Benoiti Kiyara - Of the Panther Persuasion (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  “We can’t ever go back, so let’s change the subject,” Shalamar said somewhat abruptly. Ebonee’s friendship meant the world to her, but her friend’s nasty moods often tried Shalamar’s patience, and the last thing Shalamar wanted was to be any more homesick than she already was. Tonight was for celebrating the others who wanted to make contact with them, raise their numbers, and ultimately step out of their minority status. It was not a night to placate Ebonee.

  “All right.” Ebonee smiled, and a little of her usual mischievousness nature sparkled in her eyes. “How about telling me more about this new, delicious-looking tenant?”

  “Well, you know how I prefer tall, dark men, but there’s something about this guy that makes me want to spread my legs for him or whatever he likes.” She laughed along with Ebonee and pushed open the foyer door. “He’s different from other men, but I haven’t figured out how yet.” Warm autumn air whipped her hair back and tugged at her jacket. “It looks like we won’t need our coats right now, but I bet the temperature drops tonight.”

  Ebonee grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Are you saying this new guy might be a candidate for Transference?”

  Shalamar shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Oh, Shalamar, that would be so…” Ebonee glanced at her watch. “Oh, shit! Look at the time. We’re going to be late. I hate driving along Ochre Boulevard when the factory lets out for the three-to-eleven shift!”

  They jogged around the side of the building to the parking lot. Shalamar hit the button on her key ring. The Jaguar’s lights blinked, followed by a chirping sound. They yanked open the doors and scrambled into the car. She handed Ebonee the box to hold it safely on her lap.

  The tires squalled as Shalamar sped out of the lot. She made a hard right, shooting into traffic.

  Next to her, Ebonee gasped and clutched the sides of her seat. “You’re going to get a ticket, Shalamar, or worse.”

  “I doubt it.” She giggled. “I know the officer on duty during the afternoon rush hour. He’s one of us.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ebonee shoot her a startled look. She fought hard not to smile back at her.

  “Really?” Ebonee said. “When did he come here?”

  “He was transferred from another town.”

  “I wonder just how many of us are in neighboring cities. There have to be more in the bigger cities, right?”

  No words came to her. Finding others was rare enough, but Shalamar honestly didn’t know if such cities as Los Angeles or Miami would hold any more of their people than Pittsburgh did.

  Ebonee sat quietly for a minute. Gradually, she relaxed as Shalamar maneuvered the Jaguar around two panel trucks, a rusty Acura, and a Dodge Ram, whose driver enjoyed tailgating. Finally, she asked, “Does this cop friend of yours know there’s a gathering date to be announced soon?”

  “Certainly.” Shalamar laid her hand on the horn and didn’t let up until the moron in a souped-up Mustang allowed her to merge with the left lane. “How do you think Donna discovered Nahdia? He introduced them.”

  “Oh.” A giggle burst from Ebonee.

  Although Ochre Boulevard’s speed limit was thirty-five miles per hour, Shalamar kept the speedometer pegged at fifty. As she passed the police cruiser parked beneath a billboard advertising Shock-Co-Late’s delicious gourmet confections, the cop noticed her. She waved, and he tipped his hat.

  Ebonee laughed harder. “I can only imagine how much everyone is cussing you right now because he didn’t pull you over.”

  She grinned and cut off an old man driving an ancient pickup truck. At times Shalamar could be quite wicked, but only when absolutely necessary. Tonight, however, was a special occasion. The idea of fucking someone new, someone who would follow their sex pet customs, forced moisture to the crotch of her panties.

  “Have you heard anything about possible dates for the gathering?”

  Glancing at Ebonee, Shalamar shrugged. “No, nothing yet.”

  “Me either.” A note of intrigue crept into Ebonee’s voice. “I can’t wait to find out this year’s theme, though.”

  Smiling, Shalamar returned her attention to the congested boulevard. She hit the horn again and received the bird from a man who, judging by his impeccable suit and brand new Porsche, she guessed was an attorney or doctor. “All Donna said about it was that Nahdia will host the banquet in a couple of months, but other than that, Donna doesn’t know much about the main course, the entertainment, outside guests, or anything else.”

