Untamable Lover (Worlds of Lemuria: Earth Colony Book 2) (3 page)

“I read something interesting in the ancient text today.” Aramie had found that book a few weeks ago and he’d been surprised at how entranced she’d become with the strange Stiyaha tome. With each visit, she’d told him more about their shared Lemurian past. “Did you know our Lemurian ancestors lived in the islands of the South Pacific during the last ice age?”

Unable to answer her, he concentrated on her tender care. Cool water cascaded over his head and down the back of his neck where the familiar sound of liquid dripped into a bucket. Fingernails scraped the skin at the base of his scalp, wringing out the water from his hair. A warm towel caressed the skin on his cheeks. 

“The book says after a flood caused by melting ice, various races of shape-shifters migrated to the continents. The need to hide from humans forced many into seclusion. We had to battle our enemy in remote locations. I guess that explains why the Keep is underground.” 

A comb ran through his wet untamed hair, catching on a knot only once. Gentle hands lifted his head and shoulders from the edge of the bed and back onto the pillow. He didn’t deserve her devoted attention.

Her hand rested against his shoulder, the sensation tickling his skin. “I’ve always known we fought this war for our goddess, Alora, but I never knew we had brethren until she sent us here to join forces with the Stiyaha. I wonder when the others will arrive. In any case, it will be good to have other Lemurian species at the Keep to help fight the Gossum.”

The door creaked and soft, feminine footsteps approached. Demir recognized Sidea’s familiar gait. “Hey, sis. Need any help?” 

“I’m almost done. Just need to trim his beard.” Aramie’s smooth fingers ran across his cheek and around his goatee leaving little lightning bolts everywhere she touched. 

“It’s almost time to leave.” Sidea spoke in a rush.

The bedspread near Demir’s hip bunched as if Aramie had clenched the material in her hands. Her chair squeaked against the stone floor. She moved away, her unique scent trailing in her wake. 

“Not so loud, just in case.” Aramie’s voice was a tight whisper. “We’ll leave after the evening repast. If anyone asks, we’re going for a run.” 

Demir strained to hear her words. What was in that dart that kept him down? How much more could he take?

“I can’t wait to go. My body aches to transform.” Sidea’s words carried across the room, despite her hushed tone. “Once we find the blue sunstone, Gaetan can heal Demir.”

Demir tensed. A healing stone? Was it possible? A tiny drop of hope weaseled its way into his chest. 

Sidea inhaled and let out a slow breath. “With Demir back, you won’t have to fight the males anymore. Even though our species heals fast, I hate to see you get injured defending your role as interim leader.”

He fought against the invisible bonds, straining, kicking in his mind. In his condition, he couldn’t lead, and because he still lived, Aramie wasn’t officially Pride leader. His gut twisted into a tight knot. He’d put her in an awkward position, and he hated himself for it. 

“I need to finish.” Aramie’s voice returned to a normal volume.

The chair creaked as she settled in her spot next to his bed. Tools clinked together. Cool metal caressed the skin on his cheeks. 

Snip-snip.
 

Small tendrils of hair fell onto his cheek, tickling his skin. He relaxed again under her care. His mind reeled through a storm of confusion, but he couldn’t pinpoint its source. All he knew was a welcoming peace at her touch.

“I’ll see you in the Grand Hall.” Sidea’s words hung in the air. 

Her soft footsteps retreated across the floor. The door clicked shut.

“I wish you would talk to me, tell me what I should do.” Aramie caressed the hair around his mouth, wiping away the stray strands she’d clipped. Her finger circled his diamond stud above the hairline of his lip.

He wanted to grab her wrists, make her stop, and part of him was glad he couldn’t. All his adult life he’d avoided physical contact. Even with Eleanor, his deceased mate, he’d controlled when and how she touched him. To have Aramie touch him now, in such a personal way, beat against his spirit, reinforcing his weakness. 

“The males only follow my command in deference to you.” Her voice contained a small hitch.

The flat end of the scissors rubbed against his skin. With gentle care her fingers glided over his upper lip, and he wanted to lick her, taste her skin on his tongue. Her attention to him teased his nerves, increasing his yearning. He’d gone from relaxed to being enticed in a matter of moments. In his mind, his cat howled in frustration. 

