Pharon's Demon (6 page)

Mkhai grimaced. “Most likely. We—his
demons—are charged with protecting his mines. We are not permitted
to leave. I have not only done so, but I have allowed a known thief
to escape and am now consorting with her. It is worth the
risk.”

Anhur looked at Kontar and Kneph. “There must
be a way to prevent his return.”

“Research,” Kontar said.

Kneph nodded slowly. “If Research can’t
answer this question, then it’s time we fired the lot of them
anyway.”

“What is this research?” Mkhai asked.

Bennu explained, with Kneph adding pithy
asides as he felt warranted. Apparently, Bennu noted, Kneph had
either attempted working his charms on the Researchers or had
pursued dating opportunities within the organization—neither of
which had worked out. The Researchers had handed him his ass.
Interesting. She made a mental note to explore that happy little
event at a later date—when she knew that her demon was safe from
immediate disintegration in a painful but powerful vortex. She did
have her priorities, after all, and torturing her brother would
have to wait.

“Research,” she said, “gathers intel.
Intelligence,” she elaborated.

“Know-it-alls,” Kneph muttered. The other
brothers nodded their heads in chorus.

“It’s their job to learn anything and
everything they can about possible targets in the various galaxies
that we work.”

“They tell you what to steal.” Mkhai eyes
darkened. Really, his law-abiding streak was going to pose
difficulties.

She grimaced. “Think of it as puzzles,
Mkhai.”

“Treasure hunting,” piped up Kontar. “We’re
looking for unappreciated objects and relocating them to a
more—appreciative—location.” He smiled with legendary charm.

Mkhai shook his head, unimpressed.
“Theft.”

“Whatever.” Bennu plowed ahead. She’d work on
softening up her demon later. “Our recovery operations—theft,” she
said hastily, catching Mkhai’s dark look, “involves less brute
force and more puzzle-solving than the Agency leads the public to
believe. Most of the clues are riddled out in the Agency’s
laboratories, by their hired squads of computer geeks and
researchers. Research,” she summed up.

“Yeah, they tell us where to go and how,”
Kontar said.

“Kind of like traffic cops,” Anhur
muttered.

Kneph added something uncomplimentary and
highly pornographic under his breath. His brothers arranged their
faces into sympathetic portraits.

“So we ask these—traffic cops—for what?” for
the first time since he had plucked her from the rope in the
mineshaft, Mkhai looked unsure of himself.

“For whatever it takes to keep you here, with
us, rather than being pulled back into that vortex and dismantled
into demon parts.”

Shock flitted across his face. “They can do
that? They are spell casters?”

“Of a sort.” She’d explain all the pesky
little details later. Perhaps in bed, she thought smugly. They
communicated so well there, after all.

And it had been that simple, for the moment
at any rate. Mkhai stared, fascinated, as Bennu’s hands raced
across the consoles, drawing up a blinking screen that displayed
the somewhat fuzzy—and definitely female— outline of this Research
that they had mentioned.

Research had nodded and asked Mkhai a few
seemingly arcane questions about the spell casting abilities of
Pharon and the properties of the vortex itself. Bennu suspected
that the researchers didn’t actually require the information to
solve the problem but were simply curious and seizing the
opportunity presented by a live research subject from a previously
unknown realm. In either case, Research had tinkered about and then
sent instructions for constructing an amulet.

“He should wear it at all times,” the
Researcher explained. “It will disrupt his energy signature
sufficiently so that Pharon’s spells will no longer work to call
him back. He will be a different demon, so to speak.”

He would be, Mkhai thought. He would escape
the punishment that all of his demon brothers feared, the
exquisitely painful torture of being pulled slowly back into the
elemental vortex of their birthplace. When Pharon learned of his
betrayal, Mkhai would not be destroyed. The warrior in him loathed
evading a fight, hiding behind this unfamiliar technology. The male
in him, however, recognized that without this technology, he would
be unable to protect his female. No, Mkhai thought, not betrayal,
but new loyalties.

Bennu slumped back in her seat, grinning
smugly. “See?” she turned and looked at Mkhai. “Now,
your
ass belongs to
me
.”

Oh, he looked forward to correcting that
misunderstanding.

He did indeed.

It was time his
femi
recognized that
she was his mate.

***

Tucked up inside the silver steel capsule of
her ship, they were hurtling through space towards this planet of
Zemelda. It was time to remind Bennu of the sensual bond between
them, of her secret needs and desires. And, Mkhai thought, to
promise more of the same should she thieve again.

