Bound to the Beast, page 4
Claim. Fuck. Taste.
The beast sent erotic images into my mind, one after another. We could smell her skin from here. Her feminine scent teased the senses. Made imagining the taste of her on our tongue all too easy.
My mate was oblivious to the years of discipline and self-control required to keep me from jumping off this roof and throwing her over my shoulder to carry her inside. I’d remove her clothing as I went. Lock my mouth over her hot clit and make her beg, and claw, and scream my name before I allowed the beast to have his way with her. Mate her. Claim her. Place the matching set of mating cuffs around her wrists so we would never be separated again.
The mating cuffs I wore sent pain burning through my nerves, an agony both beast and male welcomed. I wanted it to hurt. That meant we’d found her. The mating cuffs served as a reminder that we had a reason—other than protecting an innocent boy—to keep fighting, keep existing. For the last three days, the cuffs had been the only thing controlling the beast.
Now that I knew my mission and my mate were one and the same, the mating cuffs weren’t enough. I needed her. She was the only being in the known universe my beast would defer to, serve, obey. Only she would be able to control him, once I let him out.
Tonight, my beast was nearly feral, demanding we come here, to the one home he cared about. Brody seemed like a kind child. My initial interest in him stemmed from the fact that soon he would be my son. As soon as I claimed Christine James. My mate.
At first, I’d thanked that gods that when I’d asked Brody about his parents, he’d informed me that the beautiful and desirable Ms. James, his ‘mother’, was divorced and had cut off all contact with the boy’s father. She was available. Not claimed by another.
Now I knew the boy had lied to me as well. Was Christine even her real name?
MINE! The beast didn’t care what her name was, only what her pussy would taste like when we finally claimed her.
Shut the fuck up, beast. Not yet. She’s not going anywhere. You don’t want to scare her.
CUFFS! He insisted.
I sighed. Normally, an Atlan Warlord placed the set of mating cuffs on his own wrists and the matching pair on his female at the same time. The technology synched, created a bond that ensured the female could not run or reject the male’s claim out of hand, out of panic or fear. It gave the beast time to woo her properly.
The erotic image the beast sent to me—him holding her up against the wall and fucking her into mindless pleasure—made my cock hard and my jaw clench.
Knock it off. This is difficult enough without you tormenting me.
MINE!
Fuck. The beast had a one track mind, which meant I did as well.
I was sure if I had a mirror, I’d see steam rising from my overheated skin in this rain. Blessing and a curse, the Hive technology imbedded in my flesh. I could hear her heart beating from my perch on the neighbor’s rooftop. A quick visual scan—which I performed every few minutes—indicated her intoxication level—she was drinking something from a glass bottle that smelled of alcohol—data about her body temperature, heart and respiration rate flashed across the implanted lenses in my eyes. I knew everything I needed to know, except what was going on in my mate’s mind.
How to tell her the truth without scaring her. How to earn her trust. Her truth.
Her love. Devotion. Caring. Acceptance of my claim.
Just because I put the mating cuffs on her wrists didn’t mean she would accept me or my beast. By interstellar law, she would have thirty days to reject my claim.
I had to woo her. Seduce her. Make her fall in love with a warlord who was more monster than male. A killer with scars. A body imbedded with Hive tech.
She kissed the fucking cat on the top of his head, and I barely held back a groan of longing. Never thought I’d be envious of the fucking Prillons and their mating collars, of the telepathic link they shared with their mates. Easy to seduce a female when one knew what she truly wanted, every emotion she was feeling, before she had a chance to speak it aloud.
Thank the gods, my female liked to talk to herself. The only thing better than my Hive enhanced vision was my hearing.
Krystal
* * *
I shouldn’t still be thinking about him. Since I’d met Iven Smith, I had a new after school routine. I would find Brody as quickly as possible and then bolt to my car like a frightened mouse, afraid I’d see him again, and say or do something stupid. Embarrassing. Or worse, reckless. Something that would put us in danger. Something like throw myself at him and beg him to take care of us. Protect us.
