Empress Hiding Page 12

  Rafal did not stop again as he shut the door behind him, and Runa heard his footsteps recede.

  For the first time since their isolation nearly three decades ago, the powerful Blood-borne dragoness was speechless.

  It seemed the Crowned Prince of the Bohrean Empire was truly and completely mad.

  Hondo stood without a shirt covering his enormous, muscular chest – his long, raven locks cascading over his brawny yet obviously tensed shoulders as he stared at the image of his father’s steward in disbelief. Although Hondo tried to mask the anger that he felt ebbing up inside of him, he knew the faint amber glow that had begun to ever-so-slightly warm his eyes and faintly ripple through the unevenly distributed hair that covered his body were evidence that his irritation was on the rise – his wartrige pacing dangerously close to the surface.

  “And I ask again, Ferenti,” Hondo’s voice mirrored the anger his body was telegraphing, “For what reason does the Khedive travel here tomorrow?”

  Hondo had little patience for his father’s shifty-eyed servant – did not trust him to so much as breathe the correct way much less tell the truth when it came to any matter whatsoever. So far as Hondo and his brother were concerned, the slippery male was the embodiment of his beast: a yellow-striped shentalingra. On top of that, Hondo’s mate, Shelvana, disliked the steward almost as much as she disliked his father – professed that the both of them gave both her and her vicious beast an uneasiness so deep that his beautiful mate could not remain in the same room with either of them for extended periods of time.

  “I was simply told that there would be a full-inspection, my prince,” Ferenti could no more look Hondo in the eye than he could keep himself from twitching, “We will arrive mid-morning.”

  Hondo grinned inwardly at thoughts of his mate – most who were unfamiliar with his Shelvana, including all of those in his father’s household, would think that his Shelvana could not remain simply because she was too docile a female and that the Khedive and his lofty-aired right hand intimidated her. But the few who actually knew his beloved mate had a different view: they knew his shioliah would most likely kill the shentalingra and inflict a serious wound or two on the great bear – his Shelvana with her magnificent and extremely rare marabilla were a force with which to be reckoned. His wartrige growled with lust at Hondo’s thoughts of their mate that awaited them moaning ever-so-softly with need in the large bed behind them – this communication from the Royal Palace having interrupted the beginning of one of their very intense sexual sessions.

  Hondo growled at a great number of things while he inwardly delighted in the increased twitching of Ferenti in response to that growl.

  “Fine,” Hondo heard the irritated growl of his Shelvana from behind him, “But tell the Khedive that Somdech Shelvana and the twins will be unavailable for this inspection.”

  Shelvana’s growl returned to a needful, sexual whine for attention, and Hondo’s beast clawed at him to return to their mate as Shelvana’s arousal scent began to permeate the air.

  Hondo gritted his teeth as he was at the extreme end of controlling himself – his heated female was calling.

  Ferenti’s little conniving face fell with feigned disappointment.

  “But the Khedive does so look for…,”

  Hondo could stand the sniveling servant no longer.

  And his shioliah needed him.

  Now.

  “Mid-morning tomorrow. I will meet you then!” Hondo slammed his fist on the end-comm button and turned around to find Shelvana’s beautiful buttocks displayed in waiting for him – her legs spread and her moisture dripping and demanding his mounting of her.

  And he could not reach her fast enough.

  As Hondo plunged his throbbing member deep into his beloved mate, he caged her upper torso – his broad chest and abdomen against her lithe yet supple back – as he palmed her breasts and growled roughly in her ear.

  “Do not siktir us so well that we forget to have Yearlan contact Dalis, my wanton temptress.”

  A delighted growl of welcome bubbled up from inside of her, and Hondo felt her speech vibrations along his chest as her lubricated sleeve fisted him so exquisitely that he almost forgot to breathe.

  “Oh, we intend to do just that, my delicious mate,” Shelvana’s beast hissed in ecstasy from deep inside of her as Hondo’s teeth sank into the back of her neck, “But we promise to remind you to contact Dalis only when we are finished with you.”

  Hondo raised his head for his wartrige to howl low and aggressively as he began to pound into his Shelvana – her rising euphoria a lure neither he nor his beast could ignore.

  “Then let the siktiring begin, my rapacious beauty,” Hondo managed to snarl out just as Shelvana bucked mightily and tried to turn on him and slash him with her meticulously decorated yet deadly nails.

  But Hondo held firm and Shelvana’s eyes glowed their vivid blue as she responded quite predatorily, “As you command,” just before she kicked out and rolled them such that she was now on top of him. Shelvana’s gorgeous face leaned down into Hondo’s ravenous one – the blood he had drawn with his bite trickling around her neck on either side. Her artistic nails dug into his chest while she slowly and deliciously re-seated herself onto him to the hilt, “My formidable and delicious prince.”

  They both took a deep breath of each other just before the loving began again in earnest, “Forever and always, my Hondo,” her deliberate and heated slide was as excruciating as it was profound, “As you command.”

  Hondo simply groaned in ecstasy as he firmly grasped her hips, and, together, they found the first of many of the night’s orgasmic pleasures.

