying to another country to kidnap an innocent woman but was too cheap to turn on a few lights, Maggie grumbled her way down the hall until she reached the open door and her room-slash-prison-cell.
He stood inside, looking expectedly at the doorway, as she strolled in. Wary, she checked his eyes. Did she still see a touch of humanity there? Or were they empty and cold?
No, that was definitely humanity. Warmth. Kindness? Patience?
She heaved a sigh of relief and shuffled past him. “Look, I have no idea what’s going on or what I’m doing here, or even where here is, but I think you owe me --”
“We owe you nothing,” he stated flatly.
“Uh…” His rude, abrupt response -- so like Jack -- threw her off kilter for a moment. She wasn’t used to people talking to her like she wasn’t worthy of their time anymore. For the most part, thanks to her friendly, easy-going nature, even strangers treated her pretty well. What was with this guy? Please tell me I haven’t been kidnapped by another Jack. “Give me my clothes.”
More silence.
She narrowed her eyes, simultaneously sending him a threatening vibe and taking a good, long look at him. His garments fit him perfectly -- something a guy built like that wouldn’t get from clothes bought off the rack. The slacks, shirt and sweater were obviously expensive. Custom tailored? His hands -- strong but also manicured -- were most definitely lacking any calluses, which meant the muscles she had so admired earlier had to come from pumping iron, versus hard, physical work.
Her conclusion -- he was rich and used to wielding power. He had an air of authority about him she couldn’t help but respect. Even though his rude and unjust treatment was making her angrier by the second.
“You will get clothes if I determine you need them,” he stated.
“What? What!” Now, she was getting seriously pissed. “First, that’s just… wrong! Even ax murderers in prison get clothes. Second, I’m freezing. And third, it’s humiliating standing here buck naked with you looking at me like… that…” Her words got stuck behind an enormous boulder that had somehow rammed itself in her throat. Eyes burning, she swallowed several times.
No, she was not going to cry! No, no, no! She hated how easily she cried. Crying was weak.
But all this brought back terrible memories.
His expression softened slightly. Gaze diverted, he huffed a heavy sigh, raked the fingers of both hands through his hair and mumbled something under his breath.
A handful of blinks dispersed the tears gathering in her eyes. She hugged herself harder, and dug deep inside, drawing upon the well of strength she’d built up over the past few months.
“You will become accustomed to our ways with time.”
What exactly did he mean by that? An assumption sort of came with that statement, the conclusion that she’d be around long enough to become “accustomed to their ways.” That simply wasn’t possible. She’d lose everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish. No. Making this place her permanent home was definitely not an option. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“You have no choice.” There was no apology in his voice. No regret. And no invitation to argue. He motioned to the hallway. “As I said before, there is no escape, no route back to your world.”
Her world? This was getting weirder by the minute. “If this isn’t my ‘world’, what is it? Where am I?”
“You are in Alyria, the Realm of the Twelfth Knight Brotherhood.”
A blaze of heat shot up her spine. Goose flesh spread across her back and shoulders. She knew that place. But it wasn’t possible for her to travel to Alyria. Alyria wasn’t a real city. It came from her favorite book, Bastien and Xander’s story.
While she struggled to make sense of a situation that made absolutely no sense, he reached into his pocket. Stepping closer, he turned his fist over and unfurled his fingers. On his flattened hand lay a stunning choker. About an inch thick, it was fashioned from diagonally criss-crossed wires, white gold, she guessed. And at the center of each cross, was a single diamond. From the bottom center hung a pendant with an enormous red tiger eye.
She knew that collar. It too was from the book, Captured by the Knight. Although, it was far more beautiful in real life than it had been in her imagination.
Still struggling to grasp what all of these similarities meant, she stood as still as possible while her captor, who had yet to tell her his name, bent closer, reaching around her neck to fasten the choker. His fingers brushed her nape as he secured it, eliciting a tremor -- despite her confusion. His breath tickled her ear, giving rise to a second shudder. He pressed a kiss to the crook of her shoulder and she gasped.
