The White Goddess

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Ganbei

Even for King this was bad.

Boone hid his expression in a long swallow of beer. King was stoic by nature but how did you look that bored while you were getting sucked off? By the way the female’s dyed blonde head was turning and bobbing in his lap, she was doing a decent enough job but by the look on his face, King could be watching someone bleed to death or listening to his voice mails right now.

After a year of planning and negotiations with human government officials and investors, they’d finally gotten the green light for the Colorado Springs casino, but King was in no mood to celebrate. He never was anymore.

“What is it?” Boone grunted at the tray of colourless shots presented by a human female in what looked like a child-sized French Maid costume. His eyes moved appreciatively over her barely-contained tits and ass.

“Jägermeister,” their host informed Boone with an encouraging nod. Jeff Huang’s grinning face was flushed from booze and who knows what else. “Lucifer?” he prompted as the French Maid turned to King with the tray. “Guess he’s too busy,” Huang laughed when King flicked a glance at the tray, then looked away.

Too fucking morose to toast his own success, Boone silently grumbled as King’s human partner launched into a rambling tribute to the future King Jade Casino and Hotel. That February night on the Church lawn had done a real number on King. ‘Shit show’ didn’t even begin to describe it. Or the months that followed.

While Huang was busy doing the legwork for the casino project, the Rogue King—with Boone in tow as always—had spent the past six months crisscrossing the Empire, settling down the communties who had lost their leaders and reasserting King’s dominance over the spooked population of rogues.

They’d succeeded for the most part but it was an embarrassing loss for King in every sense of the word. Their vague statement about unspecificed enemies kidnapping King’s equally mysterious bride didn’t help. Rumours filled in the blanks that they wouldn’t.

One rumour had the Western High Priestess using witchcraft to sabotage King’s wedding in a jealous fit after he’d broken off their fictional affair. Another featured King’s bride as a EIS plant—the Emperor’s Intelligence Service—and the wedding a ruse to get King, Boone, and his top rogue leaders all in one place so they could take them out. Mission at least partially accomplished.

It grated on King that anyone thought he would fall for a honey trap, or that he would stick his dick in anything as disgusting as a witch, no matter how beautiful she might appear at the time. King might have re-established his dominance among his followers, but the loss of face really operated on his classic narcissist’s ego. Which in turn made King even touchier and more volatile than ever.

On the upside, Boone’s reflexes had never been sharper.

“Ganbei!” Huang proclaimed unintelligably before downing his shot.

Boone followed suit and replaced the empty glass on the French Maid’s tray. Looking back, it was easy to see where they went wrong. And by ‘they’, Boone meant King, because Boone had nothing to do with any of it. Not the wedding (a terrible idea), not leaving it to Macklin to talk to Serafina (also a terrible idea), and not the plan to separate her from her Guardian right off the bat (the worst idea of all).

Oh, Boone had told him not to. More than once, and lost more than a few pints of blood for his troubles. But like everything else related to Serafina, King operated on an entirely different system of logic.

What King should have done was show up at the Church, no notice, no nothing, and taken Serafina and her Guardian back to Garnet Range. Installed her in the mansion, the shifter in the barracks, and then slowly kept them busier and busier until they naturally drifted apart, King slowly but steadily replacing him in Serafina’s life all the while. That’s how you separated a blood-bonded pair.

But King hadn’t been thinking strategically. He’d been thinking like a territorial mate. He’d wanted to be Serafina’s everything, starting yesterday. King had underestimated her attachment to her Guardian and overestimated her attachment to himself. Not that Boone would ever say as much out loud. King was likely to take his head right off.

He’d underestimated them, full stop. To be fair, they both had. And the result wasn’t just a huge wrench in King’s long-term plans, it had literally decimated their ranks with the deaths of thirty-plus of King’s strongest and most trusted rogue leaders.

Nope! Not going there. Boone washed away the flavour of anise with a large swallow of beer. Left to himself, he’d be in his hotel room watching the big fight right now but socializing with humans was the cost of doing business in the human world.

