Prince of Flight
Prince of Flight: A Bird Shifter Novel © Copyright 2015 by Mandy M. Roth
Prince of Flight: A Bird Shifter Novel
by
Mandy M. Roth
Prince of Flight: A Bird Shifter Novel © Copyright 2015 by Mandy M. Roth
Cover art by Andrea Depasture, © Copyright 2014
First Electronic Printing 2015
Edited by: Suz G. and Jinxie
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Mandy M. Roth.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. This book is intended for a mature audience only. Must be 18 years or older.
Published by Raven Books
www.ravenhappyhour.com
Raven Books and all affiliate sites and projects are © Copyrighted 2004-2015
King of Prey Series in Order:
King of Prey
A View to a Kill
Master of the Hunt
Rise of the King
Prince of Pleasure
Prince of Flight
Mandy M. Roth, Online
Mandy loves hearing from readers and can be found interacting on social media.
(copy & paste links into your browser window)
Website:
http://www.MandyRoth.com
Blog:
http://www.MandyRoth.com/blog
The Raven Books:
http://www.TheRavenBooks.com
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMandyRoth
Twitter:
@MandyMRoth
Book Release Newsletter:
mandyroth.com/newsletter.htm
(Newsletters: I do not share emails and only send newsletters when there is a new release/contest/or sales)
Blurb
This bad-boy biker beast has met a beauty who isn't scared off by what she sees.
Chapter One
Human realm….
“Sitting at the big boy table now? You normally like that back corner one that only seats two. Or would seat two if you let anyone get near you.”
Keonae glanced up from his seat in the back poolroom of the small roadside bar he enjoyed frequenting of late. He’d been a full-time resident in the human realm for far longer than the bar had been in existence, and the bar, as obvious from its state of decay, had seen many years.
“Cat got your tongue?”
He did all he could to remain calm as the beauty before him spoke. The mere sound of her voice held his full attention. He could listen to her talk all day and all night. Hell, she could babble about anything and he’d hang on her every word.
Be ice.
That was what humans often said to one another, wasn’t it? Or was it be wet? Be sub-zero? Be Artic? Perhaps be cool? He couldn’t remember, nor could he keep track of all their slang.
Stupid humans with their ridiculous sayings.
He should know the human sayings well, like he knew the handle of his sword, but he did not take the time to commit them to memory. They seemed to change so very often. Humans had taken a nearly adequate language and butchered it long ago, and he had been around long enough to see it devolve at a rapid pace.
They had a saying or slang for nearly everything, and all of it took from the beauty of the words. From their meaning. His native tongue was nothing they would ever understand, even though Latin had been born from it long ago, as had several other languages the humans used. That was in the days when they foolishly thought his kind to be angels, gods—demons even.
Humans were not the smartest of races, that was for certain. He didn’t mind them so much. They had grown on him over the centuries. Especially the human close to him now.
Yes. Be ice. Do not show her how she makes you feel. Do not reveal that she reminds you of the sweet summers near the edges of the springs of the Tocalie Mountains. That her scent is like that of the mavabian flowers that dotted the outer regions.
He wanted to wax poetic with her, show her he was more than he appeared, but he didn’t dare. Romancing her wasn’t an option.
Be ice. Be so cold your cock shrivels.
Somehow thinking it did little to settle him or his raging hard-on. Not with her being so close. Lark—such a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman—had a way of drawing his thoughts like no other. Of making him feel like a mere fledgling, rather than a man of many centuries. He was a man of high birth, of position and of power, should he ever decide to return to his place among his people in Accipitridae.
Sweat broke out on his palms. He’d never had sweaty palms prior to meeting her. The hold she had over him was spell-worthy. Lark had been calling to him on a baser level from the moment he’d laid eyes on her nearly a month prior. He licked his lower lip. He wanted to sample her lips, but he didn’t dare. Deep down he knew one taste would never be enough, and he wasn’t the type of man who could have something long term.
At least not with a human woman.
“I await friends on this evening,” he said, before clearing his throat, reminding himself his speech patterns were unusual when not tempered. “I’m waiting for
the guys
.”
“Guys’ night, Keon?” she asked, seeming to prefer to shorten his name down from Keonae. He would not have tolerated such a thing from any other than her. She smiled and it was both innocent and sexy all wrapped up in one. His dick responded in kind, lengthening, wanting to be in her. His breathing increased as desire lanced through him.
“Sweet,” she added.
He mentally counted to twenty before speaking, worried his next words would be something along the lines of a sexual proposition, or even a flat-out decree that she bed him. While he wasn’t opposed to making them, he didn’t want to with her—not this woman. She was special. His old ways weren’t ones he wanted to go back to in regards to Lark. “Yes. One of my brothers is coming as well.”
“Really?” she asked, easing closer, excitement aglow on her face. He lived for these types of moments. Times when she’d smile for him. “I’ll finally get to meet some of your friends and family? I was starting to think you might be making them up.”
He pressed a partial smile to his face. He and Lark had done as he’d never done with a human before—they’d conversed on a deeper level more than once. He’d even shared some details of his friends and family—nothing about being a bird shifter from another realm, though.
“They’ll be here soon,” he said, his voice low. He wet his lips and glanced up at her, every ounce of him wanting to make contact with her.
She beamed. “Good. You need more people around you. You’re always alone.”
She was a fine one to talk. He’d noticed Lark didn’t ever seem to have anyone close to her—unless he counted himself. They’d taken to going out to breakfast together when her shifts ended in the wee hours of the morning. They talked about everything and seemingly nothing at all. And they never talked about certain things. Things she wouldn’t understand as a human.
But the one thing Keonae took note of was that she avoided discussing friends or family. She was as alone as he was. Maybe more.
“I’d like you to meet the guys when they get here.” The statement was huge for more than one reason. He never let anyone meet others of his kind and he had certainly never introduced a human woman to them. At least, not since he’d taken the back-stabbing wench he’d once thought he loved before his brothers.
Lark nodded, her long, blonde hair spilling in all directions. “Of course.”
Keonae sipped his beer as she headed back through the doorway to the main area of the bar, leaving him to sit alone, the way he preferred it. Several minutes passed before the men he’d been waiting on arrived. He lifted his beer as fellow bird shifters took seats around him at the circular table.
The bar was a hole in the wall, but Keonae preferred those to others. Most humans never asked him questions, and nearly all just let him be. To them, he was the brooding man who played darts or pool, who drank alone and who had the scar on his face. Very few were brave enough to ask how he got it. Those who did chance his wrath regretted their decision instantly. He wasn’t one for sharing. That feel-good bullshit he saw on television, where everyone wanted to sit around in a circle and jerk each other off emotionally, wasn’t for him. He wasn’t one of those soft men—he was a warrior, and warriors weren’t pussies.
The bar served another purpose, beyond just giving him a place to get drunk. If a bar fight erupted, as was often the case with the place, he was able to get some fighting in. It kept his skills honed. Coupled with his workouts, he stayed fit and active, always ready should the need to fight a real battle arise. Once, in his past, he’d been ill-prepared and arrogant, a young fool full of ideas of love and romance.