Night of Fire (2 page)

Taron Stanten woke as he always did, fully alert and with a
hard-on. Even before he opened his eyes, he’d assessed his surroundings and
knew he wasn’t in his San Francisco penthouse. That didn’t surprise him since
business kept him out-of-town more than not, particularly now. He became aware
of a not-unpleasant smell, something earthy. Going by the cool air on his
cheeks, he guessed that the window in whatever bedroom he was in was open.

Sitting up, he swung his feet over to the side of the
unfamiliar bed and stared down at his naked body. Yep, his cock was still in
perfect operating condition, a little surprising given the stress of the last
few months. The window was open, and through it he could hear a faint, not
unpleasant sound—drumming, unless he was hung-over.

He was never hung-over. Even on those rare occasions when he
drank with abandon, he’d been blessed with a cast-iron stomach. As a result,
when the business associates he wined and dined might wish they’d been shot and
put out of their misery, he kicked any residual lethargy out of his system by
going for a run.

When he walked over to the window and spotted the nearby
hill with the unfinished Athenian acropolis at the top, the pieces fell
together. He was in Edinburgh, Scotland and that was Calton Hill. He was here
because his college roommate Paul Livingston now lived in Edinburgh and had
invited him to stay for a couple of days before going on to London for a series
of high-powered and high-stress meetings that would decide the future of the
company he’d created.

Good idea, Paul,” Taron muttered. “Nothing like going on
vacation—the first vacation I’ve had in years—before turning back into the
stubborn, bull-nosed bastard those bastards think I am.”

He was, damn it!
Wasn’t his company’s enviable
position on the stock exchange and countless glowing articles in financial
magazines proof of that? Unfortunately, his success had bred greed on the part
of the competition, which had led to the hostile takeover bid that now consumed
him. Even with that weighing on him, he had to admit that for a bounced-around
foster kid, he hadn’t turned out half bad—rich enough to be considered a
multimillionaire. His business was on the cutting edge of electronic technology.
Hell, he’d even been an honored guest at the White House, twice.

Only from the looks of the goat staring back at him,
oblivious to his straining cock, not everyone was impressed.

* * * * *

The goat, Paul had told him that evening as the two men
shared a beer, was part of some local spring festival that would be getting
underway in a few minutes.

“The city fathers would just as soon keep animals out of the
Beltane celebration,” Paul explained. He lit a cigarette before continuing.
“But local farmers are always dragging them in. That’s why I’m glad you could
make it for this. My friend, Beltane is like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

Taron groaned. “I thought we were going to relax.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

He couldn’t argue with that. At the same time, he didn’t
feel up to telling Paul that the energy that had gotten his business to where
it was, had changed focus from intellect and creativity, to finance and
survival. If he did, the conversation might turn to the strategic meetings he’d
set up, how vital they were, how high the risks. These days, just thinking of
what was at stake drained him. Yes, he could still run rings around most people
and had enough ideas to keep the company on the cutting edge for the rest of
his life, and he’d sure as hell never disappointed a woman between the sheets
but…

“You’ll see,” Paul went on. “As soon as the music starts,
you’ll be off your ass. Besides, that’s what Beltane’s about—humping any girl
you can get to drop her shorts for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Paul scratched his head with the hand holding the cigarette.
Then he ran his hand through his hair to make sure he hadn’t left any ashes
there. “Damn, I’ve got to kick that filthy habit.”

“Then do it.”

“Don’t push me. I’ve—” A coughing spasm bent Paul over.
Finally he gasped and straightened.

Taron held out his hand. “Give me the damn lighter,” he
ordered. “Until you get a new one, you aren’t smoking. You want to die before
your time?”

“You’re a hell of a one to talk. At the rate you’re going, your
ticker will give out before you reach forty.”

“Give me the damn lighter,” Taron interrupted.

Paul stared at him then shrugged. “What the hell.” He dug
into his pocket and handed Taron the expensive silver lighter. “Maybe it’ll
work.”

