Regaining consciousness, on a bare shoulder—drooling only a little bit—wasn’t the most awful thing that ever happened to Stacey. The time she woke up hugging the outhouse that had seen too many chili incidents? Still made her shudder.

She’d also woken to much uglier views than that of the cute little butt flexing in the thong flossing the cheeks.

However, she should note it wasn’t JF’s butt waggling. Nor was it his body that carted Stacey through the lava tunnel. And the hair tickling her was most definitely dead.

“Oh gross, are you seriously wearing a lion’s mane?” she exclaimed.

Maurice huffed and puffed as he replied. “You’re not supposed to be awake.”

“I’m sorry. Did your date rape drug wear off?” She had a high tolerance. Most of her biatches did. Blame the drinking. Blame their teenage rebellious years. Some older pride scientists said something about their shifter genes metabolizing things more quickly. Whatever. It meant Maurice had miscalculated.

“I’m not the one who drugged you. My sister did.”

Sister, as in Jan. The plot thickened. Not really. She’d kind of figured they were related. They had the same sly eyes.

“Your sister might have ordered those tranqs, and yet here you are carting me off wearing butt floss and a dead animal on your head.”

“I’m saving you.” Said with the kind of attitude that indicated Maurice expected praise.

“From what?”

“From the battle.”

“I’m missing a battle for this?” She craned to look back, but the twists and turns of the tunnel meant she couldn’t see a thing. Well, that sucked. She would have enjoyed hitting some things. Then again, the night waned young and she was being abducted. There was still hope someone would die, or at the very least sob for his mommy.

“Don’t worry. I have a place for us to go to stay safe. It’s not far.”

Better not be because the way Maurice was huffing, he might pass out before then. It was enough to give a girl a complex. Except she knew JF could carry her without problem.

Emerging from the tunnel, not the same one they’d used to get in, they found themselves in a new part of the jungle, the clearing well-trodden, the rock walls around it penning her in as surely as a palisade. No easy escape.

For Maurice.

Good. Stacey felt an urge to speak with the boy, and at least out here, no one would hear him scream.

Maurice set her down, and she spent a moment looking around, the sheer rock walls unrelieved black stone but for the tunnel they’d emerged from. To the far edge of the rather large clearing, the ground mostly trampled dirty with a few scrubby plants struggling to push up, sat a hut, rough logs strapped together with a thatched roof.

“What’s this?”

“My secret place. There’s a bed inside,” he advised.

“You brought me to your love shack?”

“I prefer to call it the temple of conception.”

That caused her to turn around to stare at him. “Your what?”

“The temple. You’ll soon see. I shall bless you like I blessed the others.”

Maurice was the liotaur on the video. A fake one. Not only that. There’s something wrong with him. Her nose twitched. Her inner lioness paced.

Smells wrong.

Which made no sense. On the one hand, Maurice smelled like a lion, the stench of it overwhelming, and yet…something seemed off about it. Almost as if the scent was false.

Then there was the hat he wore. No self-respecting shifter, of any caste, would be caught dead wearing a deceased animal.

“Isn’t there an unspoken rule that we don’t wear our ancestors, even if they’re not as evolved as us?” she asked.

“I am more than a mere shifter.” Maurice puffed out his chest, the lean lines of it attractive but not as sexy as the bulk of a certain whampyr. “I am a god.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

No surprise, he took offense. “Stop it. I am a god. I’ll have you know my family is descended from the Lleyoniias tribe.”

“If you’re a god, then prove it. Shift instead of wearing a dead fur hat.”

“I don’t have to prove anything.”

At that, she let out a disdainful snort. “Because you can’t. You’re wasting my time.”

She went to move around him, but Maurice blocked her. She thought about shoving him flat onto his ass. It wouldn’t take much effort.

“I command you to go into the temple and drink the sacred wine. All will become clear once you do.”

Want to bet he’d laced it? “I am not drinking your wine.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“It’s called being a woman. Which maybe you’d know if you didn’t have to drug all your dates to get some action.”

“I didn’t drug all of them. Most came with me quite willingly.”

“And returned remembering nothing. Why is that? Afraid they’d talk about your teeny tiny weenie?” Her pointed stare at his loincloth might have shrunk it further.

“I am a great lover. And if it wasn’t for the project—”

She interrupted. “What project?” Exactly what had she missed during her impromptu nap?

“The one my sister started. The project to sell scents and shifter stem cells, and even ovum, to the black market.”

“There’s a market for my eggs?” She stared down at her stomach with a frown. “So that’s what’s been going on? Dude, you are so dead. Stealing eggs and stuff without permission is not cool. My king is going to rip you a new one.” Right after Stacey slapped him around for a little while for being an asshat.

