House of Moons 3: The Slave Read online

  Hot and wet, his mouth lingered. Her toes curled and she dropped her head forward to give him better access. God, she needed him to touch her, to make her feel again.

  “Mara?”

  “Yes.” She twisted in his arms and sought his mouth. He met her halfway, his kiss wet, hot, demanding. His hands left her nipples and she moaned a protest.

  “Hush.” His hands slid up and down her arms, placing hers in the center of the captain’s armrests. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then hold still for me.”

  She didn’t move, frozen with anticipation. His left arm snaked around her waist as he nibbled his way along her jaw. To her right, she was vaguely aware of his hand searching for something…

  Magnetic locks rose from the chair and locked her wrists in place. She gasped in shock and Tobiath chuckled softly in her ear. “They’re a precaution against mutiny. No one can fly this ship but me. And no one else knows the release code.” Once again free to roam her body, his hands returned to torment her nipples. “Do you plan to disobey any direct orders?” He wedged his feet between her boots on the floor before them and used his legs and feet to drape her legs over his thighs. When he spread his legs, her legs were forced to open even wider on top of his lap.

  “What happens if I say ‘yes’?” She laughed and relaxed, let her head fall backward to rest in the hollow of his shoulder, offered up her breasts to his hot hands, brazenly begging for more. His heart pounded against her back, infused her with strength and heated her skin to boiling.

  “Then I keep you tied to the chair until you surrender.”

  Anticipation sang through her veins. She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his hand sliding over the curve of her thigh. He pulled the moon dagger from its sheath and ran one hand along her spine, pushing her forward until her back was exposed to him. Using the razor sharp blade to cut her shirt from her back, he slid the fabric forward until it hung from her body in tatters, several inches of space between her flesh and what remained of the silver fabric. Tobiath threw the blade across the small room where it imbedded in the wall, then slid his hands along her sides, wrapped his forearms around her and took the weight of her breasts into his palms.

  “Much better.” Tobiath trailed feather light kisses across her back and shoulders as he kneaded her sensitive flesh. Her hair tickled and slid against her skin like a thousand tiny feathers. The sensation paled as Tobiath nipped at the right side of her neck, then swirled his tongue over her skin to assuage the small hurt. Her cunt clenched around emptiness, needing him to fill her to the point of pain. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the desire to have his skin blanketing hers.

  “Now, what were you saying earlier about these pants?”

  Kamara held her breath. So slowly she thought she would explode, Tobiath slid one hand from her breast to her stomach and grabbed the zipper at the waist of her uniform. He pulled it down toward her core and cold air rushed over the heated skin of her abdomen, then lower until the air hit the wetness soaking her cunt like a blast of ice. She shivered and almost whimpered in relief when the heat of his hand passed over her. Lifting her hips, she pushed against his palm, desperate for a touch, for more.

  Touch me. Touch me. Touch me. The words were a desperate litany in her mind, playing over and over like a broken recording. Tobiath traced her entrance with two fingers, spreading her cream in slow, lingering circles. Beneath her buttocks, Tobiath’s other hand worked his cock free, rubbed the hard length of him across her entrance in a slow tease. Grabbing the zipper, Tobiath pulled it toward her back, pulled it all the way to her waist in back so her pants were completely undone in the crotch. Her legs were still encased in leather and slid over his rock solid thighs.

  Kamara lifted off the chair as far as the restraints would allow, and stretched her body backward in a long line of offering. She felt decadent, deliciously open and vulnerable. Strength flowed from him everywhere her back touched the hard muscles of his chest, making her feel both wicked and safe.

  The slave gel pulled at her flesh like a thousand tiny kisses, a thousand heated mouths sucking and nibbling at her skin, heating and spreading hyper-sensation to her nerves until her mind was temporarily overcome by the sheer overload of sensation. Tobiath’s teeth sank into her shoulder in a love bite. His hand pulled relentlessly at her nipple, beading and tugging until she shook, until her legs quivered even though they didn’t support her weight. Only then did his other hand lift from her thigh to glide in an agonizing, unhurried caress toward her core. Once there, his fingers hovered over her open cunt. The heat of his hand tormented her without touch until she whimpered, “Please.”