“You belong to us.” He stared into her eyes as he murmured the words, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.
“Who are you?” She studied his face, noticing every detail. The mole next to his right eye. The cleft in his chin. The line of his jaw.
She knew the answer before he spoke it, even though the man she’d pictured in her head and the one gracing the book’s cover had looked nothing like the one standing before her now.
Bastien? Was it possible? Had she somehow been pulled into her favorite book?
That absolutely insane possibility did explain one thing -- why she’d reacted the way she had to him, despite the way he’d treated her. The Twelfth Knights’ bodies produced a chemical -- something like a pheromone -- that ignited their mate’s libido and eased her fear. A bride of the Twelfth Knights could no more resist the pheromone’s effect than she could stop adrenaline from raising her heart rate and dilating her pupils.
So she wasn’t too-stupid-to-live. Ha!
But how exactly could a real person be pulled into a book? Magic? Magic didn’t exist. And even if it was possible, why?
Most importantly, if the impossible had happened, was there any way to go home? Any way to reverse the spell that had brought her here?
She wasn’t ready to live her fantasy. In her head, it was cool. But… but she’d been quite content with her real life. She liked her job, her boss, her apartment. Sure, her love life could have used a little boost, but whose couldn’t? And no, her life had never been full of action and intrigue, the kind of life she’d once pictured herself having. Didn’t matter. She was happy because she was free.
Fantasy, or more specifically the escape she sought through her books, was just a diversion from the day-to-day. She didn’t need more than that.
“I am your Master,” he said, interrupting the storm of thoughts raging in her head. “I am Bastien Lennox.”
He then went about proving beyond any reasonable doubt that Bastien Lennox, the hero from her favorite romance novel, was as real as any man she’d ever met. And that, despite all scientific arguments against -- including that conservation of matter law she’d learned in high school chemistry class -- it was entirely possible for a two hundred and fifty-ish pound man to physically change into a six hundred fifty-ish pound beast.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Arion Calder asked Xander Kendrick, his superior, as he strode into the room. “You have a newly acquired bride, you lucky bastard, and yet you’re here with us?”
“I heard the rumors. Is it true?” Ignoring Arion’s jibe, Xander dropped into a chair and switched on one of the monitors, anxious to read the report. His job as the head of security for Alyria, and most importantly, protector of its secrets, was one he took seriously. He had no choice. Should their existence be revealed to the humans, the life they had known for centuries would cease.
“It’s no more serious than normal.” Arion shrugged nonchalantly as he switched channels on his monitor, switching from a view of a human city roadway to that of an Alyrian building. “Something was published in one of their newspapers. But the paper in question isn’t known for publishing verifiable fact.”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s the third article in six months. Never before have we seen that kind of exposure in the human world.” His mind on the threat to their safety, his fingers typed his security password, giving him access to even their most highly protected files. “Who is the author? Were all three articles written by the same person, was it Cheryl something? Has anyone discovered her source?”
“We have been following the situation closely, but have yet to discover where she’s getting her information.”
“How many details has she revealed?” He punched up the last article on file and started skimming.
This was bad. Very bad.
She cited the names of several Twelfth Knights and had a rough description of the portal, as well as a list of the last three brides to have been claimed by the Brotherhood.
How had she learned so much?
Their computer systems, while far more advanced than the humans’, could not access all systems and data on the humans’ Internet. The humans’ antiquated programming created incompatibility issues Xander had not bothered to address before because, until now, he’d been able to do his job with the information he could access.
Someone had found a way, however, to take advantage of this vulnerability. He guessed it was someone on this side of the portal. It could very well be someone in his department.