Taron had his doubts but tucked the lighter in his pocket
anyway. “So tell me about this festival.”

“Shit. Look, all I know is that Beltane takes place on April
30—something to do with celebrating spring. There’s dancing and drumming until
you think the top of your head’s going to come off, but you don’t care. There’s
some kind of play or something with people dressed in costumes. They paint
their skin different colors and jump through fire. That’s where the animals
come in.”

“They’re roasted?” Taron didn’t like the idea of that cute
little goat winding up on someone’s dinner plate.

“Hell no. Like I said, farmers and anyone who feels like it
brings their livestock near the smoke. Some kind of purification thing, I
guess.”

“Sounds like chaos. And you think I’d give a damn? Why?”

Paul laughed and punched Taron on the shoulder. “Because
it’s
the
night to get laid. It’s like the whole place turns into a huge
orgy. People jump the nearest bones. I know, I know. You don’t have to look for
excuses to have the broads fighting each other over the chance to rock and roll
with you, but you’ve got to admit it sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than
picking up some broad at a bar.”

* * * * *

Movement, noise, light and dark. Flames from the fire at the
top of the hill seemed to dance with the night sky. What had to be thousands of
people packed Carlton Hill, and so many musical groups were doing their thing
that Taron felt as if his head might explode.

Despite his better judgment, he’d agreed to accompany Paul
in trekking up the steep staircase once it got dark. What he hadn’t counted on
was the sheer mass of bodies he’d encounter. One moment Paul had yelled at him
to look back down for a panoramic view of the city. The next, he’d lost his
friend.

He’d briefly thought about going back to Paul’s place, but
that would mean fighting the tide of humanity surging upward. Besides, there
was something about the music—especially the drums. The longer the
frantic-sounding beats went on, the more his body seemed to absorb them.

He
had
to get closer to the action.

Using his size and strength, he pushed past knots of
laughing, yelling merrymakers until he caught a glimpse of a group of brightly
costumed people who were obviously the center of attention. Most noticeable was
a tall woman dressed in veils of every color in the rainbow. In addition, she
was weighed down by flowers and assorted greenery. She was surrounded by a
number of women dressed entirely in white who looked for all the world as if
they were protecting the rainbow woman. A man who was green from head to foot
hung near Rainbow Woman. In contrast to the others’ exuberant dancing, he
trudged along like an old man.

“Hell if I know what that’s about,” Taron muttered.

The group had been whirling to and fro in one spot, but now
a number of Blue Men—Taron couldn’t think of anything else to call
them—presented themselves to Rainbow Lady and her attendants.

Suddenly the drumming kicked up a notch. Now the earth
itself seemed responsible for the driving rhythm, it was almost as if lava were
trying to break free. Barely aware of what he was doing, he swayed with the
reverberation. Extending his arms, he stomped and whirled, grunted in time. His
vision blurred, he no longer cared about the celebration, about tomorrow’s
agenda or the rest of his life.

He was—simply
was
part of the force and power.

Wild, free, totally in the moment, he looked up. The night
was clear, making it possible to see the stars. Stars? How long had it been
since he’d studied the sky? Danced? Existed only in this single moment?

No one seemed to notice his pounding, driving legs, no one
cared that this sophisticated and wealthy businessman could barely catch his
breath and had broken out in sweat. How could they when many of his fellow
celebrants were under the same spell?

A kink in his neck forced him to look down. The crowd had
shifted, blocking his view of the performers. He started to look for a way to
get closer and then…

She was all in white, a single, nearly transparent layer of
lace that shimmered over her ripe body. The gown, if it could be called that,
was caught by a thin gold belt made from what looked like rope. Unless he was
wrong, there was a knife or dagger attached to the belt.

She stood apart from the others, a small island of stillness
in a surging tide of humanity. Her hair was black and long and loose, trailing
down her back. She was barefoot. Young.

She smiled at him.

Holy shit. If I’m going to die tonight, what a way to go.