  “I wonder if it’s going to be another variety pack for the main course. I love it when various circles have those gatherings. And the desserts are always to die for!”

  Ebonee’s enthusiasm urged another laugh out of Shalamar. The woman sure liked to put food away, but it always amazed her how her friend stayed so slim and trim.

  “I hope Nahdia splurges on a band. The last gathering was boring.”

  “What?” Even in her peripheral vision, Shalamar still caught Ebonee’s pout and struggled to keep the laughter out of her voice. “You don’t like classical music?”

  “It’s all right to listen to while cooking or taking a bath, but when we’re amongst our peers I want to hear music that reminds me of home.”

  “Yeah.” Shalamar nodded. “I have to agree with you.”

  One left turn and another right later, an enormous plantation home in the distance grew larger as they approached it. Shalamar had always wondered about the place, and once Donna had given her the address, she couldn’t believe her luck. She was finally going to get to set foot inside the most talked about home in Pittsburgh.

  “We’re going to Stallion Acres?”

  The disbelief in Ebonee’s voice amused her. “That’s the address Donna gave me.” She slowed the car to turn onto the long lane.

  “Un-fucking-believable!” her friend crowed. “Nahdia must be loaded! No, I take that back. She has to be filthy rich. Now I feel really stupid for buying a cake. I should’ve purchased baklava or maybe Boston Cream Pie!”

  Ebonee was right. Nahdia had to have major greenbacks in order to purchase Stallion Acres and its amazing mansion. Many potential buyers had tried to buy the place, but the firm sixteen-million-dollar price tag always frustrated the hopefuls. It had been on the market for two years, and although the house and property were worth the price, if not more, Pittsburgh was a smaller city, and the surrounding area consisted of farmers. Although the city had spread out to the mansion’s original plantation land, the home still remained far enough away from the concrete hubbub to enjoy a quiet, semi-rural existence.

  Gravel crunched under the Jaguar’s tires. Shalamar drove slowly so the Jag wouldn’t stir up too much dust and she could survey the property. The landscape boasted the deep green of aging grass and leaves about to pay homage to autumn. In a few more days, fall’s rich colors would conquer summer’s hold. In many ways, the area reminded her of home.

  To their left, several head of horses grazed. The Jaguar drew the equines’ attention. Two dozen quarter horses and Arabians galloped toward them, manes and tails flying behind them in banners of black, gray and white.

  Shalamar couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person Nahdia was. Someone with unlimited money could be quite an asset to their minority. It wasn’t often a person from their homeland settled in Pittsburgh. How long had Nahdia been here? How many others did she know?

  If the woman truly possessed the kind of money the mansion conveyed, she could open doors in a society that had always been locked to their people. Those in government offices were never immune to those who wore money as easily as the latest designer perfume.

  Not that Shalamar wanted to draw attention to their presence, but it would be nice to have things a little easier. It would be nice, too, if there were more of their kind on Earth. Even more so, it would be a dream come true if she met her life mate, but Shalamar knew it was probably hopeless.

  If their people could have a presence on Earth that meant something, oh the gatherings they would enjoy! The sex and food would be limitless.

  “Any idea about tonight’s main course?” Ebonee asked.

  “No, but I bet it’s great.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said.

  “Neither can I, but I’m more interested in finding a sex pet.” Just thinking about it caused heat to settle in Shalamar’s pussy.

  Chapter Two

  After parking the car in front of the mansion, Shalamar gathered her purse and the cake and mounted the dozen steps to the wrap-around porch with its huge, pristine white pillars. Flower boxes lined the railings, each one brimming with a riot of color. White wicker rockers and other patio furniture decorated the wide porch along with begonias, petunias, bleeding hearts, and bushy green asparagus ferns. At first glance Shalamar thought the owner had a green thumb. But as she admired the landscape and home, she quickly realized their distinct resemblance to Lavendanth which prompted a pang of homesickness.