His gaze swept the room. On this shift, there was Arion, a friend since they’d been cubs, and two others, Cy Parnell and Galen Radcliff. Due to the highly sensitive nature of their work, the security staff was intentionally kept small, making it less likely for information to fall into the wrong hands. He’d personally conducted the interviews and background checks on all three men who worked this shift. He hadn’t found a single blemish on any of their records. Not even going back several generations.
Second shift, however, had been hired by his predecessor. He had no concrete reason to suspect the leak was one of them, but since he was confident in his ability to trust the men he’d hired, it made the most sense.
What didn’t make sense was the motivation. Who would want to risk the end of the Brotherhood and why? The human world was nothing compared to theirs. It wasn’t like whoever was responsible would wish to endure that kind of barbaric existence. The diseases that ran rampant among the humans were enough to make the average Twelfth Knight shudder with horror. On top of the many diseases, it was filthy, polluted beyond hope. The earth. The water. The air.
By bringing their brides to Alyria, they were showing great mercy. In the human world, at best a woman might hope to live to see one hundred winter solstices. In Alyria, they lived ten times as long. And aged ten times slower.
There had yet to be a bride who didn’t eventually come to appreciate the kindness their clean and disease-free world showed to them, and the length of time their beauty remained.
There was a price to pay to protect their world. But pay it, they would. Gladly. The results made it worthwhile.
His mind still puzzling over the motivation anyone would have for putting the future of the Brotherhood, and thus Alyria, in peril, Xander set to work at the tedious task of writing the code that would sometime soon -- or so he hoped -- enable him free access to the human Internet. He feared there wasn’t enough time to complete the task before the humans would discover the truth about the Twelfth Knights, cease publishing their stories, thereby cutting them off from their world forever. Or, alternately, rush into their world when the portal opened next, bringing with them disease, pollution and crime.
In the meantime, he had to trust that Bastien would oversee the initial training of their new bride. Such a pleasant task, as he understood it. A shame he couldn’t be there too.
Chapter 3
Holy shit! That’s a real fucking tiger. A huge tiger. With enormous -- and very sharp -- teeth. Long claws… and Bastien’s wicked-cool eyes?
A scream wedged in her throat, Maggie staggered backward.
Reading about men who turned into animals, or even watching Van Helsing and Harry Potter movies a bazillion times, hadn’t prepared her for the shock of witnessing an actual, real, in-the-flesh man morph into a beast.
Oh. My. God.
She blinked. Then blinked again. Was she hallucinating? Or could it be some kind of trick?
The tiger’s lip pulled into a feline snarl. A low warning rumble froze her in place.
No, that couldn’t possibly be an illusion.
Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Terror’s icy fingers crept up her spine, making her quake. The fierce predator prowled closer, closer, his nose in the air. She heard him inhaling, sniffing the air like a beast that had caught a whiff of some succulent treat.
His eyes focused on her.
Eek. She was the treat!
If only she had a raw steak right now. Or a garbage bag full of catnip. She’d give a few nonessential body parts to have either right now. She cursed the fact that she’d never owned a pet. What was the rule with cats? Look them in the eye? Or avoid it?
Think, girl, think!
Those teeth were mighty sharp. A bite would hurt something fierce. She was a wimp when it came to pain, the reason why she’d never gotten her ears pierced. Those fangs made needles look like tiny splinters.
Her knees rubbery, her feet heavy, she slowly backed up a few more steps. Of course, being a hunter by nature, the animal wasted no time closing the distance between them again. He stood so close, his breath feathered over her abdomen. She looked longingly across the room.
The door was clear over there. If she made a run for it, she’d never make it before Bastien the tiger gobbled her up. He’d probably have her gone in a couple bites.
Why didn’t he change back to a man? Was he waiting for her to do something? Say something? What had happened in the book? She was too terrified to remember.
Bastien stretched a front paw forward, softly brushing it against her thigh. Out of sheer instinct, she jerked backward, slamming her spine into the wall.
