Pleasure Cruise (24 page)

Roi snorted. “What I’m asking myself is how many fucking women and children died, sir.”

“What else do we have on him?” Lukian asked, raking his fingers over the table and ignoring Roi’s outburst. “Do we know how many children they’ve killed?”

“No. But we know for certain, that a large group of children were assembled in Asia from around the world and experimented on in utero. We also know that the mothers disappeared once the children were born and the only reason they stopped the experiments was because we got a little too close to discovering them. They spread the children who survived out in to orphanages and stopped, at least for a bit. At least we hoped they did.”

“How long ago are we talking about?” Jon asked, concern evident in his voice.

Colonel Brooks turned the lights on. “The thick of their experiments on fetuses and newborns were conducted between twenty to thirty years ago. We can only guess what they were doing offsite though. They most likely still are doing this. My guess would be they’re keeping the numbers smaller now. The Asia project was massive. If these children managed to survive, they’re adults now. Imagine what it would be like to have enhanced abilities all your life and not understand why. Or worse yet, turn into an animal or a vampire without warning.”

Lukian looked like he was about to be sick. “If they physically survived the change without guidance, they could very well have ended up like Parker.”

“Great, just what the world needs. More superhuman sickos.” Wilson’s comment was more on the mark than any of them wanted to admit.

“Do we have any data on the children? Any idea on what orphanages they went to?” Green asked his voice low.

Roi put his hand up, snorting. “Let me guess …
Intel
has a rough idea, but they only just found out about it. That or they just now felt it pertinent to share the news with us. Why the Intelligence Community doesn’t gather their covert agents up and shoot them one by one is beyond me. They are inefficient bastards who let innocents die.”

Brooks cast him an angry look and Roi stuck his middle finger up. Everyone knew the I-Ops were basically their own bosses. Brooks was keenly aware of this but they often afforded him every opportunity to appear as though he was in charge. It kept the high-ups in the government happy, believing the I-Ops could be controlled and it seemed to make Brooks pretty damn content as well. Roi had never been much of one to play the game so no one expected him to. “Could you pass this salute on to
Intel
for me, sir? Thanks!” Having had more than his fill of fun Intel factoids, Roi stood up to leave. Lukian would brief him, as he always did. Right now, he needed a fuck, a shower, to eat and some sleep. Didn’t matter what order he got them in. He wasn’t picky.

“Majors, are you going somewhere?” Brooks asked, arching a brow.

Roi smiled as he walked past him. “Yes, sir … to get laid, you could ask Intel if they have any idea who the lucky lady will be though, if you’d like. Heads up, I’ll be long done with her before they even hint at it and I’m not one who is prone to finishing early.”

End Excerpt

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Ian O'Connell, heir prince to his clan, has no plans to settle down even though his untamed nature keeps him on the prowl for female company. The only woman he could ever want saved him from a watery grave before disappearing from his life forever. But that was a long time ago, too long for a mortal woman to have survived. Though he searched for her, in the end it was in vain.

Cursed by the power of the Cancerian crab, Ceana is doomed to spend her eternity in the ocean as a mermaid. Her only relief is on a full moon, when she becomes human and must find shore. Centuries have passed and she's all but given up on the one who could save her. Brief passion is all she has and she's willing to take what she can get—especially if it's with an intriguing lycan who's untamed nature just might be her salvation.

Rating: Contains graphic sexual content, adult language, and violence.

Unknown Shores, Middle Ages

Angry waves lashed out from the depths of the ocean, as the old sea witch pointed her finger toward the shore. Ceana’s body was smashed upon the rocks, her gown long since tattered from being tossed about at the water’s dangerous whims. Death was close. She could feel it closing in on her. At this point she welcomed it. Kerrigan was safe. The witch had released him. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do.

But who was going to save her?

Ceana didn’t bother to lift her head as water rushed over it. It hurt to breathe, which worked to her advantage as it kept the water out of her lungs. The wave pulled back, dragging her limp body along the sandy shore. Her flesh was raw from the rough texture of the pebbles grinding against it and the wounds stung unmercifully from the salt water. The night was warm, the moon full. She had no idea where the witch had brought her, but the shore did not remind her of the rocky crags of her homeland in Scotland and the sea was definitely warmer. At the moment, she’d almost welcome the icy numbness that came from the ocean along the cliffs.

The water rushed over her again and she thought of breathing it. She knew it would burn, but then it would all be over. Surely there would be a place in heaven for her after her sacrifice. The water pulled back too soon. Ceana opened her mouth, waiting. Then it happened. The ocean filled her, burning a welcome trail that would lead to the end of her suffering. It didn’t hurt as bad as she thought it would. She’d been beaten to the point that death was welcome.

The pitiless cackle of the witch echoed in her head as the world darkened. Soon. Soon. Death was near. She couldn’t feel her body. Her limbs became cold and then nothing.

Outside Astoria, Oregon, Modern day

Musicians played fiddles, the sound flowing over the beach, filling the evening with the songs of the past. Ian grinned at his brothers as he lifted a mug. They enjoyed these gatherings along the beach. The cold wind and the sound of the ocean were unfettered by modern life. It reminded them of the past, of a time when they were born into nobility. Though no matter how the world changed and shaped itself, nature stayed the same. Night was still night, they were still young men and the Earth turned ever forward.