To his credit, Huang really went all out tonight, stocking his luxury suite with bottomless trays of food, premium liquor, and plenty of high-end pussy to celebrate in privacy and style. Huang had invited a select number of invested parties, including local union leaders and government officials. The smart ones didn’t accept. Huang had cameras everywhere.

“This seat taken?” a dark-haired female in a very small dress purred in front of him. Boone swept an appraising look over her body. The view was good. Very, very good.

Boone’s growing smile was wolfish as he leaned back in his chair. Spreading his legs, he patted one invitingly. “It’s all yours.”

She was human, but generously stacked with thick thighs and a smooth, sturdy neck that wouldn’t snap with a little bit of pressure.

King had made it very clear that the next human female Boone fucked to death would be his last, under threat of compelling his dick to stay limp for any non-shifter. That included porn, for fuck’s sake. Not a risk Boone was prepared to take.

The female perched herself on his broad, muscular thigh. “I’m Coco.” She ran a long pink-tipped finger down Boone’s chest and bit her lip as she peeked at him from under her lashes. “What’s your name?”

“Boone,” he grunted, sliding his hand down to grip her juicy ass. Her round, heavy tits were in his face and he turned to nuzzle them, nipping at her hard nipples over the thin fabric of her dress.

He needed this, Boone thought hazily as the female, Coral—no, Coco—rubbed her thigh against the straining fabric of his crotch. King needed it too, if he’d only let himself go and enjoy it.

Boone flicked his leader a glance. A short grunt and a reflexive snarl were the only signs King was busting a nut before his expression went flat again and he was reaching for a drink.

King didn’t spare the blonde at his feet a glance as she cleaned him up and tucked him away. She was smart enough to step back from King as soon as she got to her feet, but stupid and desperate enough to linger, waiting for his attention. She’d better hope she didn’t get it.

The only attention the blonde would get from King now that he was done with her was the kind she didn’t want. The kind that got silly human females hurt beyond repair.

True to form, King ignored her as he adjusted the crotch of his pants, as unaffected as if he’d just taken a piss. Boone watched the blonde idly as Coco chattered away in his lap. Goddess only knows what about. As long as she kept grinding on him like that he didn’t give a shit.

Feeling generous, Boone caught the blonde’s eye and shook his head. Call it advice, call it a warning, she was either smart enough to take it or she wasn’t.

Turned out she was. The blonde’s eyes flicked to King, then back to Boone with a tiny nod of acknowledgment. For the first time Boone noticed how young she looked. Smaller and wearing less makeup than the other females, and going by the way King had been yanking on it, her hair was real even if the colour wasn’t. And were those freckles? Boone squinted at her, then slowly widened his eyes at the unwanted thought that pierced his mellow haze.

Nah. Boone shook his head. Okay, sure. Historically King preferred riper fruit. But so what? It wouldn’t be the only one-eighty King had pulled in the past six months. It didn’t mean anything just because there happened to be a totally coincidental, very general vague resemblance to—

Nope. Boone shut down that train of thought before it could pick up speed. The idea made even him feel uncomfortable. Boone wasn’t going to judge but he didn’t want to know about it either.

“How long are you going to be in town?” the human male sitting at the end of the couch asked Boone. A government official, name of Frank Vizzard. Or maybe Wizard? No, definitely Vizzard, Boone thought contemptuously. There was nothing remotely supernatural about this man.

“I think they’re heading out tomorrow.” Huang stepped in smoothly when Boone didn’t answer. “Isn’t that right?”

Boone nodded. “Going up to Boulder.” He couldn’t help smiling at the prospect of hitting neutral territory and surrounded by shifters again.

“Boulder’s nice.” Vizzard bobbed his head idiotically. He was so far out of his depth it wasn’t even funny.

“I went to U of C Boulder,” piped up the brunette sitting on Vizzard’s lap. Good face, nice-sized rack, but nowhere near as hot as his female, Boone noted with private satisfaction. “It’s a really fun town if you know where to go.”

Thinking of Breakers, Boone flashed her a smile. “Very true.”