Blasé about her reaction, the powerful feline withdrew his paw, flopped onto the floor at her feet and proceeded to give himself a tongue bath. A low purr rumbled through the room’s heavy air as he worked. His soft fur brushed against her knee when he curled his body to give his hind end some attention. The tip of his long tail curled and uncurled.
Unable to do anything but stand pinned to the wall and shake, she watched and waited.
Oh so slowly, over the course of minutes or hours -- she had no concept of time -- her terror faded. Evidently, slightly curvy homo sapiens were not on Bastien the tiger’s menu. Instead of ripping her apart with those long claws and teeth, he sat at her feet, the model of feline grace and beauty, and tended to more mundane things, like grooming his magnificent coat and cleaning his ears.
She even managed to find the guts to reach down and touch the tip of an ear. Soft.
He stopped licking his leg and lifted his gaze to hers. And in a blink, he was a man again. A naked man, who looked hungrier than the beast, his eyes devouring her from chest to thigh and back up again.
Resuming her ramrod posture, she pressed her back into the wall and whispered, “Bastien?”
* * *
Bastien had heard the other knights talk, had known to expect his bride to be frightened and resistant. Some brides were more fearful and subdued by nature, others more independent and headstrong, fighting their Masters like wild beasts. His bride seemed to possess a little of both -- the submission he expected and the fire he desired.
But what he hadn’t expected or been prepared to deal with was the overwhelming hunger he felt for her. Her scent, sweet and musky, ignited a burning ache inside his chest the instant he had changed into his tiger form. The pain increased a hundredfold when he’d shifted back. Take her now. That’s what his every muscle and nerve insisted.
He would not, could not.
How cruel was the law, to put him in this position. In the room with the woman who made his blood boil -- the only one who had fired his passions so intensely -- and yet deny him the relief his body demanded.
Standing now, looking down at her beautiful, heart-shaped face, he cursed the law and Xander, who had insisted he make the initial steps toward the claiming without him.
“Y-you’re real?” She staggered toward the cot, staring up at his face. Her teeth were chattering, yet a strength shone in her eyes. “Wow.”
He had to admit, his regard for his new bride was growing quickly. She not only had accepted the truth about her Master and his kind -- something that took some brides several days to accomplish -- but seemed to be somewhat fascinated by it. While he had caught the tangy scent of her fear when he’d taken his feline form, she hadn’t screamed in terror and run from him.
Perhaps he wouldn’t be forced to endure the pain of his hunger for too long.
He nodded, unable to keep from smiling. “Most definitely real.”
“I can hardly believe it.” Full lips parted slightly, she shook her head. “All of it, Alyria, you… the tiger. This is the book I read? Over and over? Will the whole story come true, exactly as I read it?”
“I can’t say, since I do not know yet how the story progresses. It’s complicated, how the magic works.”
“Oh.” Her arms still semi-shielding certain parts of her anatomy from his feasting eyes, she puzzled over what he’d said. She started pacing, her gaze on the floor. “How confusing. Hmmm… from what I remember, the heroine was kidnapped and woke up in a dark place…” She lifted her eyes in a sweeping glance that curved around the room in a wide arc. “Yes. I don’t know why I hadn’t recognized it right away.” Her soft blue-grey gaze found his face again. “And you. I should’ve recognized you immediately too.” A warm pink tinted her cheeks. Her gaze dropped like a lead weight and an adorable crease crinkled between her eyebrows.
At the vulnerability he read in her body language, the heat in his blood inched up a few hundred degrees, from simmer to boiling. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He forced his hands behind his back and clasped them together.
Sweet like honey and more intoxicating than the finest wine. That’s how she would taste. And her cries of pleasure would be more melodic and moving than the most stirring music he had ever heard. Her hair, skin, would be more pleasing, softer and more luxurious than the rarest silks.
A rare treasure, she was. They had indeed been blessed by the goddess in a bride.
“So, uh,” she stammered, still staring at the floor, “will there be a claiming?”
