Really Unusual Bad Boys (4 page)

When his tongue rasped over her clit again and again, she crammed her fist against her lips—mindful of the king sleeping next door—and groaned wildly against her fingers. Her uterus clenched and she felt waves of pleasure race down her limbs as she came…and came…and came.

He crawled back up and she reached down, groped for his cock, and stroked the delicious long velvety length. His eyes rolled up as she tightened her grip and pumped, and in a matter of seconds she could feel him spurting.

“Good thing we didn't actually have sex,” she chortled as he collapsed over her. “Ew. Don't even think about making me sleep on the wet spot.”

“I will have servants change the bedclothes,” he groaned.

“No, forget it. It's late. Besides, this bed is huge. I'll just slide six feet over and sleep there.”

“Perhaps I will, also.”

“Perhaps you should get your ass back to your own bed.” Mutual coming was one thing, but she wasn't about to actually
sleep
with a near-stranger. She did have some standards.

He groaned again and stood, then staggered toward the doorway. “I leave you then, my Lady Lois of the Magical Fingers.”

“As a nickname, that leaves a lot to be desired.” Her eyelids were already drooping. It had been a helluva day.

“Until tomorrow, Lady Magical Fingers.” He grinned at her and left, closing the door curtain behind him.

She slept deeply, sweetly…and without pain.

T
he next morning, servants woke her up, dressed her in gorgeous flowing robes the color of cherry Kool-Aid, and escorted her down one floor, where Damon and Maltese were waiting. Her new clothes, she noticed, were quite a bit nicer than the simple white robe the servants had offered her yesterday. That was a troubling thought, but she determinedly pushed it away. Nothing was going to spoil this, her first full day in a new land.

“Good morn, my lady!”

“Hi, Maltese. Hi, Damon.” She practically blushed looking at him, remembering last night all too well. And from the way he was looking at her, he was thinking the same thing she was.

“You slept well?” he asked politely, but his gaze was so hot, it nearly scorched her.

“Slept
great.
Is it breakfast time? Is that where you guys are going?”

“A lady with a fine appetite,” Maltese said approvingly. “That is good.”

“You should have seen all the
derslangs
she devoured last even,” Damon teased. “I admit I feared to approach too closely.”

“Great. Puma comedians.”

“Nearly all is in readiness for the fights today,” Damon explained as they walked her down the corridor. “Your place has been chosen; once you have broken fast, we will take you there. We must then prepare ourselves.”

“Okay. Thanks again for the ringside seat. Is this an okay thing to wear today?”

“You look beautiful,” Maltese assured her. “You are a visitor, so no one expects to see your rank badges or affiliations.”

“I do have a badge, though. I mean, I did. I guess my old shield would be the closest thing to an affiliation. Jeez, I sure wish my footlocker was here.”

“Your what?”

“My footlocker…it's this big metal box that I kept at the foot of my bed. Most women have hope chests, I've got my dad's old army footlocker. Anyway, it had some old clothes, and my shield, a bunch of my guns, and some ammo, too.” She shrugged and turned. “Oh, well, no use crying over—ow!” Lois suddenly ended up on the floor.

She'd tripped over something. Something that hadn't been there five seconds ago. She looked over her shoulder and saw her footlocker.

Damon leaned down. “Are you going to make that noise again?”

“Aaaaaagggggggggggg—”

“I take it this is your footlocker?”

“—ggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!”

Damon helped her up. She reared back and gave her footlocker a kick—yep. Solid as a rock. This was no hallucination. “Someone better tell me
what the fuck is going on!”

“I told you,” Damon said patiently, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You are a powerful sorceress. You have but to call what you need out of the air, and it comes.”

“It has happened before,” Maltese added.

“What?
You mean other people have just sort of popped up, and they wish out loud for things, and then their shit shows up, too?”

“…yes. If I understand you correctly.”

“Do not count on it,” Damon chortled.

“Jeez, why didn't any of you
say
something? So I could—I could wish myself home, if I wanted?”

Damon looked distinctly alarmed, and now Maltese was the one fighting a smile. “Peace, my good brother—as to your question, fair Lois, yes, you could wish yourself home. But not for much longer. The ability only lasts for a few sunsets. Then you will remain with us until the end of your days.”

“Oh.”

“There was no need to tell her that,” Damon said sulkily.

“Shame, my good prince. To keep things from a lady so as to not have an interruption to your pleasures.”

Damon flushed, but she was barely paying attention. Things were getting—she could hardly believe it was possible—weirder and weirder. There must be a portal or something, a doorway between her world and theirs, and when someone from Earth was near death, they could get through it. Or something. Shit, what did she know? She'd never read so much as a single sci-fi book in her life. True crime was more her literary bag. “Well, that's—interesting. I guess.”

“You will not,” Damon said firmly. “You will not wish yourself away.”

“And if I do?” she teased.

“Then I will gag you until your ability has flown.”

“Careful,” she warned, though she felt a tingle at his silly-ass possessiveness. “My footlocker's here now, with all my guns. Mind I don't shoot off your kneecap.”

“That does sound unpleasant,” he admitted. “I do not wish you to do that.”

“Has anyone ever gone back?”

“No. Never. I would be…displeased…should you be the first.”

“Hmm.” She lapsed into silence. So no one had gone back—they'd killed themselves or died while desperately unhappy and woken up in a land of shapeshifters and uncommon courtesy, a land where the weather was sunny and seventy-five degrees, where the royal family was worshipped but the commoners had it pretty good, too. Where strangers were welcomed and wooed. No fucking wonder no one had gone back.

