Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2) Read online

  I didn't want to say out loud what I really feared. More black magic shadowing me. Another foul curse of the serpent god and his minions.

  Or perhaps the first curse never ended at all.

  The caracal rose and padded across the mattress to butt her soft head against me. I stroked her silvery fur, and again considered the strange coloring. A gray caracal wouldn't survive long out on the open sands; she'd stand out against the pale white landscape and tawny rocks much too easily, and predators would spy her in an instant.

  Like me? I scratched the kitten's ears. A standout among Alaric's pallid people and among the other slaves? Now among the highlanders, too?

  The kitten didn't seem dangerous. Of course, she had launched herself at an armed human man and nearly tore a small chunk of flesh from his thigh. Not to mention the tense, coiled aggression she showed everyone else.

  "And just where are you going to stay?" I asked. "We'll be at sea for months, you know. You can't sleep in this cabin as long as you're hissing and growling at my Master."

  Torv had already told me the captain welcomed cats aboard the Drekakona. "They keep the vermin out of the food stores," he'd said. "Useful animals, and smart. No one'll bat an eye at one more."

  One more street cat, maybe. I stroked my thumb across the velvety back of the kitten's ear. Caracals can grow big as hunting hounds, and they're feral. She might eat the other cats sooner than the rats.

  The sound of boots outside the door caught my attention. I straightened and looked up toward the door. To my delight, it was Bannon who entered, hauling a large trunk under one big arm.

  "Good, you're already here." He shut the door behind him and set down the trunk. "We set sail with the tide in just a few hours. Is that thing still here?"

  I gathered the kitten in my hands and gazed down at it, nodding. "She followed me onto the ship and won't leave my side. She doesn't seem to like Torv or anybody else who gets close to me. See?"

  As though to prove the point, the caracal put back her ears and glowered at Bannon, giving the same low, flat growl as before.

  "Well, if she stays, she'll be earning her keep in the galley." He gestured around the small room. "And you'll have to find her a bed, if you're keeping her."

  "I think it's more like she's keeping me."

  I set the kitten down and rose to my feet. "I'm sorry for the trouble earlier, Sir. I, too, wish I could discard the bad blood and burnt bridges Alaric left for me to bear."

  Bannon lifted his foot and pushed the trunk over to rest at the end of the bed. We had extraordinarily little space around it: hardly enough to stand side by side. The sea lapped at the side of the ship close below our one porthole, a quiet, lazy afternoon sound, but I wondered what we might hear in a rainstorm or on rough waves.

  "Torv called this a dhalut." I crossed to the porthole and stood on tiptoe to peer out of it. Nothing but wide, placid blue seas. "What does it mean?"

  "It comes from an old language, meaning 'father'." He ducked down to take a seat on the bed and reached out to stroke the kitten, ignoring her growling. The kitten hissed and jumped down, bounding over to me to hide behind my ankles.

  "More specifically," Bannon continued, "it means 'great father', or 'father of fathers'. Before the dhalut was designed, our people relied upon longboats, mostly good for short sea voyages but not for transport such as this. The dhalut is built to carry a battalion of soldiers, along with supplies and horses. It's the biggest ship we have, and we brought three with us to wage war on Lord Khan."

  "Three?" Scooping the caracal into my hands again, I sat beside my barbarian. "Then where are the others?"

  "Docked across the river, closer to our outpost. You're on the Drekakona, the Dragon Maiden. There is also the Drekamodir, the Dragon Mother, and the Drakadrottnig, the Dragon Queen. They won't set sail for a few days, yet, while the last of our forces prepare to return home."

  "What about our group?" My gaze drifted to the ceiling, and the distant pounding of boots on the deck and crew calling out to one another.

  "Our cargo is loaded, but the captain and his people still have work prior to departure." He took my chin in his hand and kissed me. "Mara has charge of our soldiers, but they're at leave to go back into town and make any last purchases before the tide goes out."

  The caracal hissed and swiped at him when he came close. Bannon narrowed his eyes at me and wrinkled his nose.

  "I think you should name her," he said. "How about 'Schala'?"

  "Why? What does that mean?"