It didn’t seem possible, and yet she made her way to him
without having to dodge bodies. It was almost as if she were a creek flowing
effortlessly around all obstacles.

When she stood a couple of feet from him, he took a deep
breath, hoping to calm himself. She had large green eyes and smelled of
lavender, and no two ways about it, that near cheesecloth she was wearing
didn’t hide a thing. Her breasts weren’t particularly large but high and full
and firm and luscious. She didn’t have much of a muff, what there was of it
appeared as dark as her hair. Just like that, his cock stood at attention.

She looked down at him as if appraising his equipment. “It
is ready?” she asked in a smooth, lilting tone.

He’d seen some easy lays in his life, but this was
ridiculous. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Mince words? I do not understand.”

Now that he’d gotten over his initial surprise at being
approached by a goddess, he took note of her formal-sounding speech. Besides,
much as he wanted to, there was no ignoring the dagger. Whatever he did, he
wasn’t going to piss the lady off.

“Maybe we’d better back up here a bit,” he said. “If this is
a come-on, I’m interested, but I believe in laying things out on the table with
an armed woman.”

“Back up? What table?”

What was she, slow-witted? Drunk or on something? Ripe as
she might be for the plucking, he’d never taken advantage of a woman. Despite
the argument he was getting from his cock, he wasn’t going to change now.

“Did you think I was someone else?” He had to nearly yell in
order to make himself heard.

“No, I know who you are.”

Yeah, right.
The only person he knew in Edinburgh was
Paul. “Do you?”

A large woman jostled the black-haired beauty, causing her
to stumble. “You are Taurus,” she said as she righted herself.

“Taurus? From the zodiac? You’ve got to be kid—what makes
you think that?”

“The Lady told me.”

What lady? As Alice would say, things were getting curiouser
and curiouser. However, unlike Alice, he wasn’t particularly interested in an
explanation. Despite his all-but-legendary success with women, the truth was
that his world didn’t revolve around the opposite sex. Like he’d told a few of
his envious male acquaintances—except for Paul who’d grown up in foster homes
himself, he didn’t really have what he could call friends—once you’ve humped a
hundred women, it gets to be pretty much the same thing. Those acquaintances
hadn’t agreed with him, but that’s how he felt.

Until tonight.

“I appreciate the compliment but—”

She leaned forward and cocked her head. “I cannot hear you.”

That he could remedy. Doing what he’d wanted to since he’d
first spotted her, he draped his arm over her slender shoulder and drew her to
his side. He’d expected her to be more substantial. Instead, she felt almost
childlike.
Shit! How old was she?

“I said—” He spoke into her ear, fought the desire to take
her hair between his teeth and nibble it, to trail his hand down to her breast
and tease her nub into hardness. “No man objects to being compared to a bull,
but if you’re looking for someone named Taurus, you’ve got the wrong man.”

Either she hadn’t heard him, or she didn’t give a damn about
his explanation. Because his wardrobe was sadly lacking in casual wear, he’d
put on a pair of dress slacks today, expertly tailored to minimize his
more-than-average-size cock since that was hardly what he wanted on display as
part of his career. At least the camouflage worked when he didn’t have a
hard-on.

“I am not wrong,” she said. Now, despite the noise, he had
no trouble hearing her. “I know who you are.” She turned so she was facing him.
“You are ready for mating?”

“What?”

Before he could even guess that it was going to happen, she
closed her small, warm hand over his straining cock. “Your seed-organ is
ready.”

“My…” How the hell was he supposed to think with her holding
him like that?

“We cannot do the joining here.”

No argument there. They’d be crushed under the humanity.
“You want to have sex? Just like that?”

“Sex? Ah yes, I must remember what you would call it.”

Eventually, maybe, he’d sort all this out. Right now,
however, he had a dagger-armed, nearly naked, cock-grabbing broad to deal with.
“One question before we take this any further.”
Shit, did she have to handle
his cock as if it were a slab of meat she was contemplating buying?
“How
old are you?”

“Of age.”