“Your king won’t find me. Not without a scent.” Maurice pulled a vial from his loincloth—just more proof he didn’t hide any major junk under it—and spritzed himself. He went from obnoxious-smelling lion to…

“Nothing. Holy poop on a cracker.” Stacey might have said more, but an explosion rocked the world hard enough to vibrate the ground underfoot. A faint smell of smoke came from the tunnel, but of more interest was the primal cry of rage that followed.

Want to bet someone just discovered her missing? And boy did he sound upset.

It brought a smile to her lips. “You’re in so much trouble now.” And then, it didn’t take much effort, none at all given she could just imagine all the hairy things crawling all around her, to let out a shriek to end all shrieks.

“Stop that!” Maurice yelled. He lunged at her, but she danced out of reach.

She could have taken care of him. Easily too. But she had a feeling someone might need a little stress relief.

Maurice dove at her again, this time aiming a needle—one thing more pulled from his tiny loincloth.

“Mickey me once, shame on me, mickey me again, and my boyfriend will tear your head off,” she sang.

The stupid human, who styled himself as something more, paused as a shadow covered him.

Alighting with a grace that belied his monstrous appearance, Francois joined the party, his big bat appearance now more on par with a gargoyle. The horns curling from his forehead were a nice touch. As for the smoke coming from his nostrils?

Epic.

“About time you saved me.” Stacey crossed her arms and tossed her hair.

Francois, a cross between a gargoyle and a demon at this point, grunted.

Maurice, on the other hand, squeaked like a mouse and ran.

Never run in front of a predator.

Ever.

Might as well put a sign on that said, “Eat me.”

Maurice disappeared into the tunnel, his hairy hat bobbing; whereas, Francois took to the sky.

Tapping her foot, Stacey waited. It didn’t take long to hear the scream.

A scream cut short.

Moments later, the big-winged beast landed in front of her, smoke puffing from his nostrils, his eyes red.

“Took you long enough.”

A growl rolled out of him as he reached for her with big hands, the fingers tipped in claws. Yet he was gentle with her, drawing her close and sniffing her. The smoky aroma of his musk surrounded her, and his leather skin had an unexpected softness. He nuzzled her hair before pressing his mouth against her neck.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Isn’t this nice? You and me, alone in the jungle.”

He snorted, a sound that turned into a laugh as he transformed. “You almost get killed and you call it romantic?”

“Please. I could have handled Maurice. But, given I am a princess, it was only right that my hero come to my rescue.”

“I’m no hero.”

“And yet you’re here. Does that mean you don’t want the hero kiss?”

“Shouldn’t we instead be calling for help? In case you didn’t notice, we broke up a criminal ring running out of the volcano that was using your resort as a store to harvest shifter genes.”

“It’s been happening for months, and by the sound and smell of it, you handled it. So what’s another fifteen minutes going to do?”

“Fifteen?”

“You’re right.” She cupped his face to draw it down. “The way I’m feeling right now, I’ll only need ten, maybe even only five minutes to come.”

“You can’t order me around, princess.” That was what he said, and yet he still fisted her hair. The sharp tug made her breath catch.

“Would you prefer me to beg?”

His free arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her buttocks back, nestling into the hollow of his groin. The hardness of his cock pressed. “I think you need to stop talking.”

“Or else what?”

His fingers found the flap in her suit, the one for her tail, which, if tugged just right, opened up the entire crotch area.

“You wouldn’t want to distract me from what I plan to do.” He slid his fingers into her, and she sucked in sharply at the rapidness of his penetration.

“And what do you want to do?” she asked, her query rather breathy.

“You,” he whispered before grasping her earlobe in his teeth.

She moaned and sagged in his grip. “There’s a bed in yonder hut,” she suggested.

“Too far,” he growled against her skin. “Put your hands on the wall.”

By wall he meant the rock, and she palmed it, the sharp edges biting but not enough to cool her ardor as he slid his fingers back and forth against her. Feeling her slickness. Using it to rub her clit.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“How is it I want you again?”

How indeed? Did it even matter?

The tip of his cock suddenly pressed at her slit, taking the place of his fingers, thick and ready to penetrate.

He angled her farther back, presenting her ass, so that he could sheath himself.

Oooh.

Yes.

Deeper.

She must have spoken aloud because he murmured, “As deep as you need.” And he gave her more, the first thrusts penetrating her and hitting a sweet spot inside, the bumping friction triggering something inside her. Something powerful and all consuming.

She screamed when she came. Screamed and clawed at the stone as he kept thrusting over and over, filling her up. Stretching her.

Until he came too. The heat of his cream branding her, the touch of his mouth on her neck marking her. Her skin piercing easily at the pressure of his teeth.

Their bodies joined.

Their hearts raced as one.

A sweet and sensual moment that could have been so much more if some cock blockers had better timing.

“I told you that biatch was fine. And hot damn, who’s the hunk giving her the meat?”

Stacey growled, “Mine.”