Give me a dozen orgasms.
“Stop.” I shook my head as I chastised myself, my libido, my lack of self-control.
Dinner was done. I’d read Brody a story and tucked him into bed before grabbing a drink. Normally, I was too paranoid to indulge in alcohol, afraid I wouldn’t be fully alert to danger. But we’d been here a couple weeks now, with no signs of trouble.
Unless one enormous, sexy man counted as trouble.
He totally did.
“Mr. Smith. Iven Smith.” I buried his name under a mouthful of sweet Rumchatta. With a frown, I realized my cup was empty. I grabbed the white, glass bottle and poured more of the delicious drink over my remaining ice cubes.
“Smith.” Hmmm. Could he have a more boring name?
Of course, that wasn’t his name anymore. My brain had changed it to Mr. Yum.
Mr. I Want Some.
Mr. How Dare You Be That Sexy?
I’d been unable to tune out the rampant gossip about him running wild in the teacher’s lounge and on the playground. Everywhere I went, every single teacher, assistant, administrator…hell, even the lunch ladies were talking about him now. Small town. Small school. Big man. He was probably the talk of the entire town. Iven. Perfect name for a massive Viking with sun-kissed brown hair and hazel eyes. I imagined him in medieval gear, wolf fur draped over his shoulders, bare chest and back, a sword and shield in his hands. Maybe even a giant horned helmet on his head, which probably wasn’t even historically accurate. History wasn’t really my thing.
My vagina didn’t care. My imaginings somehow made him even hotter. And every day my obsession got worse.
Kindergarten teacher Iven was hot. Viking Iven was pure sexual fantasy. One I indulged in because I knew the reality. He would never touch me. I would never touch him. I would never kiss him. He would never be mine.
I sipped my sugary, white, alcoholic beverage and wandered the small confines of the covered back porch. The light was off. I didn’t like attracting moths. It was cool, but I preferred bare feet. Looked a bit ridiculous with the knee-length, red and black flannel shirt-dress I still had on, but I didn’t bother changing out of the dress when I got home from work. The cotton was comfy, and I didn’t want to have to do any more laundry than absolutely necessary. The Rumchatta I sipped was doing a passable job of warming me up from the inside. Although, not quite as good a job as obsessing about him.
“Why does he have to be so damn hot?” I was on my second glass, which meant I wobbled a little when I walked. And my fantasies about Iven were getting more naughty be the second. “Iven the Viking.” Sip. “He can raid my village anytime,” I whispered to the hanging fern on my left, as if it could understand me.
I bit my lip to keep from bursting with sad laughter. I was ridiculous. I wasn’t drunk enough to excuse the nonsense coming out of my mouth. A relationship was out of the question. I had a little boy to protect. I was on the run from alien assassins. I didn’t have room in my life for a man… any man, human, alien or otherwise.
Not that there was an otherwise. Right? What else could there be?
Yeeeeeow.
Right. The furry kind, like the one yowling at me as if I was physically torturing him instead of just ignoring his repeated requests for more food.
“No. I already told you, there’s no more chicken.” I tucked my free hand into the oversized pocket of my dress so I wouldn’t give in to temptation and pet the damn thing for the tenth time in the last hour. Or feed him the steak I had in the refrigerator. That was for Brody and me to eat for dinner tomorrow.
But the cat was relentless. “No. I’m not giving in. Go hunt for a rabbit or something.” Not. Giving. In. Like I had last night. And the night before. Aaaaand the night before that. He preferred chicken to beef and had turned his nose up at the dry kibble I’d left out for him. “Go on!”
Brody named him Alexander the Great. One of his tutors on Everis claimed the human conqueror was actually descended from Elite Hunter bloodlines. Same tutor gifted Brody the cat right before his parents died. When I showed up, he’d been clinging to that cat like the furball was his only friend in the universe. Couldn’t very well leave the cat behind.