“Most definitely,” he answered, not able to disguise the raw, unbridled hunger in his voice.
She shuddered. “And there are…” an audible gulp cut her sentence in half, “… two Masters? Xander is my second?”
“Yes.”
Her lips drew into a tight line, and she slowly raised her chin. “Well, then where is he? He should have been here with you now, for my…” another gulp, “… erm… training.”
“He had another, more pressing matter to attend to.”
“Then he’s really the head of the security agency or whatever it’s called?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re probably a little uncomfortable right now? ’Cause in the book, the bride creates some kind of chemical reaction in her Masters… just like they do in her…” Her gaze slowly dropped to his groin. Her eyes widened and her lips rounded into an O of surprise.
“I am most definitely uncomfortable. Which is why we will now begin your training.” He closed the distance between them in two lengthy strides, caught her wrists in his fists and swept her arms up until her hands were clasped together over her head.
At the contact of his hands to her skin, the fever wracking his body cranked up another notch. The weight in his testicles increased to nearly blinding intensity. Yet he could not back away from her and break the connection. Instead, surrendering to the call of the beast within him, he forced her back until she was flattened between the wall and his body.
He swallowed a roar of frustration, battled the instinct to take his mate, and squeezed his eyes shut. Her scent. He couldn’t get enough.
Closer.
He kicked her feet apart and wedged his legs between hers, making sure there was no break in the contact between his burning body and her soft and feminine perfection, not from the floor to the tops of their heads.
A soft whimper slipped between her lips, the sound nearly driving him mad. How could he wait when his body was betraying him?
He ground his pelvis against her, creating a delicious friction between her softly curving abdomen and his rigid cock. It would be so much better for them both if he was clothed. Easier to resist the temptation of those honey-scented lips. He stilled, afraid to move, knowing he would never be able to resist the compulsion blasting through his body in relentless waves if he didn’t.
As soon as he had gathered up some self-control, he tipped his head to nuzzle her neck. The lingering aroma of lilac wafted to his nose, released when he combed his fingers through her hair. He tasted her skin, salty-sweet. Delicious.
More.
He nibbled his way up to her ear, encouraged by her little gasps and moans.
“How many times did you read our story?” he asked, his teeth grazing her earlobe. “Did you read it only once? Or many times?”
She tested his grip on her wrists, slightly twisting them. “M-more than I can count right now.”
“That pleases me.” He tightened his hold and stopped devouring her neck long enough to level a warning glare. “However, I warn you, you must not move -- not even turn your head -- without permission. This is for both our safety.”
“Yes, M-Master.” Her instant acquiescence earned her a single stroke between her legs. She accepted her reward with a groan and shudder.
“Yes, your submission will be rewarded.” He mapped the line of her collarbone with an index finger. “We will soon see what else you learned in your reading.”
“I didn’t expect… ahhhh…”
Her breasts were absolutely perfect. Full. Heavy. Natural. Tipped with a pair of the most luscious nipples he’d ever seen. Small nipples, the perfect shade of soft pink.
He had to taste them. It wasn’t a question of wanting. It was a question of perishing if he didn’t.
He flicked his tongue over one pink tip then blew a soft gust to harden it to a tight point. His heart hammered against his breastbone. The air blasted from his lungs in a whoosh.
Eyes closed, she rocked her hips back then forward, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest. He instantly withdrew from her, grappling with the nearly overpowering lust pounding, hot and steady, to his groin.
Control. This first time with a bride was both an exercise in discovery and a test of control. Both for Master and mate.
His self-control was definitely failing.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Once he’d recovered his ability to speak, he lifted his eyelids.
She was still standing in place, but she’d lowered her hands and was staring at him quizzically. Her chest rose and fell quickly, making those glorious orbs bounce slightly with each inhalation. He stared, unable to stop himself. His throat went dry.
Finally, he shook away the lust. He would get through this first session without fucking her. If it meant he’d have to leave before they were finished, to seek out relief in another way, so be it. Now that he thought about it, he had been cautioned by another knight to take care of that issue before he went to his new bride.