  Chapter 8

  Rafal’s senses located the ebony-haired male in the almost-deserted lobby before his searching eyes actually did, but he now knew why the male had caught his eye – other than the fact that the male had followed his Chiyoto. Rafal perceived the male’s recognition that his Magistrate was headed straight for his mostly hidden position a split second before the long, black hair jerked around with his realization.

  But although Rafal could see when their eyes met that the male’s physique readied for a confrontation or even a blow, Rafal only deliberately brushed roughly against him and gruffly ordered, “With me, my Black Guard.”

  Rafal sensed the male directly on his heels as ordered – a mixture of fear and determination surrounding the guard’s being – as he turned into a shadowed alcove that afforded them almost complete isolation from the crowds and passers-by. Just as soon as the male entered the alcove, Rafal cornered him with his enormous body, his large hand molded to the male’s throat – some of that long, black hair caught in his grip along with the expanse of his neck. Rafal’s voice was low and deadly in the male’s face.

  “We would see you. Now!”

  The male raised his golden eyes to Rafal’s and breathed in relaxation to lower the almost inexplicable veil that, when broached with a skilled eye and an adequate amount of strength in both cognate and alter-being of the viewer, unmasked the animal within the cognate under scrutiny.

  The large, winged chestryl inside the long-haired male bared his neck in a marked show of submission to Rafal. All the while, the beast’s jagged beak and razored talons remained on display in a complete demonstration of his strength in service to the Prime Magistrate.

  Rafal leaned closer and fully inhaled the male’s scent as he continued his hold on his neck – Rafal’s beast springing to attention at the familiarity the male’s skin exuded. When he was satisfied the guard harbored no animus or aggression toward them, Rafal loosened his grip only in the slightest.

  “The chestryl was once only of Blood-borne lineage,” Rafal purposefully phrased his inquiry as an accusation to gauge the male’s response, but long-hair, aka long-braid, did not flinch in his response.

  “I am of mixed heritage,” the male swallowed in relief
at Rafal’s slight ease in his grip, “But I serve you and your house with my life, Prime Magistrate. This I have vowed before the Gods.”

  Rafal continued to scrutinize him – looking for even the slightest twitch or indication that something was awry.

  But there was nothing – the male was young but undeniably solid.

  Albeit familiar in a way that Rafal could not immediately discern, and his beast had not found the thread of recognition for which it, too, searched.

  And, in that moment, Dalis’ words rang through Rafal’s head.

  “Because he rose from the streets of Capital City of his own right and neither he nor his beast have ties to your sire’s court or appear to be under the Khedive’s thumb in any way, my Prince.”

  Rafal loosed his grip even further, but he left his hand in place as he continued – a pressure applied against the male’s upper torso that allowed long-braid no freedom of movement from the wall behind him to which his back was now married.

  “Your Crimson comes from . . ?”

  Still alert. Still with the crisp, clear answers.

  “My progenitor is Blood-borne, but my sire’s traits are strong and have made me who I am, Magistrate.”

  Rafal sniffed him again – both he and his beast readily calming toward the male – they certainly remembered his behavior on the Detail today.

  As opposed to Jaylis’ actions and comments.

  Both Rafal’s and his beast’s anger simmered at the thought of the Khedive’s appointed Black Guard Captain, but Rafal settled them both directly.

  “The female,” Rafal indicated the direction from which they had come with a slight toss of his head, “Why do you follow her?”

  There was the first sign of a flinch in his jaw muscle, and Rafal’s hand immediately tightened around the male’s throat again.

  “Do not. Attempt. To lie,” Rafal’s nose touched the male’s – his hot breath pouring across the solid face.

  The male closed and opened his amber eyes in a pained expression as he tried to shake his head in the negative.

  “Never, Prime Magistrate,” he struggled to breathe, but his focus remained on Rafal’s eyes, “I simply saw her size as vulnerable to the crowds and wanted to make sure she made it safely to her destination.”

  Rafal felt his beast relax – the male was telling the truth – there was no question in scent, sight, or sensation.

  Even though something about the male’s familiar odor still niggled at him.

  But it was not a foreboding or negative niggle so, he filed it away with his Chiyoto’s “wrong” hair color for now.

  Rafal once again loosened his grip as he stood to full height.

  “And now, Sila?”

  Rafal blinked off their revealing contact even as Rafal made the inquiry.

  The male started, almost undetectably so, at Rafal’s use of his given name, but Rafal’s change to a more conversational tone was one into which Sila seemed to easily transition.

  “And now I sense that my Prime Magistrate would order my abandonment of that quest,” Sila allowed his tone to be such that it could be interpreted as a question as well as a statement.

  Rafal applied one last moment of pressure to Sila’s chest before he transitioned his more even tone to one of absolute command.

  “No, Sila,” Rafal took a deep breath as he looked into the face of this Guard he had decided to trust, “You will guard the female with your life – she now replaces me in your vow.”

  Sila’s golden eyes lit with interest, but his body stiffened in response to a direct command from Rafal as a form of true realization of the trust placed in him dawned.

  “I understand, my lord.”

