A Warlord's Lady (21 page)

Sabra felt uneasy. ‘Can you see the Shadow Men coming to get me?’

She’d not said anything to Cain about them, but they’d been playing on her mind ever since she’d woken up.

‘Oh yes.’

Cain looked sharply from Hexa to Sabra. ‘Shadow Men? I saw the Bright Light Team in the operating theatre. What happened?’

‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ Sabra began but was interrupted by a loud rumble from her stomach. ‘Long and short of it is that I accidently touched one, and now he’s coming to get me.’

Cain looked momentarily stricken. ‘You touched one?’

‘By accident.’

Cain shook his head. ‘Do you know what that means?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’

They looked up and Hexa seemed to convulse midair.

‘What do you see?’ Cain asked.

‘Death,’ the thriae whistled.

***

Jürgen groaned and rolled his shoulders. He was exhausted. The ‘cell’ was literally just that, enough space to stand, but not squat. He’d been on his feet for nearly 24 hours before Christy came and opened the door.

Blessed fresh air blew into the tiny cell and his eyes screamed with pain and began to water immediately. He caught her scent before he saw her.

A low growl grew in his throat.

‘You stink, Jürgen.’ Her American voice rang through the humid air loud and grating.

‘
Danke schön, schlampe
.’ He grunted and staggered out into the dim dungeon-like area that contained the ‘cells’.

‘Were you cussing at me?’ Christy placed her mannish hands on her waist and glared, displaying her pointed teeth. ‘My crew doesn’t like it when boys cuss at me.’

Jürgen lifted his head wearily and stared at her. ‘Really? You mistake me for caring. Now get the fuck out of my way.’

Christy bristled at his words. She crossed her arms over her non-existent bosom and didn’t budge. ‘Nuh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘We’ve got a job to do. We’re under attack.’

Her words made Jürgen stiffen once again, so he swung his arms around to loosen the muscles and waggled his thighs.

‘What? Who?’ His mind was filled with Shadow Men. ‘Where? Here? At the compound?’ He lifted his hand and ran it through the grimy slick oiliness of his hair and grimaced.

Christy nodded. ‘Laotian, Thai and Burmese troops.’ ‘And boss wants you to plan our defence.’

Jürgen felt his jaw tighten involuntarily. ‘Where is he?’

‘Gone to get his chameleon, or whatever.’ She narrowed her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘Says he’ll get Maggie too — coz you’re so incapable.’

Jürgen’s jaw tightened even further and the raging dehydration headache roared even louder in his head. ‘Where?’ he asked. ‘Back in Perth?’

‘Not your business, Jürg.’ Christy grinned wolfishly. ‘How’s the jaw?’

He cursed again in German, but his hand automatically rubbed the bruised side of his face.

‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘I’m going to have wash then I’ll meet you in the den. Get surveillance footage ready for me. Have you sent out any preliminary snipers to pick off the government numbers?’ he asked and turned to the door.

Christy followed him. ‘Yep, I sent some of the converted Rakshasa out to party.’

Jürgen grimaced in spite of himself. He was not a fan of Rakshasa, even converted ones. They were a type of one-eyed Indian demon. They were generally known for their malevolent deeds, cannibalism and blood drinking to name but a few. Several years ago a band of converted Rakshasa had appealed to Cain for protection. Naturally, the Rakshasa suffered great prejudices in the human world. These converted Rakshasa claimed to have given up the vices that their kind were so well-known for and had sworn an oath to protect the compound and indeed the Warlord himself. They had been
very
successful. No raid on the Warlord’s jungle compound had ever met with success. Still, Jürgen did not trust the demonic.

‘How many have the government sent?’

‘About 200.’

Jürgen let out a low whistle. ‘Why so many?’

‘What do I look like? A thriae? I don’t know,’ Christy snapped, and rubbed her muscular biceps. ‘I’ll get that footage and info for you. You go wash, you smell like an Aufhocker.’ Her crew laughed behind her as they turned to leave.

Quick as a flash, Jürgen grabbed Christy’s forearm. She spun around growling, her teeth bared.

‘I
am
an Aufhocker. Don’t you forget it,
bitch.
’

Through narrowed eyes, he watched Christy battle with his dominant gesture. Her teeth were bared, and she snarled like the werewolf she was. She tried to wrench her arm away from him, but his fingernails had turned to claws and she didn’t want to risk tearing her skin.