“So what’s your timeline for this project?” another, less awkward, human male asked Huang and King. Something Collins. Or Collinson. Tom, maybe? Or was that a drink? Whatever his name was, he was a mob account that King had borrowed from a powerful organized human crime family back east. The Don was here too, somewhere. He’d flown in just for the party.

“We’re looking to break ground in Spring 2007.” Huang smiled broadly. He was on a high, in every sense of the word.

“You have an architect yet?” asked the Don, wandering over with the same blonde who’d blown King under his arm. Don Lucietti held a crystal highball glass in one hand and cupped one of the blonde’s palm-sized tits with the other.

King narrowed his eyes. He had a good relationship with the Don. At least, Lucifer King did. The arrogant human mob boss probably even thought they were friends.

But judging by the way King was staring at the Don’s hand, now fondling the blonde’s tit openly, that good relationship was about to come to an end. Badly.

Boone felt a fissure of alarm. No one else seemed aware of the imminent danger as King became perfectly still. Shit. Boone sat up in his chair, gripping the female on his lap automatically when she started sliding off his lap.

“Not yet,” Huang was telling the Don. “We’ve narrowed it down to two firms.”

“My brother-in-law is a partner at Hammond and Bly,” the Don said. Some big-time architecture firm, Boone assumed when Huang looked impressed. “If you’re interested in a third option.”

“Sure. Tell him to send us a proposal.” Huang was no fool. Humans didn’t say ‘thanks but no, thanks’ to a man like Don Lucietti. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

“My pleasure.” The Don was tweaking the blonde’s nipple between his fingers now, totally oblivious to King’s fixed stare. Or was he?

For his sake, Boone hoped so. It would be a very serious error for the Don to think he could entertain himself at King’s expense. The air around them was growing thick and heavy. There was no way even the humans could fail to be aware of it.

“King.” Boone pitched his voice low in warning. He had no intention of delving into King’s sudden and totally uncharacteristic possessiveness over some random human female right now. Or ever. Boone’s only focus was preventing a bloodbath. “King,” he repeated.

King tore his eyes off the Don to face him. Flashes of gold swirled in the black depths of King’s eyes.

“Didn’t you say you were going outside for a smoke?” Boone kept his eyes locked on King’s, careful to keep his expression blank and free of any judgment.

Huang and the Don’s ongoing conversation faded into the background as their eyes held. Slowly, the gold in King’s eyes receded and they became pure black again.

“That’s right,” King said, rising to his feet abruptly.

Even the unflappable Don exhaled with relief as King turned and walked away. Boone relaxed in his seat. Disaster avoided. Hopefully a nice fat blunt would take the edge off King’s temper. The shit they’d scored from Griff last week was killer.

Heads turned as King crossed the carpeted suite to the balcony doors. Even the few present tonight who weren’t familiar with Lucifer King’s reputation were intimidated by his size and powerful aura.

King ignored the stares, but he gorged on the attention. The fear and the fascination. The instictive submission. A flex King had doubled down on since the night of the wedding. That crazy fucking night.

“...And we all ended up on beach naked.” Coco's high-pitched giggle drew Boone’s attention. Had she been talking all this time?

She stared back at him, batting her lashes flirtatiously. With King gone, Boone could turn his mind to more enjoyable pursuits. His eyes moved slowly down her body, pausing on her tits and the juncture of her thighs under her dress before moving back to her lips.

Placing a hand on Coco's narrow shoulder, Boone gently but firmly manoeuvred her to her knees in front of him. She didn’t need to be told to unbuckle his belt and the stupid dress pants King had made Boone wear tonight.

Letting his head fall back against the padded armchair, Boone groaned happily as she wrapped a soft, expert hand around him. “That’s right, baby,” he murmured as she took him into her mouth. “Suck my hard cock.”

Boone gripped her hair, directing her head as it bobbed in his lap. As thick as Coco was, it wasn’t worth the risk fucking her when he’d be in Boulder tomorrow surrounded by shifter pussy. But he was missing the Slater-Cross match for this party and Boone was damned if he wasn’t going to squeeze out every drop. Pun in-fucking-tended.



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