Uncaged Read online

  The beast watched as one back leg twitched and then stilled. He caught the doe and her fawn out of the corner of his eye, fleeing deeper into the woods.

  Run little doe, run. Take your young far away.

  There was always a small measure of guilt, for the mind and soul of a man also lurked beneath the fangs, beneath the fur. But only a small measure of it, never enough to stop him from killing. It was necessary for survival and his preferred way of life. Now back in his natural state, his mind wandered back to Wren and doubts clouded his mind as he tore into the smooth, rich flesh. Sweet, warm blood rushed down his throat. His gut grumbled in answer. It had been so long. He ate heartily, swallowing chunks of delightful, gamey buck.

  He grunted and growled as he tore into the animal’s flank, tearing the tastiest meat from the bone. The tender, warm morsels melted in the lion’s maw, a delicacy he had sorely missed. When his belly became extended, he lay beside the mangled carcass and sighed. Night was near. A cool, autumn breeze tickled his mane and dried his wet nose. New energy surged within. He would feast for one more day and head back to London. He bathed himself, licking his bloodied paw and rubbing the dampened fur over his face and whiskers.

  His mind wandered to Wren again. This was the first time he’d shifted since escaping the cage and it had felt glorious. Now he was wondering if life with a man could hold such freedom, such joy. As a man he’d have to find employment and sustain his other half by concealing his true identity, but there was Wren. He could never see himself walking away from her, her love or the amazing womanly things she did to him in the night. He nibbled again at the carcass, swallowed and sighed. He’d leave the rest for the vultures.

  He padded back to his clothing and sat on his haunches. The moon was just rising over the tallest pines. A strong urge to roar welled up inside of him, but he thought of his horse and restrained it. Again he sighed. Africa held so much freedom. He yearned to be wild once again, but doubted that was now a possibility.

  He shifted quickly and then dressed. The horse neighed and swished his tail when Bruce approached. The nearest town was a few miles up the road. He’d check himself into an inn and sleep. One more day of feasting and he could return to Wren. He was already worried about her, relieved that he missed her even more when he made the change back to man. He knew that his human thoughts while in lion form could be clouded by raw, feral emotions linked to the hunt.

  As he guided the stallion onto the winding dirt road, his mind wandered back to Africa. Drum beats echoed in his head. Images of freedom, nights beneath the stars and long, lazy days spent loving his lioness edged their way into his consciousness. The road before him became a wavy blur as tears threatened to spill. Bruce rubbed his eyes and sniffed them back. Being far from home made him miss her more, though she’d been gone five long years. The thought of losing Wren too made his heart ache. He knew he wouldn’t be able to survive that kind of loss again. He stopped the horse, stared at the night sky and made his decision. With one click of the tongue, he had the stallion turned around and headed back home. One kill would have to do. He’d survive on forest bunnies if he had to. He headed home, back to Wren, back to the woman he knew would now become his wife.

  ~*~

  With another full day of travel behind him, Bruce was exhausted. He contemplated passing Wren’s home and heading into London. He could sleep at the tavern and return in the morning, but the pull in his loins refused to let him go further. The horse had already sensed his direction, turning instinctively onto the dirt road and through the opened iron gates. Bruce wondered if Wren had ordered them left that way in case he came home earlier. Both of them had dreaded his leaving. He’d even told her not to be surprised if he cut his business short. The house was pitch black and deathly quiet. He dismounted his horse and patted his sweating rump before bounding up the creaking steps to peer through the blackened windows. There was no noise, no wind. Even the locusts were asleep. The wooden planks beneath his feet groaned in protest as he walked from window to window. He couldn’t make out a thing.

  He hesitated only because of the captain though he seemed near death only two days before. He tried the front door. It clicked open and he smiled. Wren had given him full access to her home and her bedroom. He tiptoed through the parlor, heading for the stairs when something caught his eye. A rectangular shadow fell across the landing where the moonlight streamed across the marble floors from a high window. Bruce peered into the darkness, looking for whatever was causing such a black out. The parlor was practically bare. He wondered for a moment if Wren had acquired a pianoforte. She’d talked of doing so and of her love for music. The prospect suddenly excited him. He had become quite skilled with the ivory keys as a boy. How he’d love to play a duet with her. He felt like a lad on Christmas morn as he strolled into the parlor. He hit his shin on a low lying coffee table, hissing out a curse as he made his way to the object. Black shadows enveloped him. If he could only remember where the damn lamp was located. He reached for the object, hoping to hear a tinkling of the keys, but instead he felt clothing. His eyes had adjusted some. He blinked and blinked again and then knelt down closer. A hideous odor assaulted his senses and he snapped his head back. Ever so slowly he reached out again and this time felt a hand.