Her crew was comprised of demons and werewolves who were all brawn and no brain. They bristled impotently around Christy, growling low in their throats, but not daring to move an inch. Jürgen couldn’t fathom why Cain accepted their allegiance. In the war against the government, the Warlord needed intelligence and cunning. Christy’s crew had neither. The Rakshasa were ruthless and clever, albeit distasteful, and the thriae prophetic and clever. There were also human minions and spies to blend into the city and report on the goings-on, as well as magicians to usurp the government’s power, and fae to fight guerrilla wars in the streets and villages around Laos.

Christy’s crew? They were nothing.

His hand tightened further around Christy’s arm, and something flashed deep in her eyes. And her crew tightened around him in a circle. They were shoulder against muscular shoulder, glowering fiercely. Their outrage, however, brought a cruel smile to Jürgen’s lips. He knew they found his touch on their alpha female as offensive as if he’d bitten her neck and mounted her from behind.

With a smile, he released her, allowing a lazy gaze to sweep over her heaving muscled chest.

‘Remember, bitch, that yes, I fucked up. Yes, I was punished — but as our Warlord is not here,
I’m boss
.’

‘Fuck you,’ Christy hissed and whirled away from him.

‘With pleasure,’ he retorted. Christy looked incensed, her eyes shifted to a strange yellow and her jaw lengthened. ‘You’d better control that temper…’ he taunted.

With a throaty growl, Christy twirled and stalked from the room and her crew followed a step behind. Jürgen watched the tightly bunched muscles of her backside tense as she did.

For a moment, Jürgen was alone down in the dungeon. It was humid, if marginally cooler here. He slowly took one step and then another, and his muscles screamed in protest.

As he walked to his apartments he considered the logistics of their defence. They were in a good position, overlooking the valley, and the Rakshasa would make short work of at least five percent of the government’s number. He shuddered and flung the door open to his apartment.

The wide expanse of stone floor was spotless and his bed, a king-sized monster canopied with mosquito net, lay rumpled. He frowned. He religiously made his bed every morning, and had done so the last time he’d slept here. He sniffed the air, allowing his nose to become slightly more muzzle-like to widen his nasal cavities and get a better scent.

Musk, cigarette’s, exhaustion, sweat, and female pheromones wafted in the air. He looked around wildly. The scent was unmistakeable.

‘Where are you?’ he growled, his throat tightening. He closed the door behind him and locked it. There was no reply. He sniffed again, but the scent was gone.

Maybe he was just exhausted and imagining things? Without waiting he undid his boots and stripped his clothes from his body, peeling his soiled and ruined shirt from his chest like a banana skin. He did the same with his pants, and they were particularly foul. Twenty-four hours without a toilet tended to do that. Unwilling to pick up the fouled clothes, he nudged them into his laundry area and shot them down the laundry chute. He pitied the poor laundry worker who had to deal with them, but was relieved they were gone.

He walked over to the vanity and ran some water, greedily drinking it directly from the tap. Then he pulled open the shower curtains, tuned on the taps and stepped into the tepid water. It was heaven; he soaped and washed himself until his skin literally squeaked.

When he came out of the shower he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped towards the small fridge in the tiny kitchenette. He opened it and found it well-stocked with ham and other preserved meats. He dug in furiously.

‘Hungry?’ A silky voice came from behind him.

The ham caught in his throat and he coughed a little before spinning around. Through his watering eyes he saw Mags.

A flurry of outraged German followed. Mags stalked over to the netted bed and reclined, her blonde hair shorter and her lips redder than ever before.

‘Not the welcome I had hoped for, Jürgen,’ she crooned, and as she reclined back her short skirt rode up displaying the white of her inner thigh.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Did he bring her here?’ she said at the same time.

‘Get out of here, Maggie. Now.’

‘No, I need to get Sabra. Faustus is furious I have lost her.’

‘The Warlord is furious I lost her, too,’ Jürgen growled in response. ‘He is not here, nor is she. You are looking in the wrong place.’

‘I spent some time pretending to be a nurse in that damn hospital and I nearly got to her, then your Warlord whisked her away somewhere. I had hoped here…’ She lifted her legs and crossed them.