“Sidea and I will find Blue Pool, find the healing stone. I won’t stop until we do.”

A drop of wetness splashed on his chin, and she wiped it away. Why did the females cry over him? Had she gone soft? If he could, he’d tell her to suck it up. He’d chosen her as his second in command for a reason. 

Metal clinked against metal. She must’ve put the scissors back on the tray. That meant she would leave him soon. His stomach clenched. Why did he care? The only females he’d ever cared about were Eleanor and Melissa. 

Eleanor had been timid and submissive—a perfect mated female. She’d always done as he’d asked, and never once challenged his authority. Her beautiful smile and deep green eyes were as clear to him as the last time he’d seen her, over five hundred years ago when the great scourge had claimed her life. Bile rose in his throat. It seemed like only yesterday.  

Even though his lifespan was over two thousand years, he still had more time than not…or so he used to think. At this point, he wasn’t sure he had more than a few days left.

The memory of his mate reminded him of Melissa, who’d looked so like his Eleanor he’d obsessed over her. What a fool he’d been, pining for a female who didn’t want him. When she became pregnant with the king’s child, he’d lost his lucidity and threatened her. Aramie had interfered, commanding him to stop. He’d slapped his own warrior across the face for her insolence, but he’d let Melissa go. 

After all he’d done, Aramie was here now, attending to his needs.
I am such a shit.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She rose from her chair and padded to the door, lingering there for a moment. Her soft breaths sounded loud in the quiet room. 

“Please come back to me,” she whispered.

She really doesn’t want to be Pride leader…

The door closed behind her, but the enchanting scent of strawberries lingered.

Chapter Four

Ram grimaced as the stairs groaned under his new, red high-tops. It was as if the steps were aware evil invaded the old farmhouse. The squeak of his soles was a reminder of Noeh, their battle, and Ram’s little tumble into the river. 

“That bastard king just won’t die,” he muttered. 

Shaking himself, he focused on the old wooden door. He peered through the glass panes, the edges coated with the remnants of too many bad paint jobs. The white house was
so
not like his dark personality and that would do fine to camouflage their new lair.

He twisted the knob and opened the door. The smell of bacon and stale cigarettes infiltrated his sensitive nose. He gagged and placed a hand over his mouth. “Open a window.”

 Inside, a Formica table stood in the middle of the neglected kitchen. Steel-framed chairs with cheap plastic cushions surrounded the small eating place. Over the large sink, pink floral print curtains covered the window. Decoupage pictures of peppers, cucumbers, and melons lined the walls, adding to the country flair. The faint scent of grass and manure from the nearby pasture completed the sense of happy, happy, home, home.

Ram glared at Jakar, his first lieutenant. The male stood still at the bottom of the stairs, his hands clasped in front of him. Jakar had secured this place while Ram had been out of it, healing from his battle wounds. Ram touched the scar that ran along the center of his chest and flinched. The disfigurement would remain a constant reminder of his failure to defeat Noeh, the Stiyaha king.

Ram raised a hairless eyebrow. “A farmhouse—not my first choice, but this could work.” 

“You need to see the basement.” Sunglasses covered Jakar’s eyes, but the slight lift to his mouth gave away his eagerness.

“Are there fluffy kittens and baby chicks down there?” Surely, this country comfort couldn’t get much worse.

Jakar walked up the stairs, his hand extended in an invitation. “Please, take a look around, then I’ll show you the prize jewel—the basement.”

Ram walked into the kitchen, past the large living room, and evaluated each of the three bedrooms. A stack of boxes labeled “Smirnoff’s” sat in the far corner of the last room. Alcohol was all his body or any of the Gossum needed to survive. His favorite—the hard stuff, vodka in particular. He smiled. Despite the feminine touches, this place was functional, nothing like the decrepit cabin they’d used as a safe house.

About a hundred miles from Portland, Oregon, the farmhouse was on the eastern edge of Mt. Hood, near the small community of Tygh Valley. Human neighbors lived a few miles away, but he could deal with that, as long as they didn’t interfere. Overall, Jakar had done a good job. He’d used the funds they’d racked up from the stolen credit cards to rent the place. The owner hadn’t asked any questions, which was a good move on his part. They could stay here, at least for a while.