  Another vision assailed her. Shalamar halted at the bottom step. Her mate pulled her against his body, his arms snaking around her waist, hands palming her bare ass. He turned his head to the side before she could see his face and bit down on her neck. He growled possessively, his tongue flicking the skin around the wound.

  Heat raced through Shalamar and spread into her pussy where hard, sharp tingles forced a whimper from her lips.

  “What is wrong?” Ebonee placed her hand on Shalamar’s shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” Shalamar replied. She gulped and then drew in a long, steadying breath to quell the lust rushing through her veins. “It’s just this place.” She hated lying to her friend, but until she could come to terms with what was happening to her and why, she couldn’t even begin to explain it to Ebonee. “It really makes me miss our home.”

  “Yes, it does.” Ebonee let her gaze wander over the mansion. “This place is really taking shape. It looks like Nahdia has dumped a fortune into the renovations, and the plants and flowers really do remind me of home too.”

  Her friend’s voice snapped Shalamar out of the vision. She blinked, glancing around. Again, she reminded herself there weren’t any new males in the area. In fact, it had been so long since sensing any that she had given up hope of finding anyone. Oh, she’d had plenty of lovers, but a cock to scratch an itch was one thing. Finding her life mate was something altogether different.

  Was it possible her intended mate might be in the area? No, to believe there were new Pantherians in the Pittsburgh area was preposterous. Shalamar would have sensed them, and so would her female friends like Ebonee.

  Keeping her voice normal, Shalamar replied, “Someone definitely has mega bucks. Nahdia has to be—”

  “Filthy stinking rich,” Ebonee said.

  Shalamar laughed. “Exactly.”

  The door swung open, and a man in a black, nondescript uniform, who Shalamar assumed to be Nahdia’s butler, stood in the threshold. “Ms. Shalamar and Ms. Ebonee, I presume?” he said.

  “Yes,” they said simultaneously. Shalamar met Ebonee’s amused gaze and smiled.

  “This way, please.” He turned and led the way into a brightly lit foyer.

  Inside the manor, she clasped the cake box to her breasts as she gaped at the lush, expensive interior reeking of excellent taste and old money. Ebonee’s eyes looked like they would shoot out of their sockets at any moment. At the sight of a naked male servant wearing a copper collar, a little gasp of delight escaped her.

  Excitement drifted into Shalamar’s heart. They had finally found someone who practiced the old ways.

  The black-and-white marble floors, dark-colored wood, designer and antique furniture, and an original Van Gogh or Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec painting spoke volumes about Nahdia’s wealth and obvious taste. Shalamar had already spotted a few rare Edwardian pieces that practically made her slobber. Her officer friend had certainly meant it when he said he’d found a member who practiced the old ways, not to mention someone who had more money than any of their kind could ever imagine.

  They passed a strange ornament that framed the corridor. Constructed from pieces of gaudy colored glass and semi-precious gemstones, it ran from the ceiling, down one wall, across the floor with a clear, protective shield covering it, and then climbed the opposite wall and joined the ceiling again. Shalamar frowned at the odd box-shaped frame. Why would Nahdia possess something so gaudy amongst all her beautiful antiques and priceless paintings?

  “Wait here, please.” The butler hurried down a long hall.

  “Check out that bizarre ornament,” Ebonee whispered, her eyes round. “That has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “I know.” Shalamar frowned at the contraption. “You don’t think it could be a new version of a portal, do you?”

  Ebonee shook her head adamantly. “No way. All the portals were destroyed, so how could that one possibly work?”

  “Yeah, but it looks similar to one of the dimensional doors.”

  “How could Nahdia possibly have one?” Ebonee countered, laughing.

  Shalamar shrugged. “I don’t know, but this thing really makes me uneasy.”

  Strains of music reached them. Surprised to hear a homeland melody, Shalamar glanced around for the source of the music.

  “Do you suppose Nahdia smuggled the instruments?” Ebonee whispered.

  “I have no idea.”