Wise words he had not heeded. More the fool, he.
“Why? Why’d you stop?” she whispered. Once again, her arms were wrapped protectively around her body, shielding her breasts from his view.
“I told you, you must not move. And yet you refuse to listen.” He motioned at her with a nod. “Your arms. Where do they belong?”
“Well, you --” Her lips thinned as she snapped them shut. A spark of anger flared in her eyes. She lifted her chin.
He narrowed his gaze and turned his back to her, an appropriate punishment for her willfulness. If he had to leave her here for the night, so be it. He wasn’t a patient man, but he sensed she was very close to accepting her position as his mate and submissive.
No woman who was experiencing her first relationship as a submissive was going to slip into the role without facing an occasional challenge, nor without testing her new Master’s position from time-to-time.
Her world had taught her to be strong and independent. It had been a matter of her survival. To unlearn something so ingrained -- a frame of mind she didn’t even think about it, that shaped her every reaction -- would take time.
Who would’ve thought the training of his bride would be so damn painful? For them both?
* * *
Alone. Again.
But now Maggie was horny, on top of confused and frustrated and scared.
Sure, Bastien had cleared up a few things. She now knew where she was and who he was. And she had a rough idea of what she could expect from him -- some very wicked pleasure delivered by a gentle yet powerful man. Yet, there was still a horde of questions left to be answered.
Like why she’d been sucked into a book.
And how would she go home?
And what would the reality of Xander be like? Would he be as gorgeous, dominant and heroic as she’d imagined?
She fingered the choker, mapping the location of each sparkling gem.
Yesterday, she’d been a self-sufficient girl with a job and an apartment and a life that was predictable and ordinary but also very nice. And now… predictable and ordinary would hardly describe this new life.
A flare of heat blazed up her chest, followed by a pang of homesickness.
That so-called training session had made her so aroused, she could hardly keep herself upright. The vulnerability of her position coupled with the knowledge of his expectations had made it all the more erotic, thrilling. That same powerlessness also made his withdrawal that much more painful.
She couldn’t help moving her arms, or questioning his reasons for stopping. It wasn’t like she’d done this kind of thing before. Didn’t help that she’d never been so swept away by passion, so consumed by the need for a man’s touch.
She wanted him so bad, her teeth ached.
Why had he stopped? She still didn’t understand his reason. Although she did know why he’d left the room.
She was being punished for giving him the mean-eyes. Imagine that.
She hadn’t been so much as reprimanded since Jack had died. Until today. But who could blame her for getting ticked off? Darn it, she’d been frustrated. It was easy to fall into old habits. Especially since this whole submission-slash-domination thing was so new to her. What did he expect from someone with a past like hers? Perfection from the very beginning?
That was plain stupid.
Would he stay away long?
It annoyed her, how smartly it stung when he’d left. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Like it or not, there was a powerful connection between them, one that defied logic in its intensity. They’d met a few hours ago, exchanged even fewer words, and swapped a little spit, and she was practically in a clinical depression.
She padded barefooted to the door and pulled it open, peering down the dark hallway. She heard no screams now. In fact, she heard no sounds whatsoever. But she did note that there were other doors dotting both sides of the hall.
Were there other women in those rooms, like in the book?
Oh wait, maybe there hadn’t been other women? Strange. She couldn’t remember anymore. The details of the book seemed to be fading from her memory, like a dream. Would she eventually forget everything? Should she write it all down, just in case?
She glanced around the sparse room. Of course, there was no paper and pencil handy. Oh well. She’d just have to take her chances and trust her memory.
Now what?
Should she pay a visit to her neighbors, if there were any to be found? After all, Bastien had not demanded she stay in her prison cell. He hadn’t locked the door. Left to her own devices, he had to expect she’d get out and wander a bit.
As the old saying went, misery loves company.