I had no idea if his tutor was right about Alexander the Great or not. Didn’t matter as I tried to shoo the fluffy cat away, but he just jumped up onto the fence and watched me. I wasn’t sure if Alexander from Everis could understand me. I didn’t know much about Brody’s pet. What I did know was that when we left Everis a few months ago, the cat—guess he was a kitten then—was no larger than the average housecat. No problem, right? But now?
If I had to guess, I’d say he was easily the size of a full grown Maine Coon. Which was too big, no matter how stinking cute he was with his black face, bright blue eyes, and fluffy grayish-white body. He looked like a gigantic Himalayan and I had no idea how much bigger he was going to get. I didn’t ask because the answer didn’t matter. Brody loved that cat and the cat loved him. I didn’t know much about cats. The only pet our father ever let us have when we were growing up was a hamster named Snugglebutt, name chosen because he was soft, and because Kimberly and I found it hilarious to say ‘butt’ in front of our father and not get in trouble.
“Shoo! Go do your job.” I waved my hand at the cat and hoped he would go lay down in bed with Brody, as he did most nights. He adored Brody and was very protective of him. I had to admit, I slept better at night knowing we had Alexander in the house.
The enormous, alien cat ignored my command, chose instead to perch on top of the unused barbeque grill’s closed lid while simultaneously watching me and licking his paw. “Shoo, Alexander; shoo, Fluffybutt! I don’t have any more food. I didn’t go to the store today.”
The cat tilted his head and stared me down like a detective. Next thing I knew, the rain was pouring down and the cat sat patiently at the back door as if going inside was his idea, not mine.
“Fine.” I walked over and pushed the sliding glass door open wide enough for him to go inside. Left it open because I knew he’d just be demanding to prowl the perimeter a few minutes from now, after he’d checked on Brody.
I walked back outside to relax in one of the padded chairs with what was left of my drink. As expected, Alexander the Great appeared not long after and curled up in my lap. The purring as I stroked his soft fur was a ten out of ten, highly recommend. Although, if he got any bigger, he wasn’t going to fit on my lap.
Viking Iven could hold him, though. Probably carry him around like a kitten. Pet him with those big hands.
I ran my fingers through Alexander’s soft fur. “Never thought I’d be jealous of a stupid cat. Maybe, if I grew some fur, he’d pet me, too.” I giggled. “I do have some fur, down there.” My giggling took over. I didn’t wax, just trimmed the forest, so to speak. So, technically, I did have some fur.
Boy, that Rumchatta was making me feel warm, all right. Everything was funny—or horribly depressing—when one was hiding from aliens who were trying to kill the only person in the world you had left to love. So what was I doing about it?
Getting tipsy and talking to an alien guard cat.
His purring reached rib rattling levels. I approved and made sure to scratch his other ear to keep the party going as I whispered to him. “Maybe, Alexander the Great, my sister knew we would be hiding from super scary aliens and she was trying to protect her son when she let him keep you. Maybe you’re safer here, with us, than back on Everis.”
The cat chose that moment to stretch out and start making biscuits on my thighs. Which hurt a little, but I didn’t have the heart to stop him. He was alone, on a strange planet, separated from his family and everything he’d ever known. His mom, and dad, and little cat sister were probably all dead. Just like mine. “You couldn’t protect your little sister, could you? You probably begged her not to run off with that handsome tabby cat, but I bet she did it anyway.”
Gee, Krystal. Projecting much?
“Shut-up.” I gulped the rest of the rum-laced, vanilla goodness in my glass and wiped a tear from my cheek, thankful that Brody was asleep and didn’t have to witness my mental breakdown. “Poor kitty. I bet your little sister fucking volunteered.”
I held that alien cat –despite the fact that my legs were going numb under his weight—and cried.
When the shadows moved on the roof next door, I convinced myself the rum was making me paranoid.
5
Krystal
* * *
I didn’t stop sobbing until I didn’t have any tears left. The cat really was great. He kept me company. Kept me warm. Didn’t judge me, try to boss me around, order me to live on another planet, or try to take Brody away from me. “You’re the perfect man for me, Alexander. But maybe you should grow a bit bigger.” Big as a bear? So he could kill anything that came at us with a swipe of his giant paws.