Members of his brood sat on the overstuffed couch and the wing-backed chairs that lined the perimeter of the living room. A newer inductee still had a few wisps of hair hanging from his almost-bald head. He appeared to survive the change from human to Gossum without any ill effects. They always did. Humans were such easy prey. Easy to catch, easy to convert. Most of the new members came from the seedy side of Portland where it was simpler to hide their disappearance from their normal, human lives. 

Ram cast a look at his first lieutenant. “Well, where’s the basement?” 

“This way.” Jakar headed into the kitchen. He pointed to a door, the edges rough with age. “Down there.”

“By all means, lead the way,” Ram said.

Jakar bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”

With a loud squeak, the door opened on rusty hinges. The sound was like rock grinding against rock, reminding him of his fall into the river at the hand of his nemesis. His claws extended from his fingers. He wanted to lash out at someone, anything to ease his mounting frustration. In the last battle, he’d lost to Noeh, and he didn’t know how much time he’d have before Zedron paid him a visit. If he didn’t have something to offer the finicky god, he’d die a painful death and never get the chance to prove to his ex-wife, Sheri, that he wasn’t a failure. He shivered.

Jakar climbed down the long flight of stairs. A bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling provided a small measure of light, but Ram didn’t need it. The temperature decreased with each step, and the smell of damp earth and rotting vegetables grew as he descended. If he’d had any hair on his bald head, it would’ve stood on end. He missed having hair—his cap didn’t quite fit the same way anymore.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped. A jolt of excitement raced along his spine, and he held his breath. Before him, the room spread out in a large arc. Bottles, beakers, lab equipment, and assorted sundries lay on the large workbench. His heart beat in a fast rhythm. He had a lab again, and that was a wonderful thing. 

When they captured another Lemurian, he had all he needed to extract the blood and create another serum. This time, Ram wouldn’t fail. Once he had their preternatural powers, he and his brood would bring down the Keep and all its inhabitants. Then, they could enslave the humans and start transporting water back to Lemuria. 

He scanned the room. Scattered among the glass beakers and metal bowls lay an assortment of tools—screwdrivers, hammers, pliers—probably left over from the prior tenant. 

Ram glanced at his first lieutenant. His loyalty was unusual among the Gossum. Must’ve been Ram’s good timing. He’d saved Jakar from an ass-fuck by two guys in an alley. Ram had killed the attackers and bit Jakar, transforming him into a Gossum. His first lieutenant’s loyalty had paid off, big time. “You outdid yourself.” 

Jakar shrugged. “It is to your liking then, excellent. While you were…indisposed, I had the brood work on expanding this room. As you can see, the back corner was excavated with plenty of space for prisoners. You shall have all that you require.”

Ram laughed so hard his body shook. His fingers tingled, and he was eager to begin the search. Maybe he still had a chance to please his god, Zedron, and win this war. Now, all they needed was some Lemurian blood. “Let’s break out the vodka. We need to fuel up before the hunt.”

Chapter Five

Aramie peered through the branches of a young fir tree. The wet needles still held on to the recent rain, and a drop of water landed on her arm. Even in the dark, her night vision picked out small details, like the mouse quivering next to a fallen log. Somewhere in the vast forest was a sacred pool, one with a gem that might heal Demir. Could she find it? A nugget of doubt crept into her mind. 

She’d searched with her sister Sidea for the past three nights, but the hallowed lake had eluded them. When she’d asked Gaetan about the mythical place, his eyes had brightened, and he’d chuckled. His words echoed in her mind.
Blue Pool doesn’t exist. It’s a legend. 

Aramie wouldn’t believe that, she couldn’t. In the Panthera culture, myths were always based on truth, so Blue Pool had to exist, somewhere. She had to find the crystal. Her encounter with Ginnia in the Hall of Scriptures emerged in her mind. The Stiyaha seer had walked through the many stacks of ancient books until she’d found a small volume with a red cover. Her eyes had twinkled and she’d flipped through the pages, stopping on a sheet with a picture of a blue crystal.

Aramie’s hands shook as she’d accepted the tome from the strange female. Her heart had pounded, the text swimming before her eyes. The ancient cuneiform writing held the answer to her prayer—a way to help Demir. She’d memorized the archaic story, word for word.