Jürgen felt his loins tighten. He kicked the little fridge closed. ‘No. You must leave. Even if he brings her back here, you cannot stay.’

‘I cannot go back to Faustus without her.’ She smiled displaying her white capped teeth.

‘That is your problem, Maggie, not mine.’

‘But you made it my problem,’ she hissed, and the sudden fury in her tone made him nearly jump. ‘When you nearly killed her.’

‘An accident. You know it was.’

‘Shall we fight again over her? Winner gets her?’

‘No! How did you even find me here, Maggie?’ Jürgen retorted. ‘Do you know there is a government army headed our way as we speak? I’ve got to set up defences. Now is not the time for me to think about my Warlord’s damn chameleon.’

‘But she’s not just a damn Chameleon, is she?’

‘She is to me. More trouble than she’s damn well worth.’ He grunted and stuffed the remainder of the ham in his mouth and chewed it slowly.

‘What are your lord’s plans?’

‘Like hell I’ll tell you…’

‘Isn’t there
something
I could do to persuade you?’ she cooed.

Jürgen felt himself stir beneath the towel, and he felt Mags’ cool brown eyes slink down the length of his chest and linger on the telltale swelling.

‘I’m very good at persuading…’ She smiled. ‘How long has it been since you’ve had a woman, Jürgen? A real woman, of
your own kind?
’

‘You damn well know just how long it’s been,’ Jürgen replied, his body’s reaction to her words betraying the calmness in his voice.

‘Do you want my pussy?’ she crooned. ‘You can have it, you know, for a little promise.’

‘No, Maggie. I won’t betray the Warlord for you, or your damn pussy.’

Mags pouted. ‘Shame, because…’ She paused, parting her legs a little further. ‘Smell the air, Jürgen. Can you smell it?’

He
could
smell it, her natural perfume hung like a delicate web in the air between them, captivating, beautiful and thoroughly enticing.

‘I’m in heat, Jürgen, and you can have me.’ She growled, and the sound rolled in her chest.

Jürgen bit his lip, but could not manage to suppress a groan and a reciprocal growl deep within his own. ‘No.’

She let her legs relax and the skirt, that covered little, began to cover less. ‘Please, I need you.’

Jürgen took a step forward. He felt his body strain to shift, he wanted to pull the towel from his body and expose himself to her, show her his strength, bite her and dominate her. The mating between Aufhockers was not a gentle process, and one Jürgen was loathe to ever attempt with a human woman.

I can’t betray Cain,
he thought, but found himself moving towards Mags on the bed regardless. He walked as if entranced, which he was — by the sensual perfume she exuded and sexual promise in her eyes. He’d been alone a long time. Aufhockers were solitary by nature, coming together to mate and procreate and little else.

How did she get here? A remnant voice of reason questioned. Has this Faustus given her the power to use the
motus
spell just to come and seduce me? Probably.

Yet despite this thought, Jürgen realised he’d moved. He was standing before the bed now, and Mags was fully reclined. Her legs were parted. She was making it clear that there would be no barrier, no impediment to taking her — if he just let the towel fall.

‘Get up,’ he growled, but his words were so thick with longing they were barely audible.

‘No,’ she mouthed, and pouted her ruby lips.

That low growl rumbled in his chest, and Mags released one in response, and the sound and scent became overwhelming.

He crawled onto the bed and allowing the towel to fall, he leaned over and kissed Mags firmly on the lips. The kiss was hard and ferocious. They growled and snarled at one another, and Mags’ red-nailed hands ran lengths down Jürgen’s broad solid back. Poised at the entrance to her womanhood, he stared into her eyes.

I’m weak…damn her!
He kissed her savagely once again with punishing force.

He had no chance to move, as a loud American voice pierced the symphony of their mating growls.

‘What the fuck?’ Christy swore.

Sabra sat opposite Cain in a sunlit café beside the Indian Ocean. The light hovered between day and dusk, and the horizon promised a spectacular sunset with the beginnings of a pinkish blush.

Sabra rested her elbows on a wooden table that was old and heavily varnished. She could almost feel the ages beneath her hands in the knots of the wood. She smiled at him, a little shyly, and stared out over the golden sands and ocean. The water was so blue it looked as if it were painted, small gulls cried, and other birds she didn’t know dipped beneath the water and chased tiny fish.