Wednesday, August 06, 2014
CAPTIVE’S HEAT by Vonna Harper
Let her escape?
Centrois Warlord Tarek and his warriors have been searching for the Baasta since their human property escaped. From the moment he spots the fleeing young woman, Tarek vows he will tame her. Have her. Own her.
A few days later Nari stares up from the ground at the powerful enemy she should hate. The warlord has brought her down, ended her freedom.
Her captor also challenges her in ways she never imagined possible.
Under his masterful control, Nari has no choice but to surrender her body—and heart. Tarek's ultimate intention is to force Nari to reveal the Baasta's hiding place so he will have his revenge for his father's death, but the more time he spends with his brave captive, the greater her impact on him. She's unlike any woman he has ever known.
Touches him in ways that threatens to change their relationship.
No! That can't be. He's a warrior, a warlord!
And she is his.
Note: Captive's Heat was originally print published as Roped Heat.
Nari's callused feet slapped the ground, making her think of drums being beaten. Unable to find a smooth pace, she ran with her arms jerking as if trying to grab something, anything. Her heartbeat increased, then started pounding. She couldn't keep enough air in her lungs. Couldn't hold down panic.
Not wanting to, she nevertheless looked back over her shoulder. Closer! Five of the things. One ahead of the others and coming right at her!
"Please! Please, no!"
She turned her attention back to where she was going. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her cousin running at an angle away from her. She could no longer see the wildings and wasn't sure which direction she was running. Don't head for home! Don't put your people in danger.
But where if not toward what had always been safety and security?
The snarling roar filled her, and she raced toward a thicket. The head-high bushes became both her goal and her world. How stupid she'd been to put newborn wildings ahead of caution!
Arms now tucked close to her sides and her leg muscles burning, in her mind she became a fleet prairie-runner. Prairie-runners had long, twig-like legs and were so slender that they didn't have enough meat on them to be worth the effort of killing them.
Maybe the Centrois would decide she was worthless and let her escape.
Making a lie of her thought, the thing with its too-powerful rider overtook her. Him! The one who'd nearly caught her before!
Her pursuer kept pace, teasing and mocking. She abruptly slowed and changed direction. He kept going, and she laughed. A heartbeat later she stopped laughing because he'd stopped and spun around, silver hair flying about his face. Catching up to her again, he charged ahead as if leading the way. Once more she swerved. Again he continued on and then corrected, returning to her.
He smiled at her, smiled! Then he passed, stopped and faced her. She nearly ran into him.
Before she could backtrack, he launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground. His greater weight pressed her against the grass. She struggled to turn over so she could punch and scratch and bite.
"Enough!" He punctuated his command by sliding lower so he straddled her buttocks. Leaning forward, he splayed his hands over her shoulders. With her arms reaching for nothing and her face buried in grass and rotting leaves, she tasted panic. He began tugging on her thick braid as if playing with her.
He was going to kill her! Or rape her. Or both.
Or even more terrifying, enslave her.
"No!" She bent her knees and kicked. Her heels connected with his lower back, but there was no power behind her blow.
Still holding her hair, he rocked on her, grinding her breasts and belly by turn against whatever she was on. Her flailing arms found his thighs, and she buried her nails in his flesh. He grunted and grabbed her upper arms, the grip so tight she began to lose feeling. She thrashed her head from side to side.
"Fight, Baasta chattel. Fight. It'll do you no good, but at least this way I know you're alive."
"Dung!" she threw at him. "Eater of rotting flesh."
Capturing a wrist, he yanked her arm behind her and up. "I'll teach you what you can and can't say. What you will or won't be allowed to do."
He forced her arm even higher. Pain exploded between her shoulder blades, but she fought him and the pain, twisting under him. He rode her as if she was a bucking wilding, prompting her to increase her struggles. Maybe he'd relaxed his hold on her arm because it no longer hurt as much. Still she continued to tear at his thigh with her free hand, her breath harsh and hard, sweat turning her skin slick.
Reaching behind him with his free hand, he repeatedly slapped what he could reach of her buttocks. The sharp sting told her that her short skirt had ridden up during her struggles. Thoughts of what he'd do to her once she was truly helpless sent more strength to her failing muscles, and she bucked and thrashed.
Sweat ran off her sides and throat and between her breasts and legs. Her muscles trembled. He stopped slapping and pulled her other hand up between her shoulder blades. Robbed of what little leverage she had left, she collapsed and breathed in the scent of grass and dirt.
Writing what she calls dark and edgy erotica has taken Vonna on a journey she once never imagined. At the beginning of her writing career, she penned category romance and historicals. Then on a day she'll never forget, she read her first erotic romance. Wow! Time for change and challenge!
And what an exciting adventure it has been. Stories about submission and domination, BDSM even capture and slave training have escaped her sometimes crazed mind and flowed to the keyboard. Not all readers' comfort zones reach as far as Vonna's stories but for those do, she says welcome aboard.
When she unchains herself from the computer, Vonna takes off for the family's mountain cabin or digs in her garden. No matter where she is, she's accompanied by the family's two rescue dogs. She insists they have yet to blush at what their human creates.