  Tobiath’s ragged breath whispered over the sensitive curve of her neck, teased her ear and her light tendrils of hair so that they tickled the side of her face. He was on the edge of control, and the knowledge spurred her to push her cunt against his fingers. The empty hollow ached with actual pain, so desperate was her need to be filled.

  Two fingers teased, slid inside a mere inch, then out, spreading her cream up to squeeze her clit before sliding back to enter her. Three fingers spread at the opening of her cunt, forced the flesh to widen, until she whimpered and lifted her hips in an effort to force his touch deeper. One hand still plucked her nipple, the other slid out of her cunt to pluck her clit so the two tender pieces of her flesh were pulled and released in unison.

  Kamara sank down, the sensation so overwhelming that she pulled back in an attempt to escape the ruthless knowledge of his touch and pressed into direct contact with Tobiath’s hard chest, and the gel coating every inch.

  A rush of tingling fire raced over her skin, traveled up her nerves and spread hot raging need to her mind. Every electrical current in her body was amplified, as if the gel took her natural senses and turned up the volume. The heat of his flesh was suddenly burning like too hot cinnamon, his ragged breath in her ear suddenly loud and exciting. Kamara could hear his heartbeat, feel his pulse where his cock nestled beneath her thighs, and the clamping emptiness of her cunt went from ache to searing need.

  As if he could read her mind, his hand traced the path from clit to core and slipped one finger fully inside her. Kamara shuddered in relief, cried out when she thought he would abandon her. Three fingers stretched and filled her; the palm of his hand pushed and massaged her clit. She let her head fall back to rest against his. Then, his middle finger curled, stroked the ultra-sensitive tissue just above the entrance to her cunt. She screamed his name and let the orgasm take her.

  Instead of relief, she wound higher, tighter. The gel at her back pulsed with her heartbeat, throbbed with his. His cock called to her with the same rhythm against her buttocks. When he pulled his fingers from her, she protested, her cunt clenching in vain. She needed more.

  “Tobiath. Please!” She squirmed against him, used her legs to rise and adjust until the tip of his gelled cock rested where she wanted him, needed him to go.

  Wet and strong, one hand stroked up her thigh. The other slid down over the smooth skin of her stomach, lower, until his fingers stopped on either side of her cunt and pulled the lips apart.

  A deep moan of pain erupted from him and his cock bucked. “God, woman. You’re going to kill me.”

  Beyond speech, she simply pushed against his touch as hard as she could, tried to overcome the strength that held her poised and open over his cock. Tobiath shifted beneath her until the soft edges of his cock’s head slid inside.

  Kamara widened her legs, tried to slant over him, take him faster. But Tobiath had control, and he held her open, pulled her down slowly, deliberately, until the pulse of the gel rested against her cervix and pulsed through her womb. Driving her mad with wanting.

  Fully seated, they both moaned, and Tobiath’s head collapsed to rest between her shoulder blades.

  Outside of her cunt, his fingers stretched and stroked her lips, explored her through the soft glide of her welcoming wetness. Unable to restrain
herself, Kamara tensed her buttocks to rise up and squeeze him tight, then fall. Her inner muscles closed tightly and then opened wide on his hard shaft. Again her cunt squeezed him, pulled his cock deeper. The gel coating enhanced every nerve ending, amplified every touch, every stroke until she thought she could die from the simple pleasure of seating him.

  Tobiath’s fingers held her open, but his body was immobile, like a rock at her back. Hot and steady, air rushed out of his lungs with every ragged breath to dance across her skin. Kamara admired his control. Wanted to shatter it. “Hard. Deep.” The words were a strangled cry from her lips, a desperate plea to her mate. Her mate.