“Ah,” he said, striding towards her. His body
was large and aggressive in the tight space of her sleeping
quarters made. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”

“We do?” she stared at him, confused.

He sat on the edge of her bunk and pulled her
down over his lap. “Spread your legs,” he said darkly. “You’ve had
this coming to you for days now.”

“For what?”

His large hand was already shaping her ass,
pulling the blacksuit down to her ankles. The titillation of the
almost-nudity made her cream. Oh gods, he knew what she wanted.
What she needed. One large hand bluntly traced seam of ass and
slipped inside her creaming entrance.

“Yes,” he demanded. “You need
this
.
Mate.” His finger gently stroked the opening, testing her slick
readiness.

“Yes,” she panted. She did. And he needed to
give it to her. His other hand descended, delivering a sharp crack
that faded into a stingingly erotic burn. Each sharp smack drove
her further onto his impaling finger, making her ride him deeper,
stronger.

“For thieving,” he said gently, paddling her
all the harder. Orgasm coiled inside her, building. “I would not
want you to forget. And,” he added, his voice a low, dark whisper
promising unspeakable pleasures, “because
your
ass is
mine
and I would not want you to forget that, either.”

“Is this what mates do?” Gods, she could not
hold back the pleasure. It rippled through her in long, hot
waves.

“Yes.” He smoothed the cheek of her ass,
pressing a small kiss against the rosy flesh. “They do this, and
whatever else they can think of.”

“An adventure.” She rolled over and pulled
his head down to hers. “You’re living with pirates, after all,
Mkhai.”

He tested the word. “Pirate.” The word no
longer seemed so alien.

“Yes. Stealing females, breaking hearts.” She
stared up at him hopefully and then wriggled, offering him a
tantalizing glimpse of her pink, glistening sex.

“Plundering and pillaging,” he offered. She
raised one leg to his shoulder and let her legs fall apart. He
gasped, unable to bite back the sound. Gods above, he wanted
her.

“Yes,” Bennu agreed, “starting with the mate
you’ve carried off from beneath Pharon’s nose. What price do you
think such a theft might merit.”

“A very high one indeed,” he agreed solemnly
and then proceeded to show her exactly what mercy a pirate—and a
thief—might expect at the hands of her mate.

No matter how they try to flee, the virgins
who enter the twisting tunnels of the Guardians are destined to be
caught. Actually, most don’t try too hard. The stories of warriors
who can take on Cat form, of lovers who can make a woman scream
with pleasure, are just too enticing.

But Miu is no virgin, and she’s joined the
Hunt with her own agenda. After she steals the moonstone necklace
she’s been sent for, she has no intention of becoming some Cat’s
tasty morsel. Too late she discovers these kitties have some
deliciously kinky habits, and the dark hunter on her trail isn’t
about to let impudent thievery go without punishment of the most
exquisite kind.

And… if you enjoy THE HUNT’s kinky cats, wait
until you see what the Cajun werewolves get up to….

“Caught you,” he growled in her ear.

“Let you,” she growled right back.

Rafer turned her around to face his unmated
Pack members and asked her the question they all wanted to know the
answer to. “Who do you choose? Pick one.”

“Hell, pick us all,” Dag drawled.

Pick one.

Lark leaned back, savoring the masculine heat
pressed up against her. She hadn’t had a lover in years, so maybe
this feverish need was her subconscious’s desperate S.O.S. Because,
God, the Breaux brothers were hot. The reality was so much better
than the rumors she'd heard. These men focused on her looked
hungry
.

And Rafer Breaux had his hands on her.
Finally.

“You got fantasies,
chère
.” Rafer’s
words were no question.

She let her head hit his shoulder, looking up
at him. “Guess you weren’t kidding.”

“I warned you. We need you,” he said, his
voice low and harsh as he bent his head to her ear again. Like a
lover whispering compliments, except she couldn’t imagine him doing
the pretty. He was too straightforward. Too blunt. She liked that.
Rafer Breaux wouldn’t lie to her.

His thumb stroked over the pulse in her
wrist, and she wrapped her free hand around his. When she tugged,
he didn’t let go.

Around them, the other men moved closer.
Watching. “This feels good.” Rafer sounded confident. Certain.
Suddenly, putting herself in his hands seemed like an excellent
idea. “You wan’ to try us all?” He made the suggestion like he was
holding her plate at a buffet, waiting for her to point and choose.
“You can. No worries.”