A Lion's Heart by Kracken

Author:Kracken
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bon Publishing, Co.
Published: 2014-10-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“If you harm him-” Tamarind began but one of the mountain werewolves laughed outright.

“What do you have to threaten with, kitty?” he mocked. “Your teeth have been pulled.”

Shakra didn't waste time struggling as he was carried between two weres. The ropes were too tight to escape. Tamarind walked beside him, head down, and tail almost dragging. What was there to say? He was in danger through his own foolishness, Shakra thought, not through any fault of Tamarind's.

Shakra had a long time to contemplate his fate as they climbed the rough mountain road and consider what Lormar and Kyrill were doing about his capture. He doubted that they had decided to leave him to his fate. Kyrill had too much heart for that and Shakra suspected that Lormar's air of unconcern was at least partly false. Shakra doubted that they could do anything but watch, though. There were too many weres for them to fight and his own experience with trying to reach Tamarind had taught him that they were not so careless as to give him a chance for escape.

They rested midday. Shakra was dumped into a patch of shade and his two bearers sprawled next to him. Tamarind settled close by, face tight and unreadable.

One of the mountain weres stroked a hand along Shakra's flank. Shakra shivered despite himself. He saw the look the two mountain weres exchanging over his body, laughing leers, and then one said to Tamarind, “You have a taste for werewolves, eh, kitty?”

Tamarind's round ears flicked, but he didn't look at them.

“Not so soft or so supple as werelions,” the mountain were continued, “but maybe you like that roughness; the course fur, the strong scent, the powerful, thrusting hindquarters...”

Tamarind snarled suddenly and turned on them, ears flat and teeth barred. “Shut up or you die!”

It was then that Tamarind saw the hand on Shakra's flank, a possessive hand that was running back towards Shakra's tail. The mountain werewolf grinned at Tamarind. “Die? Mordara is looking at you, kitty. She's ready to rip you limb from limb. Are you ready to die to have a piece of me?”

The mountain werewolf was sure of his safety. When he saw Tamarind hesitate, he snickered.

“Maybe our prince likes mounting werewolves instead?” he continued as he stood up and pulled at Shakra. “Is he that good? Is he tight? Do you like that bushy tail against you when you do him? Maybe I should try him for myself?”

The werewolf suddenly grabbed Shakra and mounted him, his teeth going into the nape of Shakra's neck. His hips began to thrust crudely. It might have been an ugly joke, a sick dry hump, just to lighten the boredom of vicious weres, but Shakra was only aware of that bite, that attempt at dominance. Shakra discovered then, that he was completely dominant. He reacted instantly.

One of the ropes broke as Shakra twisted violently, using every muscle he possessed to throw the mountain were off of him. He needn't have bothered, though. Tamarind was on the werewolf, catching him before he landed.

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