Enticed: An Erotic Sacrifice Read online

  Jane couldn’t control a soft, pleading sound as those questing fingers went lower and slipped around between them to touch her full and ready pussy. She jolted and quivered when Ulma found her, and it only took two quick, sleek slides for her to explode into a long, undulating, orgasm.

  She bit her lip as the hot pleasure exploded over her, shuttling through her limbs and centering there between her legs. Still sandwiched between them, still weighted down by Deren’s exhausted torso and held by one strong hand, Jane quivered and shook…and then collapsed fully onto Ulma’s warm chest.

  Her ankles were still bound, her legs still spread, her body exhausted and replete, trapped between them.

  It seemed a long time before anyone moved, and when Deren began to touch her again, Jane almost began to cry. He pulled her upright, closing his hands over her breasts from behind, forcing her to kneel upright in front of him.

  As Ulma watched from below them, Deren found Jane’s full, exhausted quim and began to tease her once more, his hand sliding down over her belly. She quivered and trembled, unable to fight off the sensations, and soon he had her shuddering and pulsing around his fingers as they slipped and slid.

  “Please,” Jane begged as he nudged her into yet another violent orgasm. “Please.” Her voice came out in a desperate moan and tears spilled from her eyes.

  Ulma said something, and to Jane’s surprise, Deren released her. Heedless of her bound ankles, he tipped her aside and onto the altar-bed, then grabbed his partner once more.

  Zaren…was her last thought as Jane fell into a deep, dark sleep.

  — VI—

  Zaren opened his eyes slowly.

  He was aware of a dull, aching throb just above his hipbone and another one that screamed a little more shrilly in the meaty part of his right calf. Everywhere else he felt sore and stretched out. His head beat with a soft pain where it had connected with a tree branch as he fell.

  Fell.

  Jane!

  He would have vaulted from the bedding on which he lay, except that he just as suddenly became aware of her scent. And before he could even assimilate that familiar, heady essence, he saw the blazing red-gold of her fire-hair strewn across the pallet next to him.

  Zaren relaxed only slightly. Jane was there, but he didn’t know where they were. Fragments of memory shifted from images of hands closing over him, stroking him…to a heavy weight covering him, and heat…much heat…into the image of spear-brandishing men and their lascivious eyes that pawed over Jane—his Jane. His eyes widened and he remembered.

  “Jane,” he said, pulling himself into a sitting position as he recognized they were in a small, windowless hut. She lay next to him, sleeping. Her white skin, luminescent like the moon, glowed in the low light, and spirals of fiery curls covered her arm and shoulder, spilling into a pile where her hands crossed, infantlike, in front of her breasts. He scented her, his familiar, beautiful, delicious Jane…and something else. Something musky and titillating and unfamiliar.

  At the sound of her name, Jane’s eyes shot open and she lurched upright. He saw she was wearing little more than a simple cloth wrapped around her torso. When she saw Zaren, that shocked, frightened look evaporated.

  “Zaren. Oh, thank God,” she murmured, reaching to stroke his cheek. “I thought… I was afraid the fever would take you.”

  Fever. The word was vaguely familiar, and it had bad connotations, but whatever it was Zaren was certain of one thing: nothing had taken him. And nothing would take him from her. Ever again.

  She was already touching him at his bare hip, where it still hurt and where he now saw the thick paste covering his wound. He remembered now how an arrow had seared into his skin and then, when he crashed into a tree trunk during the fall, the weapon had been torn up through his flesh then broken in half.

  Because Jane had moved, her hair fell away, and Zaren was, as always, caught by the breathtaking beauty of her. His lungs felt constricted and his hand shook as he reached to touch that waterfall of fiery curls.

  Her lips parted as she looked up at him, their eyes catching in the dim light of…wherever they were.

  Zaren stopped himself from leaning forward to taste her. There would be time for that later. Now… “Where are we?”