  “Bloody hell!” he hissed.

  It was a dead body, lying in waiting for the wake perhaps. Bruce fumbled around the tables and chairs, looking for the lamp. He nearly knocked it off the table before lighting it. A golden glow illuminated the casket across from him. White, unruly hair shot off of the pillow. Even in death, the man looked insane. The captain lay across from him. Relief flooded him. It could have been Wren. He had been afraid she’d been exposed. The captain had developed scurvy on the ship and later acquired tuberculosis.

  “Wren,” he breathed, forgetting the dead captain as he bolted upstairs and flung open her door.

  She lay curled on her side, hugging a pillow. He let out a shuddering, ragged breath as he shut the door behind him, making a small clicking noise. Wren sighed in her sleep, smiled sweetly and then rolled to her other side. Bruce thought his heart would burst from his chest. He was no longer exhausted from the long trip, only excited and relieved that she was safe. He decided right then and there, he would not leave her again. If he had to devour all the local hogs in order to stay near her, he would. Anything could have happened. He couldn’t bear losing her like he’d lost his lioness. He crossed to the other side of the bed and sat down, stripping down to nothing before lying down. He pulled her to him. She moaned softly. Bruce couldn’t wait until dawn. He’d have her now and she’d love every moment of it.

  She sighed when he caressed her breasts, pulling up on the sheer batiste that separated his hand from her warm skin.

  “Bruce?” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

  “Yes, darling, I’m home.”

  “Mmm.”

  Bruce chuckled, scattering hot breath across the back of her neck. Her scent drove him mad. She smelled of lavender, her hair like fresh cut gardenias. His hand shook with anticipation as he palmed her knee, her thigh and moved upward, cupping her. She was already damp for him.

  “Oh how I missed you,” he growled, rolling her onto her back and straddling her.

  Wren reached up and touched his cheek. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she stared up at him, her face awash with tenderness.

  “I missed you far more, I assure you, sir.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose and then each velvety eye lid with utter care before he answered. “You are wrong, my love. I rode all night to see you.”

  Wren sat half way up. “Darling! You must be utterly exhausted. Are you hungry? I can call the cook.”

  Bruce shook his head and then pushed her back onto the pillows. “The cook cannot make me what a crave.”

  “Oh, I assure you he can, sir. It’s but yet an hour till he rises. Would you rather him prepare breakfast or stew?”

  Bruce only laughed. Her play at
innocence delighted him. She was no innocent but her desire to comfort him and please him only made him more randy.

  “Bird,” he replied flatly.

  “Bird? A nice pheasant then?” Wren sat up again, determined to throw on her dressing gown and order the cook to work.

  He let out a raucous belly laugh. Wren’s eyebrows snapped together. He laughed again at the concern in her face. He knew she was only trying to please him, but there was only one thing that could whet his appetite.

  “I detest pheasant.”

  “Oh. You do? I find it delightful and rather . . .”

  Bruce silenced her by grabbing a fistful of ebony curls, covering her mouth with his own and guiding back onto to the bed. With his other hand he pulled the thin batiste up over her hips and above her flat belly. His cock laid fat and throbbing on her smooth thigh. Wren gasped when his warm hand covered her, teasing her with his fingertips. She rose in answer. Bruce kissed his way to her ear, blowing softly, nibbling on her tender earlobe, licking the concave flesh behind her ear .

  “Ahh, Bruce.”

