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“Don’t look at him, lov’alel,” Serval ordered, one of his hands sneaking up her bare thigh. “He can’t see you. He can’t hear you. Oh, but I bet he knows what we’re doing back here. What male would be able to resist his female, looking the way you do?”
She shivered again, her legs loosening, starting to fall open as he stroked up the smooth skin and her head dropped back against the seat.
“That’s it,” Serval praised, stroking the inside of her thigh with his thumb. “Open for me.”
He started saying something she didn’t understand, speaking a language she didn’t recognize. Not Standard, and not la’laelel – the primary tongue on his home planet and a language she already had imprinted and so also understood.
Whatever he was saying, it was in a low, deep, crooning sound that made her whimper as his fingers trailed up. Up. Up…
She gasped as he stroked the seam of her panties. Growling in approval.
“That’s my good female,” he praised, kissing the side of her head with his lips as his olules kept barely caressing her neck, giving her brief electric stings. “I knew you’d be wet for me.”
“Serval… Please…” She begged, canting her hips up. Needing more.
He chuckled his approval. And pulled his hand away.
Sophie let out a cry of dismay.
“Later,” he promised, sitting back, bringing his fingers to his lips. Sophie could only stare as he licked them reverently. He hummed, eyes closing. “Like the sweetest of wines, chilled in the depths, never having seen the light.”
“Tease,” she accused, pouting.
“Perhaps,” he smirked at her. “But you loved it. And your face is flushed so prettily now. You will show them my mate, how beautiful and perfect and sensual she is, and they will all be envious of me because they know no one will ever get to taste you the way I do.”
The possessive way he looked at her as he cleaned his fingers made her belly cramp with unfulfilled need, but before she could demand he do something about her aching pussy, the hover came to a stop in front of a gorgeous mansion. Or a palace. She supposed if a prince lived there, it must qualify as a palace, but she was too needy to care about semantics at the moment.
“Come, lov’alel,” Serval said, pressing a button that opened the door – moving upwards instead of out – at the base of a walkway that led to the front door. All done up in lights and dark flowers with just the hint of color in their black petals.
“What does lov’alel mean?” Sophia asked, standing to step out after him.
He offered his hand, pulling her to her feet, as other guests immediately began to gasp and turn. Being blatant, near rude, about it. But she barely noticed, much less cared.
“It’s the language of the deep,” Serval said, his olules waving lazily behind him. “A language only really understood and appreciated under the water. It refers to a particularly powerful rip current, yanking the unwary out to sea, tossing them head over fin, dragging them off course. Just as you have done to my life, lov’alel.”
A grin pulled at her lips as he took her by the hand and pulled her forward.
Time for the show to begin.
Chapter 16
Serval
Prince Qui’tal was a wealthy male, the only son of a powerful, wealthy shinuk queen whose bloodline ruled a stable pod for nine generations. He was, however, not the heir to the pod. That honor belonged to his third eldest sister, who herself had already had four daughters, any of whom could inherent.
Which meant Prince Qui’tal was wealthy, but largely unnoticed by his powerful mother, and a male surrounded by females who either wanted a chance to breed a royal blood baby who, themselves, would be capable of ruling a pod, or just wanted to share the bed of a wealthy, powerful male. The reason didn’t really matter, the result was the same.
He was pompous, arrogant, entitled, and unchecked. The party he was hosting was in celebration of a rusk race he had won. Rusks were very fast animals, large and beautiful, and capable of climbing very rough terrain. Racing them was an old sport on Holivair. Though, it was not a particularly popular one as being able to maintain a single rusk was a huge undertaking owing to their size and all that was involved in their care.
In other words, it was a sport for the wealthy. And Prince Qui’tal, if he really was involved in exotic animal trade, would certainly be drawn to the animal-based sport.
Though Sophie had made them late, they still arrived before Prince Qui’tal. During which time, Sophie began taking Serval through the room. His segment with her had been a hit, so not only was he recognized, but so was she. And she played to their expectations in full form. Batting her eyes, cocking her hip, posing subtly and laughing brightly.
She had the room eating out of her little hands. They admired her flower silk dress. She told them exactly who made it. She twirled for their benefit. She drank the flower wine and expressed her delight. She greeted people she just met like old friends and integrated with the alien crowd like she had been born on Holotulle and was accustomed to being around various species.
And then, Prince Qui’tal appeared.
Serval had dressed up, but he appeared as a pauper in comparison. Prince Qui’tal was a handsome male by shinuk standards. His pointed ears were large, reaching all the way back around his head. His black skin had blue undertones. He must have bleached and dyed his hair, because it was bright blue, pulled back into a tail and threaded with brighter blue crystals. He wore a cape made of feathers in a rainbow of colors that trailed behind him with white fur around his collar, a gleaming silver pendant set with a rainbow of gems resting on his bare chest. His skin was oiled and dusted with glitter so he shimmered and shined as he walked down the stairs in the central ballroom of his mansion – not the royal residence, because he liked to pretend he didn’t still live on his mother’s credz. His pants were fluttering around his legs, bright white, and tucked into a pair of white leather boots that were studded with gems that flared in a rainbow of colors.