Or big like a certain kindergarten teacher. I’d like to see what he could do with his massive paws.
A shiver—not all from the cold—raced over my skin and I set my cup down on the edge of the table.
Alexander leaped off my lap onto the table and did that cat thing. He swiped at the cup but bumped the bottle.
The glass container fell, shattering into so many pieces around my bare feet that the ground glistened as if covered in a light dusting of snow.
“Well, shit.” I looked around for my slippers, saw them several feet away, just inside the back door. I sighed and glared at Alexander the Not So Great. “That was rude, Fluffybutt.” He was going back to his undignified nickname after this.
“Meow mowwrr meow.”
“I don’t speak cat.” I tapped the bump under my ear where the Everians had implanted what they called a Neural Processing Unit—or NPU—that instantly translated every language all the aliens spoke. Humans, too. Which was cool. Kinda. I could understand everyone at the airport now, no matter what language they were speaking, just couldn’t answer. Which was frustrating. “We need to tell the alien nerds to update their tech and add cat.”
He stared at me like he understood every word I said, yeowling at me when I gingerly placed my feet on the concrete. “Here goes nothing.”
“No!”
Was that a man’s voice? Sounded like someone had their TV on too loud next door. Either that, or I was hearing things. Didn’t matter. Suddenly, I was bone cold and just wanted to go inside.
I stood, cursing up a storm as the broken splinters of glass dug into my feet.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I tip-toed three more steps and made it to the back door. The balls of my feet were on fire. I didn’t look down, didn’t want to see the blood—if there was any. I was probably just being dramatic.
The sound of glass shattering behind me made me turn.
Alexander sat on the very edge of the table looking innocent as the day he was born, my drink glass now in pieces next to the bottle on the ground. “Damn cat.”
I wanted to yell, but I didn’t have the energy left after the sob-fest, and the fact that my feet felt like they were on being poked with dozens of needles. “See if I feed you tomorrow.”
Definitely wouldn’t be using glassware on the concrete patio again. Duh.
Door open, I looked down at my feet. Yes indeed. Bit of blood. Nothing dramatic, but still…
I glanced at the pale, gray carpeting in the living room with a sigh.
How was I supposed to get through the house without making a mess?
“Stop. Do not move.” A deep, raspy male voice made me squeal. Jump.
Land on my glassed-up feet.
“Shit!” A sob escaped as strong arms wrapped around me and swept me off my feet. Iven—the sexy Viking—Smith, kindergarten teacher extraordinaire, cradled me against his mostly bare chest. His shirt—what was left of it—hung in tatters from his massive shoulders. His hair was soaked. Rain glistened on eyelashes so long they should be illegal. Intense hazel eyes focused on me like I was the only thing that existed in the world. What remained of his shirt was wet, clinging to his shoulder muscles and biceps. So hot. Worse, the skin on his chest and neck glistened like he’d just stepped out of the shower. I bit my lip to keep from leaning the few inches necessary to lick his skin.
What. The. Hell? Was I losing my mind? I did not react to men like this. Ever.
“What are you doing here?” I glanced at Alexander, expecting some kind of reaction.
The cat yawned, watching us with those intelligent blue eyes.
Definitely understood everything going on. Obviously did not feel Iven was a threat. I trusted the stupid cat and relaxed just a little.
Iven didn’t respond to my question, just carried me like precious cargo into the kitchen and settled me on the counter. He smelled amazing. Like fresh rain and sky and man. Somehow I just knew no one else in the world smelled like he did. He turned me so my feet rested over the sink and turned on the water.
“Iven.” I cleared my throat. “Mr. Smith.” No sense getting too personal when this was going nowhere, right? “What are you doing?”
“Iven.” He placed his hand under the water to check the temperature but his gaze locked with mine as he made his demand. “Say it again.”
My brain was not involved in the decision to move my mouth. “Say what?”
“My name.”
“Iven.” I wanted to chant it, preferably while his cock was buried deep and I was losing control from my third or fourth orgasm.