  “My love,” he whispered as he worked his way down her elegant neck. He stopped to suck at the pulsing where twirls of flowery scented skin wafted into the most savage corners of his being. He could smell her rich blood beneath. Sweet and smooth, ripe and warm. He longed for a taste. To bite her, sink his teeth into her heated flesh and drink her in. It was a common practice among lions during mating. Many times he had sunk his canines into the sandy, musty fur of his lover’s neck and shoulders while riding her. The scent of her sex coupled with the tangy, melon flavor of her warm blood only added to his arousal. He longed to bite Wren and taste all that her lust held for him. He couldn’t help himself. Once it became his desire, he could not stop himself. He kissed and licked the vein throbbing in her neck, sucking it to numb the pain. Wren writhed beneath him, begging and moaning. She wrapped both legs around his torso. He could feel her dripping with wicked want, panting quick puffs of scalding breath into the tepid air around them.

  Bruce wanted her seduced, numb, on the edge of swooning.

  “Please, darling, now. I beg of you, sir.”

  “Soon my sweet, soon,” he whispered between more licks, more nips at her ears and neck.

  Even Bruce could hear her heart beating beneath him, thumping like a scared jack rabbit, pumping for him, anxious and excited. He loved how this woman wanted him. How she begged for him, pleading as if she’d lose her mind if he didn’t satisfy her immediately.

  Bruce had seduced dozens of women before choosing to live as an animal in the wilds of Africa, but none thrilled him more than this beauty. One smile from her sent his heart reeling and he had never possessed such sexual prowess. He was trapped by his lust for this delectable vixen. One night away from her was worse than a week without red meat.

  He could sustain himself no longer. His lover was close to the edge. Intoxication was written in her smoldering eyes. She was close to swooning, gasping for air, clawing at his head, her voice ragged and raw from begging. Bruce licked the trickle of sweat that wound beneath her breasts, catching a new scent, something a bit sweeter and richer. He licked the moisture that gathered beneath them. She rose off the bed, clawing at his shoulder, ripping stripes into his overheated skin. He suckled her breast and growled.

  He was right. She was with child.

  Sweet, creamy milk bubbled within. He could smell it swirling and churning inside, more delicate than lion’s milk. His lioness bred three cubs for him and all of them had grown into glorious cats. None of them carried the human gene and he’d been relieved.

  Now Bruce grunted with pleasure, suckling her breast, sending her to another world where only the two of them existed. They were lost in one another and their terrible, excruciating need. He intended to bring blood on her neck. A mere taste of lust was what he craved. Now that the pride of knowing she was carrying his child had registered, he wanted more. He knew of no way to tear himself from her luscious breast, from the soft, sweet, delicate scent of her mother’s milk. Bruce’s eyes snapped open. He now looked at her through nocturnal cat eyes. Every detail, every feature of his lover was outlined. Every inch of her excruciating beauty was vivid in the darkened room.

  He growled, devouring her, taking the tanned nipple, all of it into his mouth. Without thinking, he sank his canines fully into her. Warm, rich milk flowed into dark, rich blood, mixing and mingling, creating an erotic delicacy. Wren screamed, flailing on the bed as he entered her. He sliced into her fully as he reached beneath her, pulling her ass into him with both hands. She rose off the bed and then collapsed, moaning softly as she began to move with each heavy thrust of his swollen cock. Bruce let go, afraid he’d taken too much blood. Afraid he’d frightened her. He hadn’t planned on it. He licked the milky blood from his lips as he watched her face, now relaxed and smiling in the white moonlight. She mimicked his actions, licking her own lips. Blood dripped from four black holes, staining her gown, ruining the bed sheets.

  “Bloody fucking Christ!” Bruce hissed, when he saw what he’d done.

  “Again, Bruce! Again!” Wren whispered.

  Bruce withdrew himself with great regret. Gasping, he applied pressure to her bleeding breast, fully aware that the entire length of his canines had pierced her tender flesh. He wanted to pummel himself.

  “What have I done? Bloody hell!”

  Wren sat up and looked down upon her blood stained gown. More blood spilled from her breasts, dripping on her leg and sliding down her thigh to puddle on the white sheets. She only smiled and pulled him closer, kissing his bloodied mouth. She stopped and licked her lips. Bruce watched in horror. He wondered if she was in shock.

  “So sweet. I never guessed it,” she whispered.

  Bruce stared her, open mouthed. Blood dripped from his chin, onto his broad chest. He’d practically skewered the woman and she seemed fascinated.

  “Wren… I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, my love. I got carried away. I swear to you I will never do that again. I vow to never ….”