She had to assume that any woman in her position would also be naked and confused and scared, just like she was. As long as the other ladies weren’t six feet tall with a body fat content in the low teens, she supposed she could handle being naked. Sure beat sitting in this crap-hole, feeling alone and rejected and miserable.
She headed right, thinking the scream she’d heard earlier might have come from that direction. As she made her way down to the first door, a whisper from behind caught her attention.
“This way.”
It was a male’s voice. Didn’t sound like Bastien, but it might be Xander. If it was, why was he hiding? Not sure what to expect, she wheeled around to face whoever was lurking in the shadows behind her.
Chapter 4
His prey was on the move again, so close Xander could taste the sharp tang of its terror in the air. A scuffle in the dirt drew his attention.
There. Behind the tree.
In feline form, he pricked his ears and crouched lower, relying on the tall grasses for camouflage.
Ahh, the thrill of the chase. It was his only relief from the frustration of his work. For a short time he could lose himself in the feral side of his nature, the predator.
The patter of paws on the ground signaled his quarry approached. His muscles coiled, preparing for the strike.
Soon, he would kill. Soon, he would eat, satisfying his need for sustenance. And then he would find his bride and partake in an entirely different kind of chase.
It hadn’t been fair to any of them, his suggestion that Bastien complete the training without him. He had denied himself, Bastien, and their bride long enough.
* * *
At first, Maggie was petrified of the masked man. If the guy wasn’t positively evil, or trying to hide his identity for some other nefarious reason, why cover his face?
But when he uttered the words, “I want to help you go home,” she was reluctantly prepared to put aside her knee-jerk reaction.
“My identity cannot be revealed. This is the reason for the mask,” he explained as soon as they were safely inside one of the rooms neighboring her own. He motioned toward the cot, indicating she should sit.
Too nervous to even think about sitting still, she chose to remain standing.
“The portal between our world and yours is protected by a magical barrier that only a bride and her Masters can disable,” her masked companion stated. “And then only if she has summoned her Masters of her own free will.”
“Which means I ‘summoned’ Xander and Bastien somehow? I wanted them to come to me?” She instantly recalled the paper cut and saying something about them finding her. Of course, when she’d mumbled those words, she’d assumed she was talking to fictional characters, not real people. Not in a bazillion years had she expected they’d come to life and haul her away to some alternate world on the other side of a magical portal. “I remember now.”
“Excellent. This is a good sign. The longer you remain in Alyria, the quicker the memory of your world and everything in it will fade. Do you still recall the details of your Masters’ story? The book you read?”
She searched her mind, reaching for the descriptions and plot twists she’d enjoyed over and over, the fictional characters she’d met and fallen in love with. Some of the details had indeed grown hazy. “I remember some things, only a few. I’m forgetting a lot. Quickly.”
He nodded. “You have very little time left. Once all your memories are gone, there is no hope of escape. We’ll have to work quickly.” His dark eyed gaze pierced hers. “You do want to escape, don’t you?”
She was tempted to blurt a quick answer but resisted. Yes, she missed her life. With the memory of the Xander and Bastien’s story fading fast, she was now facing a lot of unknowns. What would happen to her if she stayed with them? What kind of danger would she be forced to face?
Yet, another part of her wanted to take a chance, to explore a side of herself she hadn’t fully accepted yet. A side that not only enjoyed the dark danger her Masters promised her, but craved it.
If she went home, would she remember her visit to Xander and Bastien’s world? Would she regret going back? Would the predictable life she’d been so content to live before suddenly seem empty and dull?
“I’m not sure. I mean… yes, I miss my home and my job. My boss, and friends in the book club. Can I think about it for a while?”
“You don’t have much time. You will lose your memories fairly quickly. And what remains will vanish completely once your Masters complete the claiming.”
“Which means?”
“You have no more than twenty hours to decide.”
Such a short time to make such an important decision. “How will I find you?”