  "She was the beautiful princess of an ancient land in our lore. Unfortunately, she met an untimely end. Just like this one will if she doesn't—stop—biting!"

  He toyed with the kitten, punctuation each word with a quick ruffling of the fur on her head, prompting her to nip and growl even more. Finally, I rose to my feet, putting the caracal up on a secured shelf above the bed.

  "I'm worried this sudden adoption is a bad omen," I admitted.

  Bannon stood as well, slipping an arm around my waist as he also studied the kitten. "Why would you think so? She's not that troublesome, even if she is a brat."

  "It just feels... strange."

  He didn't say anything immediately. Turning me to face him, he looked into my eyes, and caressed my cheek with the back of his hand.

  "Sadi," he soothed. "You are safe here. No more black magic. No more vengeful ghosts. No more sorcery."

  I bit my lip and looked away. "The dogs, though. And this caracal—"

  "Whatever happened on the dock, you aren't to blame. You didn't draw those people and you didn't call those dogs. Did you?"

  He curled a knuckle under my chin and guided my face back to his. He quirked one brow and frowned in a comical exaggeration of concern. I couldn't suppress a smile.

  "No, Sir, I didn't call any dogs."

  "Maybe cosmic forces are conspiring to keep you safe then." He kissed me, then hugged me. "Sadira, when I asked you to come with me, back to my homeland and on to wherever we must go to find your people, I asked if you would trust me. I know it must be difficult to trust, after—"

  "Please, Sir." I shook my head. "Don't talk about it."

  "I think we must," he said. "At some point."

  "I trust you. The rest doesn't matter."

  Bannon grimaced, and released me. He stroked his beard, and his gaze moved to the trunk he'd carried in moments before.

  "Will you trust me now?"

  "To do what?" I asked.

  Bannon opened the trunk and pawed through it, until he found something wrapped in a bold orange cloth. I recognized the fabric: one of the scarves from the torture chamber. Scarves Alaric had never seemed to have any use for, as his tastes never seemed to run toward gentle binding or soft sensations.

  My heart gave a flutter. "Oh?"

  "Come with me. I want to show you one of the things that makes a dhalut a special kind of warship."

  We left the caracal behind, and she seemed content to curl up on her own and sleep for a while. Bannon led me past the senior crew quarters and across the gangplank that ran above the rower's gallery. Below, several well-muscled sailors loitered. Some stretched across the rower's benches, catching a nap before departure.

  "The gallery takes up two full decks, the second and third decks," he explained to me as I paused to stare down at the leveled benches and bright, open sides. "We're one deck above, on the middle deck. Below us is the orlop, where the livestock and supplies are held—"

  "And the stable?" I asked, still uncertain whether a full stable could truly have fit on the ship.

  He tipped me a wink. "Aye, the stable, too."

  The Drekakona was huge. We passed dozens of soldier and crew quarters, storage holds for crates of treasure and personal cargo, even a carpentry workspace and leatherworking shop. He led me nearly to the back of the ship, to a staircase leading down. We descended past the first level of the rower's gallery and to the second, and Bannon—growing visibly more enthusiastic, pulled me into a
dim compartment beyond the rows of benches.

  A great, iron anvil took up most of the room, with a metal contraption I took to be a small, movable smithy. It had been modified and perched on a flat stone platform.

  I studied the strange additions to the device. To avoid fires, I thought. It's meant to guard against sparks spilling out and setting light to the wooden ship.

  "A weapon forge?" I asked.

  "Not only for weapons. Plenty of tools and rigs on the ship require the attention of a smith. Though it's used as sparingly as possible, given the circumstances. Does the anvil remind you of anything?"

  It didn't take me long to see what he meant. A sweet thrill shot through my core. "The spanking bench. In the torture chamber."

  Bannon grinned. "Very good, kitten. Now... are you ready to trust me?"

  We stood alone in the compartment. No door to close behind us. We were far enough away even from the few rowers at their benches, though, and if we were careful, no one would hear us. My eyes darted from the anvil to the open passageway, then back to Bannon.

  "Strip," he commanded.

  I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting it out again with a soft, nervous chuckle. My hands shook, anticipation making me giddy, as I removed my simple soldier's jerkin for him.

