Mona Lisa Awakening (m-1) by Sunny

Author:Sunny [Sunny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy
Published: 2006-10-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

"Amber," I cried, moving toward him.

"Don't!" he said, his voice terribly strained.

"But you're hurt…"

"Do as he says!" Mona Carlisse snapped from across the room. "Back away slowly from him," she instructed more quietly.

Amber leaned with his back slumped against the door, fear and rage filling his eyes, a potent combustible combination. "Do as she says!" he rasped harshly.

I eased into the corner where he had nursed me, kept me alive, and sank onto the blanket. "Amber." My voice came out small, timid. "What's wrong?"

Mona Carlisse's voice floated out in the darkness, her voice tight with strain. "He is fresh from battle and from shifting. His blood still pounds with bloodlust and his body demands relief."

"How can he gain relief?" I asked, already knowing I would not like the answer.

"Blood or sex. They usually hunt afterward to burn off the powerful tension."

But they hadn't allowed Amber to hunt. They had locked him here inside instead, with two Queens and his natural powerful attraction to them, allowing it to stir and stimulate his already violent emotions. They had only allowed him one outlet. Sex.

I understood it now. They expected him to be violent. He expected himself to be violent and he feared it. Mona Carlisse feared it. Her alarm pulsed like an audible call in air that was already thick with the smell and scent of spent passion.

Amber trembled. His muscles locked. His arms and thighs bulged with threatening strength. He gasped in air desperately like a drowning man. Spinning, he violently struck his shackles against the door so that it shook. Metal rang against metal in a sickening, angry desperate clanging.

"Let me out! Let me out!" His rage was terrible. He pounded the door, smashing metal again and again until it dented. He spun suddenly, taking a few steps forward, making Mona Carlisse gasp in fright. He threw a viciously bitter look of hatred at her then threw himself against the door. Unbound by silver, he could have ripped the door apart. Even just human strong, he could do a lot of damage. Three hundred pounds worth of damage. He battered the door, battered himself mercilessly, shaking the metal, rattling its hinges, coating it with his blood. But it held. He slid down to the ground, his face pressed against the door.

"Amber," I called to him, my voice was low, calm. "Come to me."

He stiffened, his ragged breathing the only harsh sound. Then he burst into explosive motion once again, pounding himself against the stone wall this time, against the weakest point where the wall abutted the door. He battered himself over and over like a human ram. Dust flew but the stubborn stone held. He braced his great weight against the wall and pushed, grunting, straining. He arms bulged and trembled, his back rippling so that all his muscles was thrown into sharp delineation. But he was no Samson, no mythical Hercules. With a sob he collapsed, unable to escape, a wild animal caught in an unbreakable trap.

Welling up within me was an undeniable, instinctive urge to soothe and comfort, to ease his horrid suffering.

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