The question was, would she be the first?

And why was she even considering it?

 

She really did have the best seat in the house. It was right next to the king's chair, which was conspicuously empty. Servants practically fought for the privilege of bringing her treats, and before the Bridefight had even started, Lois was stuffed.

Still, she kept eating. She picked another squashy, milk-chocolate-colored sweetmeat out of the brimming bowl Zeka was holding for her. “What are these things?”

“Kumkoss,
my lady.”

“Well, they taste like the hybrid of a Tootsie Roll and a marshmallow. Yum! Say, it's kind of making me nervous, the way you hover over me all the time. Why'n't you sit down, take a load off?”

Zeka looked alarmed. “I could not, my lady.”

“It's Lois, and sure you can. Just have a seat.”

“You are kind, but I must not. Look! They begin.”

Still chomping, Lois looked. The place really was like something out of
Gladiator
…the arena was all hard-packed sand and blinding white, almost too white to look at. The tanned fighters stood out dramatically against it. They were, naturally, naked and, interestingly, not a few of them were aroused. Thinking about picking their future brides, maybe? She couldn't help but notice there wasn't a teeny weenie in the bunch. Lois finally quit trying to avert her eyes—there were about twenty naked guys running around the arena floor, too many to avoid looking at—and settled back to enjoy the show.

Still, irritating thoughts kept intruding. Like,
If I killed myself here, would I wake up back on Earth? Or would I be dead-for-real? And why am I thinking about this morbid shit? Jeez!

The fighters were announced one by one. Interestingly, they all trotted up to her seat and bowed when their names were called. She waved back. These guys really knew how to treat a visitor! And they all looked like escapees from a Mr. Hardbody calendar. Not a scrawny, short fella in the bunch.

When Damon came, she tossed him a
kumkoss,
which he snatched out of the air and popped in his mouth so quickly, she never saw his arm move. “A boon from my lady!” he called triumphantly, and the crowd cheered.

“It's candy, not a boon,” she told him, but he was already moving back to his place, his gorgeous backside flexing as he walked. She nearly fell out of her seat as she craned to get a last look at that fine butt before he turned again.

There was dead silence when the last name—King Sekal—was called. She saw Maltese's and Shakar's mouths pop open in surprise, but Damon just frowned.

“Have a care, my good lord,” he said in the abrupt silence.

The king, who had just finished bowing to her, grinned. “Shalt take your own advice, my good son?”

Meanwhile, Zeka and two other servants were fighting so hard over who would be the one to pour Lois a drink, her beverage ended up on the floor. “Cut it out, you guys,” she said, turning around and giving the three of them a good glare. “Go find somebody else to bug.”

“But my lady is the one…one we wish to…bug!”

“Too bad. Go on, shoo.”

She turned back to watch the action—and nearly shrieked. The king and his opponent had just…
transformed.
The king was a puma, like Damon, except leaner and longer, with a gray face. His opponent was a black leopard.

The fight happened so quickly, before she knew it, it was over. The puma and the leopard fought, were men again, slugged it out as men, were animals again, clawed and bit, and now they were punching, and now they were leaping, and now they were kicking, and now the king was bowing to her in man-form and the leopard was rolling over on its back, showing throat. It happened so fast, she was shocked, frozen. Finally, she clapped. It seemed the polite thing to do. After a long beat, the audience followed her, awkwardly banging their hands together.

These guys are sooooo polite,
Lois thought.
They put “Minnesota nice” to shame.

This went on with surprising rapidity. Lois wasn't sure if they were letting the king win because he was the king, or because the old guy was a righteous ass-kicker. Regardless, it was a helluva show.

He beat Maltese. He beat Shakar. And when it seemed the entire arena was holding its collective breath, when Damon grimly approached him for a turn, the king abruptly bowed to Damon, bowed to her, and walked off the field with dignity to spare.

The crash of applause was thunderous; she nearly jumped out of her skin. By now, the audience had gotten used to clapping, even enjoyed it, and they gave the king what he had earned, and then some. Minutes later, he was settling into his seat beside hers.

“Awesome,” she told him.

“My lady humbles me.”

“Didn't want to puncture Damon's ego, huh?”

“My point was made, I think, and I am too old for such games. Still,” he added wistfully, taking her hand in his, “it was enjoyable while it endured. I'truth, my lady, I doubt I would have beaten my eldest. Best not to let him find out for sure.”

She laughed, and after a moment, the king joined in.

Once the king had dropped out, the pecking order was quickly established. And before another hour had passed, Damon had been proved the winner, with Maltese in second place and Shakar in third. Lois clapped hard. The royal family had certainly kicked ass and taken names today! She could really get behind a family like that.

“The winner, ruler of the Bridefight, with first choice of mate…our good Prince Damon!”

“What's he doing now?” Lois asked, puzzled, as Damon darted toward her then, with one bound, was standing beside her and pulling her out of her chair. “How'd you do that? We're ten feet off the arena floor, at least. I swear there must be something in the water…”

“I choose—the Lady Lois!”

Thunderous applause.

She blinked. “What?”

“By the law of our land, the winner has chosen, and we are mated!”

Even more applause. My, my, the audience couldn't get enough of the old banging-hands routine.

“What?”

“All hail Princess Lois, she-who-will-be-queen!”

Pandemonium. Cheers. A few people jumped out of their seats, transformed in midair, and ran around the arena on all fours, yowling ecstatically.

“Ah, now you will be my daughter,” the king said, sighing contentedly.

“Here comes that noise again,” Maltese said, squinting wistfully up at her from the arena floor.

“Aaaaaaaggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”