  He remembered Jane thrusting herself in front of him, blocking the threatening spears. A renewed wave of rage shuttled through him—that she would think he needed protection. The rage turned into a dull throb of fury and anxiety. Jane had spoken readily to the leader of their captors… Zaren remembered very little after that—little more than traipsing through the thick brush, surrounded by the villagers…and there were those murky images of hands stroking him, massaging him…a mouth going down, long and slow and tight, over his hard rod… He felt himself shift and lift at the vague memory.

  “We’re in the village. They believe I’m a goddess,” Jane was saying. “They won’t hurt us.”

  Because his vision at night was as well honed as a tiger’s, Zaren saw something in her emerald eyes that might have been otherwise lost in the dimness. A trace of fear and worry, yet determination. Fierceness. And something else that niggled at him uncomfortably. Something he didn’t understand.

  But…goddess? That word he didn’t know. He tried to form more questions, but although he’d been practicing and listening to Effie and Everett (or was it My Gad and Darling?) speaking, he still found it difficult to easily express himself.

  “You go with me,” he tried, reminding her of her words. The ache that had suddenly stretched inside him, in his heart, eased when he remembered the joy in her face when she spoke those words. Always. Forever. She had meant it.

  So why were they back here, in the same village where she had been lying on a platform—

  Zaren had to stop the thought, force away the image of her splayed over a dais, writhing and undulating with pleasure. He tightened his fingers, curling them into his palms, and felt the ragged edges of his nails cutting flesh. Why had she brought them back here?

  “But you were hurt.” She touched the dried paste at his side. “You were bleeding, and weak, and the animals would have attacked. We wouldn’t have been safe in the jungle. And then you got a fever—”

  But he interrupted her with a low, outraged growl. “You think I cannot take care of me? And you? In—in jungle?” He fumbled for the word. His heart thudded harshly, and that rage was back. “You bring us here to protect me?”

  Her eyes had gone wide and shocked. Then her lips—the full, lush ones his attention continued to wander back to—firmed and flattened. “You were very badly injured, and you could have died from the fever. This isn’t an insult to your manhood, Zaren. It was practicality. I wasn’t about to let anything happen to you—and I certainly didn’t want to be trying to lug a deadweight man who was bleeding to death around the jungle. It was the only way to save you.”

  Her voice had become prim and tight, and Zaren didn’t understand most of her words, but he comprehended enough. “You risk yourself to protect me?” he replied bitterly. “I would not let anything bad happen to you. This jungle is my home. I know it all.”

  Right before him, she softened and eased. “I was afraid you would die. You have been very sick for two days…and three nights.” Her voice caught a little.

  He relaxed some. Fever. He remembered that word, remembered the weakness that had overtaken him…and then a rush of shadowy memories.

  “But now that you’re awake,” Jane was saying, pressing her hand gently against the side of his face, “we can leave.”

  “We go now.” He made to move, but she pulled him back down.

  Her eyes were wide and she leaned closer to him. Her voice was low and her warm breath brushed his cheek. “We must be careful. There are guards outside.”

  “Guards?”

  “They are watching. They don’t want us to leave.”

  “They cannot keep me here.” Fury shot through him, and his muscles bunched. No one would keep him. And no one would
touch her. “You come with me.”

  “Yes, oh yes, Zaren,” she said, kissing him on the side of the mouth.

  He turned to take her lips fully with his. She tasted beautiful…warm and soft and sweet, and something inside him filled as if to burst. When she pulled away, her amazing green eyes glittered with something hot and deep that made his belly move like butterfly wings. She drew in a deep breath and put her fingers over his mouth. “We must wait, Zaren. It must be the right time—when they won’t stop us. Trust me. I—”

  The door to the hut opened and the man with the very cold, empty eyes stood there. “Goddess. It is time. You must come with me. The fourth couple awaits their turn.”

  Zaren didn’t like the way the man looked at Jane—or at himself—and he tightened his fingers around her wrist. “No.”

  “Zaren,” Jane hissed, trying to loosen his grip. “Please.”