  A door stood slightly ajar. Failure to ignore her curiosity often got Shalamar into trouble. The door beckoned, and she moved toward it.

  “Shalamar, no!” Ebonee grabbed her hand, but Shalamar shook it off. “You don’t know what or who is in there.”

  “Here, take this.” She handed Ebonee the box and turned toward the room again. Shalamar touched the cool door and pushed it open. Dark, earth-colored carpeting covered the floor. Potted palms lined the walls and a cluster of them stood around the tall, arched window letting in the early autumn light. Naked men and women wearing copper collars sat on chairs and stools with various homeland instruments in their hands. Three men clothed in black suits stood in strategic places. Shalamar then realized the students were divided into groups according to the instruments they were attempting to play. The music instructors murmured instructions to their pupils.

  Shalamar hadn’t seen such instruments or heard their melodies since leaving her home years ago. Walking into the room, memories assailed her, ones of grand soirées full of beautiful music, coupling with the men of her choice, her comrades nearby, their cries of ecstasy loud in her ears, and the meals. Oh, the amazing meals her kind had enjoyed. Longing stirred within her, and a throbbing began between her legs. Her nostrils flared. The teachers were from her homeland too. Had Nahdia brought them with her? Was there now a new scent-masking agent that prevented them from detecting those from their homeland? If so, perhaps they had been in Pittsburgh the entire time assimilating, blending. That would mean there was more of their kind here than she first thought.

  “Shalamar?”

  With surprise, her new hunky blond tenant looked up at her from where he sat on a bench playing one of the instruments. His gorgeous blue eyes shone with pleasure. A collar glimmered around his neck. Shalamar smiled. Oh, this had definite possibilities.

  “Drayden?”

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “I was invited,” Shalamar whispered back. “What are you doing here,” she motioned, indicating his nudity, “like this?”

  “It pays well,” he said. “The woman who owns this mansion threw in an extra five hundred dollars if we’d learn to play these instruments. If we play well, we each get one thousand dollars when she has that big banquet she’s been planning.”

  “Really?” Her gaze wandered over his fine physique. There was something different about Drayden. She’d sensed it the day she’d showed him the apartment and every time they bumped into one another in the halls or the elevator, but Shalamar could never determine what it was. “Did she fill you in on what else you’ll be required to do?”

  He smiled, and his face lit up. She hated to admit it, but Drayden was more than handsome. He exuded virility. Nodding, he said, “The matter did come up. As long as the sex is safe, I don’t have a problem with it.”

  “Come on, Shalamar,” Ebonee whispered loudly from the hall.

  Their voices drew the attention of one of the instructors, who motioned to the other two. Silence fell over the room.

  “How dare you interrupt our lessons,” the first one said. “I will not have...” He sniffed the air. A look of awe spread over his smooth face, and he crossed the room to stand a couple of feet away from Shalamar. The teacher tipped his head back slightly and sniffed again. “My deepest apologies,” he said. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Shalamar replied, not wanting to draw any additional attention. Her heart flailed painfully. How the hell did he know? She always took great pains to camouflage her essence with musk-laden perfumes, bath gels and body oils.

  He returned to the other instructors and mumbled something she couldn’t quite catch. The music teachers gathered their attaché cases and, murmuring apologies as they strode out, left the students to entertain themselves. Shalamar sensed he’d told the others about who she may be. Inwardly, she shivered, praying she was wrong.

  Ebonee leaned through the door. “I don’t know what you just did, but I hope it doesn’t piss off Nahdia,” she said.

  “They knew me.” Shalamar shot her a worried glance.

  Her eyes widened. “Maybe we should make an excuse and leave. You shouldn’t put yourself in any unnecessary danger.”

  Shalamar shook her head. “No, let’s play this out. We’re obviously here for more than getting to know others like us, and if we leave unexpectedly, it will draw more attention than if we just play it cool.” Sure that no one was paying attention to them, she looked at Drayden and asked, “Do you have a room here for your sexual duties?”

  “Yeah, why?” He placed the long, curled-stringed instrument in the leather bag at his feet.