  Bannon stood back, crossing his arms over his chest, smirking as I removed my clothing piece by piece. His gaze electrified me, roaming over every inch of skin I bore to him, until I stood stark naked before him. If anyone did happen by this section of the lower decks, on their way to or from the cargo storage or the rower's gallery, I'd be fully exposed. They could feast their eyes upon me as Bannon did, their hungry stares burning me up with wicked delight.

  "Bend over the anvil," Bannon instructed.

  I turned my back to him and obeyed. Bannon reached out to snatch a coil of rope from the wall and came to me, bending and wrapping the length of it several times around me, binding wrists and feet at the base of the anvil. I stood before him, bent double over the hard, cold iron, buttocks raised.

  "You have a choice, Sadi..."

  Bannon strode around the anvil so I could look up and see him. In his hands, he held the wrapped orange scarf, and he slowly unfolded it to reveal the torture implement he'd hidden within.

  "Do you prefer the smooth, soft side?" He held up a long, leather strop. One side had been lined with velvet, a sweet and sensual undertone to a fierce flogging. I knew what would be on the other side before Bannon even showed me.

  Spikes. I licked my lips. Tiny spurs in starry clusters of four, barely big enough to do damage... unless the spanking was especially hard.

  "They'll turn your ass pink as a pomegranate." He moved behind me once more and I lost sight of him. Then I gasped as the bold orange scarf came down around my face and Bannon pulled it tight into a blindfold. His hand gripped my buttocks and he squeezed me hard.

  "Well," he prompted me. "Which do you want, my beautiful pain slut? The velvet?"

  He ran the smooth, soft side of the strop over my buttocks, caressing me with a loving desire.

  "Or the spikes?"

  Chapter Six

  The first stroke of leather across my skin sent a bright, tingling shudder through my body. In the space of a breath, I reverted from soldier to slave again, biting my lip against a cry of pleasure.

  Bannon caressed me. "That's my girl. Let's work out all this tightness you've been carrying, yes?"

  The strop came down again, and I caught my breath in a harsh gasp. "Yes, Sir. Please."

  He'd started out using the soft, velveted side of the strop, but he wouldn't stop there. He only meant to prime me for the more intense pain to come. Pain I welcomed. Pain I needed.

  Bannon brought the strop down on my rear again, alternating it across both round, pink cheeks, following it with a warm palm circling over the place where he'd struck me.

  "Are you comfortable?" he asked.

  "Yes, Sir."

  Another strike, making me jerk and twist against my bonds. He'd tied me tight and the rope chafed my wrists, unyielding. I pulled as hard as I could and found no give. When the next strike came, I couldn't help a soft moan.

  "Do you want the rowers to hear?" Bannon taunted me. This time when he ran his hand over my hot, flush skin, he squeezed, and I drew in a shaky breath.

  "No, Sir."

  "Then keep quiet, little kitten."

  Two more swift, stinging slaps with the strop, first on my left cheek, then my right. I bit my tongue to still my cries, and he leaned over me, pressing himself against my tender, upraised haunches, fisting his free hand in my hair.

  "That's better." His breath at my ear sent a beautiful shiver through me. "Good girl. Now let's see how long you hold that tongue while I have my way with you."

  "Mercy, my barbarian!"

  I knew very well mercy wasn't the word to stop him, and barbarian would only excite him. The sweet surge and release of tension in our play filled me with joy, and each smart slap of the paddle took me farther and farther away from dread and fear.

  "Don't think you can do it?" He brought the strop down again and I choked on a cry, turning it into a shuddering, eager whimper. "Come now. Where's my ferocious she-cat? My bloody tigress, conqueror of desert golems and revenant kings? Surely you can endure a paltry little tanning of your hide?"

  "Happy to endure it," I assured him with a soft huff of enjoyment. "I can't promise I'll manage to do so quietly."

  "We'll make a deal, then."

  He flipped the strop in his hand, turning it to the naked, studded leather side and sliding it back and forth against my flush skin. The spurs prickled and rasped; I writhed against my ropes.