  With the thought, magic swirled to her as if she were the center of a tornado, roared to life from nowhere and slammed through them both like a sonic boom. Her cunt spread wide on his fingers, so sweetly full she thought she might split in half. Tobiath surged off the chair beneath her, hips lifting and retreating with such force her breasts bounced and her feet rose up off the floor.

  “Yes!” Kamara’s shout was half encouragement, half demand. The magic and Tobiath’s ruthless pace pushed her over the edge into oblivion. Her cunt rippled. Release screamed through her body, through the gel into his, and came back in hot pulsing waves.

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t think this will work. I don’t trust them to help us.” Trystan’s booted feet carried him silently back and forth across the small space in his quarters. Blue eyes in an old woman’s face followed his movements through the vid monitor on the wall, glaring daggers at him.

  “This plan has been in place since you were born. I trust them to defeat Bental. That should be good enough for you.” White roses surrounded Jazmyn in her underground prison. Prisms of light shone behind her through the skylights he knew had been cut into the black marbled caves. Long silver hair fell in a straight wall to her hips. The frown marring her face made her look even older than he knew her to be. She looked harmless from this side of the screen, like a loving grandmother out in a garden. But Trystan knew the truth, knew she was one of the most devious and powerful sorceresses alive. And she held Zira’s life in her hands. He played a perilous game with her, trying to defeat his master and win his freedom.

  “No, Jazmyn. I had to kill six men just to get them off the station alive. Look at how easy it was to track Tobiath’s ship. He is weak, reckless. I’ve worked too hard. I’m too close. I won’t take the chance that Bental will claim her.”

  Jazmyn’s eyes turned glacier cold. “You’ll do what I say. You track him so easily only because he is your blood. Zira was not strong enough. You need the princess’s power to defeat him. She must bond with your brother. Once you’re sure that’s happened, bring them here, as planned.”

  There was no mercy in the old woman’s voice, only pain and a will honed by a lifetime in the fires of a personal hell the likes of which he could only imagine. To be his master’s wife was the only thing he could imagine that was worse than being his son.

  “Listen to me, Trystan. Kamara is too powerful. I have felt her presence in the fabric of the universe since the day she was born, and so has your father. Either we take the chance, or your father will enslave her. I am old. Dying. I have lived almost two hundred years, and my power pales in comparison to hers. He needs her. Kamara’s power could feed him for hundreds of years. Another thousand.”

  “I know.” A long, cold snake of dread slithered down Trystan’s spine and settled in the pit of his stomach, ready to strike. If Bental bound Kamara, the very breath of hell would be unleashed on Anthea. His personal hell would become the world’s. “I will see you in a spin, perhaps two, with Tobiath and his princess.”

  The vid screen went blessedly blank and Trystan allowed the mask of indifference to slip from his face and his head to fall forward into his hands. Already he’d done something unforgivable, bound the younger princess to him in the hopes that her power would be enough to eliminate Bental. It hadn’t been. He’d known as soon as the threads tied their souls together that her power was no match for Jazmyn’s, that he wouldn’t be able to defeat his master. He’d seduced the beautiful Zira, forced the ritual words from her mouth, and tied her innocent soul to his black one. All for naught. May God forgive him. Zira never would.

  Zira was still locked safely away in his mother’s secret dungeon, cared for and hidden from Bental and his thirst for fresh power, fresh blood, a fresh new wife. Trystan would never touch Zira again, and would never forget what it felt like to hold her. Of all the torture he’d endured in his life, this one left the deepest wound.

  Trystan stared around his barren cabin. There were no pictures, no decorations, only stark gray walls and bare metal floors. His bed was covered in black sheets and every shelf in the room was home to something designed to hunt, capture, or kill at his master’s whim.

  Zira’s soul weighed heavily on his conscience, but the price for killing his father, Bental, had yet to be met. The cost would be much steeper than Zira and his worthless black heart. Time to contact Tobiath directly and set the wheel of death in motion.

  * * *

  Tobiath woke with Kamara in his bed once again -- this time sated, content, and nestled in his arms. Their link hummed with life and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to feeling what she felt, sensing what she thought. The connection was more intimate than anything he’d ever dreamed existed, and he realized he’d kill to keep it.