  Please. A shard of heat rushed through him, for he remembered the first time she’d looked at him like that; her beautiful eyes wide and green as the sea, filled with fear and hope.

  Please. He’d touched her soft skin, and she’d moaned and writhed, turned warm and damp and sweet-dusky smelling…and he knew even then he must mate with her. And once he did, he knew there would never be another mate for him.

  “No,” he said. “You stay with Zaren. With me.” He looked fiercely at the man and pulled to his feet, wholly unconcerned with his nakedness. Looming over the man-creature, Zaren had not one thought of fear. He could break this man in a breath if he wanted to.

  “Zaren, I will come back very soon,” Jane promised. “But I must go for now.” She stood on her toes to press a kiss to his ear and whispered, “We will leave when I return. This will be my last night away from you. Please…do not fight. I promise I will return.”

  Though Zaren trembled with rage, he allowed her to leave—but not without sending a dark, warning look at the man with cold eyes.

  After Jane and the man left the hut, Zaren prowled about and investigated his surroundings. He was alone and had ample opportunity to find something that could be used as a weapon. He had no intention of waiting here until Jane returned.

  The small nest—no, house; that was the word—had walls made of bamboo rods covered with tightly woven dried grasses. Some animal skins, rubbed smooth and supple, also hung on the walls. There was a small opening in the roof for the smoke to escape, and one door where daylight filtered from beneath it.

  A small fire burned in an enclosure in the corner, and there were jugs and trays on a table. A trio of bamboo poles had been arranged to hold up a pot, which hung over the fire. The floor was covered with dried grasses that had been woven into flat pieces. Two chairs were arranged near the fire, and he remembered the elderly healer woman sitting there. Animal skins and plaited baskets were piled in one area. His muscles bunched. Zaren was ready to break free of this place, and he growled in the back of his throat. They will not keep me.

  And he would not wait. He’d find Jane and they would go. His jaw hurt, so tight from anger and pain. Whatever she was doing, he knew it was nothing good for her. He knew how to read the language of animals and man, and he knew she was just as unhappy as he.

  Just as Zaren was about to break off a piece of the bamboo stand that held the cooking pot—it would make an excellent spear—he heard the softest sound of footsteps outside and smelled someone approaching. A moment later, the hut door opened and Zaren spun with a little growl.

  “Have no fear,” said the man with the cold eyes. He held up a hand as if to forestall Zaren’s attack. “Your woman is being well cared for.”

  “Where is Jane?” he demanded, looking past the man and out into the light of dusk. He saw shadows of other people, the glow of the setting sun filtering through the trees and other jungle growth. But no nimbus of fire-gold hair.

  “She will return soon. But in the meanwhile, I have brought you food and drink.” In his other hand, he carried a small jug and a leather pouch. “I understand in England it is customary for men to sit and partake together.”

  Zaren didn’t fully understand what the man was saying. The word “England” struck a shadowy memory that left a lingering pain in his head, and he had no idea what “partake” meant. But he was hungry and his throat was dry. According to Jane, he’d been ill for three days, and of course he must nourish himself.

  Despite his wariness of the man, Zaren eased back. He understood enough from Jane that it was important to pretend not to want to leave, not to be ready to fight these people.

  “You are from England, aren’t you?” said Cold Eyes as he set the jug on a table and removed its stopper. “Never seen blue eyes on anyone in the jungle. But you’ve been here a long time. You don’t remember any of it, do you?”

  England. Again came that pain, now in the space above his eyes. Zaren didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he took a small cup when it was offered to him and drank. The liquid wasn’t cool and refreshing as he’d expected, but tasted sweet and heavy, like the sap from the anaharti tree.

  “Drink,” the man encouraged him when Zaren pulled the cup away and frowned at it. “See?” He lifted his own vessel to his mouth and tipped it up. All the while, those cold eyes remained on Zaren as if he were a wild animal, about to be uncaged.