  "The longer you endure without succumbing to cries of pleasure, the longer I will drag out the torment." Tightening his grip in my hair, he tilted my head back to whisper his hot, rumbling promise in my ear. "I'll treat you to hours of pain if you like. Assuming you can keep all those wild, wanton outbursts to yourself. What do you think? Shall we test your limits here in the hold, where the entire crew might hear your shameless harlotry?"

  "Yes!" I hissed, stirred by the wicked threat of exposure. If I failed his test and gave into my urges to moan or call his name, I could bring strangers running, and we would be caught in the middle of our little game. My body, naked and flush with the heat of his spankings, helplessly displayed.

  A twisted wish brought a tingle to my skin and sent a brief shock of pleasure through my breasts and down to my core. And would he stop if someone did come upon us? Or would he continue my punishment, leaving me totally revealed in my yearning?

  For just a second, Bannon's tone changed. It softened and lost the firm edge of play.

  "It's your decision, kitten," he whispered. "Remember what you must say if you wish me to stop. Do you remember?"

  "I do."

  "What is it, love? If you wish to stop—if you wish to be unbound—what do you say to me?"

  "I say atala." I licked my lips. "But I don't wish to stop, Sir. Please. Keep going."

  Releasing his grip in my hair, he stroked my cheek, then planted a kiss on my temple. "Very good, kitten."

  After a gentle beat, he straightened. I caught my breath in anticipation, and then the leather came down again, dealing a sharp, sweet, raw slap across my buttocks. I choked back a cry, though my body lit up with excitement.

  "Like that?" Bannon taunted.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Say it again."

  Oh, he will make me beg even as he orders me to keep quiet!

  An impossible challenge. Yet one I would relish in its torment. "Yes, Sir."

  The strop came down again. I drew in a long, shuddering gasp and let it out in a breathless moan, writhing hard against my bonds. It came down again and then again in smooth, rhythmic strokes as Bannon murmured rough, rumbling encouragement over me.

  "There's my girl... my good, strong girl. How beautiful your sweet ass looks! All flush and pink for me..."

  I tugge
d and stretched against the ropes, gritting my teeth. Cool iron against my breasts and belly could hardly relieve the warmth building within me. The swift, stinging prickle of the spurs—too small to break the skin, yet sharp enough to bite—made me jump, and made my skin twitch.

  "Maybe you can keep your tongue after all." Bannon paused in his spanking to run the soft, velvety side of the strop over my sore cheeks. "If you can handle your challenge even when I use the spurs, maybe something harder, and hotter, will break you."

  I gasped as he slid two fingers into my entrance and tempted me, stroking.

  "Do you want to keep going with the strop?" he asked. The tone in his voice told me he knew exactly what I wanted—but also what I would choose.

  "I can endure harder spanking, Sir," I murmured, breathless. "Please, let me prove myself."

  "You really think so? You think you can withstand a longer beating before I fuck you?"

  Oh, how I wanted him to fuck me. How I longed for the rigid shape of him inside me, the rock and sway of him filling me at last, ending our awkward time of celibacy.

  But I can take more. I know I can. And if I can't... it only means I might be witnessed as the Red Bear's hungry plaything.

  "Yes, please. Let me prove myself. I am far from finished."

  I lost count of the strokes soon, and the beautiful pain lured me into the swell of perfect surrender. I nearly lost my focus and gave the cries he wanted to wring from me. I caught myself, biting my tongue and the inside of my cheeks. Once or twice, I caught the sound of crew members nearby, moving back and forth between cargo holds or joining the waiting rowers. Each time an unfamiliar voice seemed close to our hideaway, I held my breath, skin tingling with anticipation.

  Bannon laughed under his breath and teased me. "So close... someone is going to find us and see your pretty pink pussy and ass on display..."

  A terrible thought rushed me from my bliss then.

  If someone does catch us, he'll stop. It'll be over, just like before, and without any fucking at all—

  "You're doing so well," Bannon mused. "I've never had the chance to really push you to your limits before."

  "Sir," I pleaded, forgetting to whisper. Shame bloomed in my chest—did I really mean to cave in just when he'd praised me for my endurance?—but the fear we would once again miss our chance overpowered it.