  As for Kamara, she felt safe. Happy. Two things he’d thought never to feel again. He didn’t want to move, wanted to savor the moment, the warmth that curled around his heart and made him feel whole.

  Soft blankets wrapped them in a cocoon. Across the room, his grandfather clock ticked its steady rhythm. The sound was strangely soothing, allowing the mind to drift without thought or direction. Sleep lured him. Eyelids drifting closed, arm wrapped securely around her waist, he never wanted to get out of bed.

  Then the beeping started. Relentless and unforgiving, the distant sound floated in through his open bedroom door from the control panel, demanded a response.

  “Tobiath.” She pinched his arm and he groaned in protest.

  “What?”

  “The beeping.”

  “Yes. It’s the Sentinal’s private channel. Whatever those bastards want can wait.” Tobiath snuggled back into the covers and pulled her closer to him. He cupped one soft breast in his palm and ran his fingers over her nipple until it hardened. Sleep was good, but he could think of something even better.

  “I think it’s important.”

  “Hell, woman.” Damn instincts. Somehow, he knew she was right. Perhaps she was picking up the thought from him. A quick kiss and they were both throwing on their clothes. She was forced to borrow one of his black shirts. He watched her pupils darken as she stared at what was left of her silver one lying in a heap on the floor. Thoughts of how he’d cut it from her body rushed blood to places better left undisturbed if he had to work. Ah, fuck it. A wicked smile escaped. Staring at her naked ass was worth every moment of discomfort his rock hard cock would give him.

  Tobiath stepped through the doorway and headed for the flight controls. He was strapping himself in when Kamara caught up to him and sat down next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “So, what is it?”

  “I don’t know yet.” A frown marred her perfect brow and he tried, in vain, to hide his confusion from her as he read the coded symbols coming across his monitor in a stream of bright red lights. He muted the alarm and checked every gauge. Auto-pilot was still engaged. They were hovering in the middle of space, far from anything even remotely interesting, but they had company. Whomever it was, they weren’t out here to see the sights. He’d been tracked. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “This is Sentinal’s code, but not a call sign I recognize. And it’s coming from somewhere very close.”

  “How close?”

  “Right behind us.” Tobiath ran his hands through his hair and winked at her. “Well, let’s find out what he wa
nts.”

  Tobiath calculated weapons’ cache on board, speed, and maneuvering capabilities of his ship against the smaller one behind him. All this screamed through his mind as he calmly placed his palm over the vid screen control. Instantly the vid screen filled the entire space before them, switching from the black of space to the face of a man. Kamara froze and her shock wove its way into his bones.

  Tobiath glared, then leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Glancing nervously from the screen to his face, Kamara whispered, “It’s you.”

  “Just a damn good holograph or a shifter. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.” His words were confident, but energy flared through their link and gave away his rage. Fury twisted his insides into a million tiny pieces ready to explode. The clone better have one hell of an explanation, or Tobiath would kill him for the insult alone.

  The one who looked exactly like him spoke, “Tobiath, please respond. Priority message.” The voice was slightly different from his. Beside him Kamara relaxed and he wished he could do the same. Dread was creeping through his limbs like a cold fog filling his skin.

  He activated his speaker system and spoke, “This better be damn good.” Leaning over his controls, Tobiath kept one hand on the weapons systems. One wrong move and he’d fire. For now he waited, planned ways to kill.

  “Please turn on your visual. I need confirmation that Her Royal Highness, Princess Kamara, is unharmed.”

  “Like hell you do. Who are you and what do you want?” The other ship was smaller, faster, but had less firepower. Both ships were designed for stealth, but Tobiath’s had more force. The real question was in shielding. There was no way to know how much power the clone’s ship would generate. That would be the deciding factor in the fight. He’d have to hit hard and fast and hope his shielding outlasted his opponent’s.

  “I am Trystan. I know where Zira is being held and would speak with you both.”