  He felt the weight of the man’s attention as it traveled over his bare torso and flank, then down his legs, and Zaren realized belatedly he was still completely uncovered. He looked around for a cloth to put over himself, knowing most human animals preferred to do so. He did it only for convenience and protection.

  “There was a story about a ship that wrecked,” the man said. “Some years back. Fifteen? Twenty years, perhaps?” Now his eyes began to glitter, and Zaren felt an uncomfortable, hot sensation when the man looked at him. Like a tiger stalking its prey. “Drink.” The man smiled.

  Zaren wanted water, not this sweet, thick stuff. But he found if he tipped up the cup to sip, he could look around the room without being noticed. He was still searching for a weapon.

  But now he began to feel a little unsteady on his feet. The room tipped a little, and Zaren touched the back of a chair to steady himself. Perhaps he was still weak from the fever.

  “The ship was called the Windstead. It carried a well-known family from England.” The man smiled at him. He was sitting in one of the chairs and he gestured for Zaren to take the other. “More?” he asked, offering the jug.

  “Water,” Zaren replied as he eased himself onto one of the seats. His tongue felt thick and his head heavy. Now the floor tilted and the air seemed soft and murky around him. He reached out to put his cup on the table and the table wasn’t there…the cup fell to the ground with a soft thud.

  “You drank it all. Excellent.” The cold-eyed man bent to pick it up. “Did you say something about water?”

  Zaren nodded.

  “Of course. Whatever you wish. You’ll need it to keep your stamina.” The man smiled, and his grin was hot and dark and sent an odd shiver through Zaren. Then he stood and went to the door.

  Zaren used the opportunity to blink hard and shake his head in an effort throw off this odd, blanket-like cocoon that seemed to envelope him…but instead of easing, it began to grow heavier and thicker and his movements became slower and more sluggish.

  And then he slipped into shadowy darkness.

  ~*~

  Something cold and wet splashed over him, and Zaren jolted awake.

  “You asked for water,” said a voice very close behind him.

  Zaren was now wide awake, and it took him only a breath to realize he was standing…facing a wall of the hut. His arms were spread wide and tied to the wall. And so were his legs, with thick vine ropes that bit into his flesh.

  A flash of panic rushed over him, then turned to fury. He growled and tugged on one of his arms. The wall of the hut shook and shivered, and little bits of dried grass showered down on him. He pulled again, harder, and still was unable to free himself.

 
“No,” he ground out, and yanked at his other arm. Confusion was the only thing that kept him from struggling wildly. What was happening?

  The man with the cold eyes laughed softly behind him. “Oh yes,” he said in a catlike purr…and touched him.

  Zaren jolted sharply and twisted, growling again, louder and with more warning. The man ignored him and smoothed a hand down over his hip and thigh, then slipped it between his spread legs.

  Zaren roared in surprise as the man reached up to touch his sac, sliding his hand through from behind and fondling him. He jolted again, shocked and outraged…and yet he couldn’t control the sudden surge of pleasure that shot to his rod. The man closed his fingers around him and Zaren began to pant and tremble as his cock surged, full and hot, filling the man’s hand.

  Behind him, Cold Eyes was pressing his warm skin into his backside, rubbing muscle and hair and his own stiff rod against Zaren’s arse. Zaren twisted and shook, trying to control the sensations blossoming inside him: dark and red and hot. He panted, losing his breath and his place, and fought against these strange and intense feelings even as he strained to pull his arms free.

  “Beautiful,” muttered Cold Eyes as he released him and reached to smooth his hands over Zaren’s broad shoulders and bunching muscles.

  His skin jumped and tingled beneath the man’s touch as if burned with some hot pleasure, and he closed his eyes and tried to push the feelings away. Tried to pull and shift and work his arms free as the man’s hands smoothed down over his hard belly and hips and flank. Prodding and poking, massaging and stroking everywhere.

  The man stepped away suddenly and Zaren shuddered with relief. His rod was still stiff and protruding, nearly touching the wall when he leaned forward, and his skin still burned and shivered—but the man’s hands were off him.