  There was no hesitation in Sila’s answer or his transition in addressing Rafal as his sole ruler. Both Rafal and his beast approved of the use of the title.

  “Her name is Chiyoto Darrè, and she has a ticket for the morning shuttle to Capital City,” Rafal felt the sensation of loyalty and resolve flow from Sila, and his beast relaxed within him, “We will have your belongings transferred to our suites on the shuttle, but you do not leave her guard until we pick her up for tomorrow’s meal at khamsa hurs onboard that shuttle.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “But she is not yet to know that you guard her.”

  Sila hesitated for a moment – his face betraying that ‘now that is a bit interesting, is it not’ look – before he responded directly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Rafal stopped as if to walk away, and then he turned back – his voice lower and more demanding – the finality and promise resting on each syllable as he grasped Sila’s shoulder.

  “You serve only me and my Chiyoto from this moment forward, Sila Didas,” Rafal let the chartreuse of his beast light the outer ring of their irises and their voices join as one – both Rafal and his beast watching and sensing everything about Sila as they spoke, “You may play whatever part is necessary in the presence of others, but deviation from this chosen path will be met with a swift and sure consequences.”

  But the words that fell from Sila’s mouth in response were anything but fearful of such a promised end.

  “Our lives to your service, my beast at your command,” Sila raised his head to meet Rafal’s gaze, “Your Chiyoto will be safe, my lord.”

  And with a simple nod, Rafal turned to go, but he stopped and, without turning back around, simply angled his voice back over his shoulder toward Sila.

  “Do not discount those traits you may carry from her, Sila,” Rafal felt his beast still to silence again as he took a deep breath to finish his statement, “Your progenitor is a real part of who you are.”

  And Rafal stepped into the thinning crowds and was gone.

  Rafal had to visit the Shuttle Offices and vacate whatever party or parties had reserved the Royal Suites on the morning shuttle for they were his now. Dalis could handle all the remaining details of their departure from there because they would not be on the personal transport.

  And Sila only stood in silence as he wordlessly acknowledged his Prime Magistrate’s comment with a very respectful and almost awestruck nod, all the while internally trying to calm his Hiroto who was quite annoyed at Sila for pledging his strength as a beast at Rafal’s command.

  “All is as it should be, Hiroto,” Sila grinned and his voice was calm and whispered as he made his way back to the entrance to Chiyoto’s hallway – he took another moment to admire the now barely noticeable scar that thinly ran the length of his palm from earlier, “Just get a grip, my friend.”

  “Enter Yearlan,” Hondo called across the room in answer to the knocking.

  Yearlan’s older but not yet graying visage peaked through the doorway – his playful eyes and youthful disposition belying the intelligence and brute strength housed within himself and Shadow, his altare. His shoulder-length, burnt sienna hair bore only a slight sprinkling of silver amidst the golden highlights strewn throughout – his much larger-than-average and quite muscular build for a non-predatory male deceiving most with untrained eyes. Yearlan actually possessed years of defensive as well as offensive training, but the steward’s light-hearted appearance made discerning such by first and even second glance an impossibility.

  And he could be quite deadly on command.

  The history behind his highly-trained status was something Hondo had not pushed ever since Yearlan had become his self-appointed steward nearly two years before he would have been obligated to choose one. Some of the scars he had glimpsed on the steward’s body on the odd occasion told him that Yearlan had not had an easy time of it growing up and, yes, simply surviving in the Crimson predator-dominated culture that was the palace under his and Rafal’s detestable sire. In fact, Hondo had stepped into a fray of three of the Perce Guards taunting and mistreating Yearlan’s lechtneu one night before he actually knew the
male. And after Hondo had let his vicious wartrige have its way with the guards in assistance, neither he nor Yearlan had mentioned the incident again. In fact, Hondo had even asked the much older male to join him on a run and all night game of dranlien. Hondo figured that single incident had a lot to do with the male appointing himself Hondo’s steward a few days later, but that was just fine with the Prince: Hondo would trust no other close to him except his Yearlan and his Kilgar in those cycles leading up to their occupation of the Southern Province compound and even now.

  With the exception of his Shelvana, of course.

  Hondo motioned for the steward to proceed into the room with a casual wave of his hand. Both the Prince and Shelvana remained in the bed with the linens pulled completely over her and covering Hondo to his waist – Hondo was sitting up reviewing some data reports with Shelvana snuggled into the pillows right up next to him with only her motley-colored hair peeking out from the blankets.

  Yearlan walked across the room with a small tray held out before him.

  “I brought a fresh container of salve as well as the Somdech’s hot beverage, my lord,” Yearlan presented the tray and bowed his head simultaneously – his yellow-tinged eyes that, along with his hair, whispered of his altare sparkling with life and laughter.

  Hondo growled low and reached for the decorative container into which Yearlan had placed his homemade healing salve he made for the couple’s injuries they tended to inflict on one another during their protracted sessions, but his partial smiled revealed his true emotion.

  “Made that much noise, did we?” Hondo chuckled with male satisfaction.

  “Not enough to wake the young masters, Magistrate,” Yearlan acknowledged reverently but with levity, “But enough that I made a stronger batch than that of which you still have some.”