“My lord, come! Dance with me!” called Meghan. Just like him, she was lycan born, ruled by the full moon but not controlled by it. Her lithe body moved in time to the music as her long skirt blew in the wind. Flames licked the darkening sky, glowing on her tanned flesh and jet-black hair. The wolf was in her eyes, golden and eager. Ian knew her invitation, having sampled it more than once over the centuries. She wanted to mate, wanted his hard cock to pound her into beastly submission. Only an immortal could take his rough handling, only an immortal could recover after he was done with her.

Ian’s cock stirred as she swung her hips back and forth, swaying to the primal beat. It didn’t take much to incite his lust. The beast in him was fierce and always ready to unleash itself to play. His heart was another matter. It stirred for no woman. Not anymore and Ian was fine with that.

When he was younger, a woman had saved him from death, pulling him from the cold depths of the ocean. It had been a night like this, with the waves thrashing against the shore. The moon had been full, just as it was now, and his blood had been to the point of boiling in his veins. Being a lycanthrope, he was called to the sea, for the moon controlled the tides just as it controlled the stirring of his blood. His emotions hit like continual waves, exciting him to a fevered pitch. The sensation was like a drug and it was also one of the reasons he liked the sea. Another was because he was born under the astrological sign of Cancer the Crab. Sometimes, he thought he had it worse than the others. He was Cancer, ruled by the moon and called to the sea, but also lycan, born of the night.

Like a true Cancerian, Ian was a patient leader and immensely loyal, which was important since he was a prince amongst his wild people. Time and distance could never lessen friendship or loyalty. And, like Cancer the Crab, when he seized an object he wanted he’d rather lose his claw than let go, and if he lost his claw, he’d only grow another and seize it again—metaphorically, of course. Also, true to the Cancer nature, he took great pride in his history, family and traditions. He guarded those things with his life and would never give up a debate or battle until he got his point across.

Ian imagined it was these traits that made him still think of the woman who saved him, even all these years later. At the time, he’d been obsessed with finding out who she was. However, as time passed he knew she had to be long dead. No mortal could live as long as his kind. His Cancerian nature refused to let go of her memory and he convinced himself that the woman was the only one who could ever hold his heart. All it took was one look at her and he’d known, as he still knew, that she was the one he could love for all time.

But his lust? Mmm, just looking at a pretty woman could bring the more base of his natures surging forth. And why shouldn’t it surge forth now? After all, the future king of the lycans needed to purge the passions in his body in order to keep a level head.

He glanced up, his skin tingling. It was almost completely dark. The sun was close to setting, just barely peeking over the horizon. Clouds passed over the full moon—a moon that called him to shift. He could resist, would resist for the time being. Already some of his fellow lycans howled, partly shifted as they drank far into their cups.

It was early yet. By midnight the beach would become an orgy of the flesh. Meghan’s large breasts bounced in the combination of moonlight, fire and the setting sun. She wore a small bikini top that overflowed with her superior attributes. Ian licked his lips, feeling very beastly indeed.

“…lest Meghan better watch out.”

Ian turned to his brother, James, barely catching his words. He grinned, knowing the guys were giving him a hard time for staring like the beast he was. In truth, any one of them would take Meghan to their bed but Ian knew they didn’t. She refused them, choosing to save herself for him. He knew she wanted to be queen of the clans someday. Who knew, perhaps he would marry her. What else was he going to do? Pine for a woman whose face he couldn’t recall?

Guilt assaulted him when he thought of her. The woman had saved his life. The least he could do was remember every detail of her pretty face. Ian closed his eyes, bringing forth her image the best he could. The exact details were a blur now, but he had the list in his mind. The moment had been brief, a flash in the middle of the night nearly a century ago. Long blonde waves almost silver by the light of the moon had surrounded him. Storm-weathered eyes, so round and large, shone in her perfect white skin. Her face was white as the snow, her lips red as blood.

Ian tried, but her face was still blurred by time. Her lips parted and she’d asked him something.

When were you born?

To this day, he didn’t know what she had meant by that.

Laughter rose around him, and he opened his eyes.

James slapped him on the back, grinning. “Liquor too stout for you, brother?”

“Your jokes are too bad,” Roark, the youngest of the three O’Connell brothers, said from their side. He looked like his older siblings, though was slightly shorter in stature and chose to wear his hair long to his waist, instead of short like Ian and James. Ian’s own dark brown locks were chopped off at his shoulders and James’ were cut even shorter than that—falling to just above his chin.

All of them had the broad shoulders and muscular bodies prevalent in their kind, especially the natural born. Humans who were changed were often slightly smaller because of their mortal heritage. The lycans took pride in themselves, in staying groomed and honoring their place in the lycan community, though they did have distinctly different styles. Ian preferred slacks and lightweight sweaters. James favored jeans and T-shirts and, much to his brothers’ teasing, Roark wore leather—lots and lots of studded, black, biker-style leather.