  Wren flung her arms around him, kissing him with a force he’d never known. His cock rose again, engorged now, fueled by the taste of his mate’s life blood. Pride swelled within him as a trickle of milk flowed from her breast. And she was loving it, wanting him, reveling in his carnal, animalistic lovemaking.

  “Please, darling. I am not hurt. What is a little blood? It felt glorious. Please, I beg of you. I cannot wait much longer,” she whimpered between kisses.

  Wren wrapped her legs around his torso, locking her feet behind him. She grabbed his cock with one hand and teased herself with the smooth head. “Oooh, Bruce. I love that. Will you do this for me? Pleasure me?”

  Bruce took his cock from her hand and teased her pearl, tapping on the tender nub. Wren released her arms from his neck, falling backwards, her spine forming a perfect “U” as he pleasured her, sinking his cock a bit before withdrawing, dipping and teasing her again with his dampened erection. Reaching back, he unlocked her feet and laid her legs beside her. Startled, she looked up at him, her hair a mess of black curls. A stray wisp stuck to her lip as she begged him for more.

  “Please, darling! Please! Make me suffer no more!”

  “Shhh. Lie back. I told you I was hungry.”

  “You said you were hungry for bird, sir.”

  “Yes, my love. For wren, the tastiest of all birds.”

  Wren giggled as she stretched out fully, raising her arms above her head. Bruce sucked in a breath at the sight of her bloody nakedness. She was a mess. The sexiest mess he’d ever seen. Her gown and the sheets were horrific. She looked a murderous nightmare to a mere man, but to him, she was his sex starved mate, giving herself to him fully, allowing him to taste her life’s blood. She’d already made him a father, though she knew it not. He smiled down at her. His one crooked tooth caught on his bloody lip and she laughed out loud.

  “You look as though you’ve been in a brawl, Bruce.”

 
Bruce only grunted as he spread her legs wide, unfolding the silken lips of her wet pussy with his fingers.

  “Oooh, Bruce. I want you now, darling.”

  “Shhh.”

  His concentration centered on the glorious task at hand. He drew the scent of her deeply into his lungs. The mingling aromas of her lust, her life’s blood and her mother’s milk intoxicated him. He closed his eyes against the beast. Fierce, jungle images clouded his mind. The urge to shift was unbearable. It ripped through him in waves, tearing through his gut and chest, moving deep into his lion’s heart. He shook his head, stilling the animal within. Shaking uncontrollably, sparks flitted off his back. Neither of them noticed. Both of them were lost in exotic pleasure. Satisfied that he would remain in human form, Bruce opened his eyes. Wren lay before him, her eyes closed, biting her lip, purring with pleasure as he massaged her clit. He knelt down before her and lapped at her center. Juice poured from her as she pressed her feet into the mattress and pushed her pussy into his face. He plunged his tongue into her, fucking her with his mouth. Her hips rose off the bed. Blood poured from the black love bites on her breasts. The sight of it only aroused him more as Bruce watched the warm blood spread over her tummy and into the slender, black “V” shaped mound. Bruce lapped at the blood, grunting and growling as her taste touched his tongue. He reached beneath her with both hands and grasped her ass, pulling her into his face, devouring her, licking her up until she was screaming his name.

  He clasped his hand over her mouth and thrust his throbbing cock into her velvety smoothness. She came at once, exploding with lightning speed that shot clear through her, stealing her breath, making her swoon away. She was out and silent, yet she clenched him still. Bruce wanted to stop. To wake her and check her pulse, but he already knew. This woman’s life’s blood rushed beneath him. He had never fucked a woman senseless. He could smell her breath and her life. She had only fainted dead away. He felt bad about it for only an instant. He gripped her hips and thrust into her one last time and let out a true lion’s roar, fierce and loud into the quiet night. His orgasm ricocheted between two beings, both man and beast. His roared again and felt his fangs grow, forcing his mouth open wider. He shook his head and the spasms stilled. White dots danced before his eyes. He focused on Wren, unmoving, a bloody mess of luscious beauty and then she faded. Faded to black as he struggled to withdraw himself from her so he wouldn’t crush her with his weight. Two more giant dots of white popped into his line of vision, clouding the image of his sated lover lying beside him and then he too collapsed, unconscious beside her.