The Beastmaster's Slave

THE BEASTMASTER'S SLAVE



By



Desiree Acuna







© copyright by Desiree Acuna, November 2009

Cover art by Eliza Black November 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-376-5

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com



This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.





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Chapter One



Maura studied the mansion in the flickering light of the full moon, trying to dismiss the uneasiness creeping along her spine like invisible fingers. The place was clearly empty, she told herself for the dozenth time. She hadn't seen a sign of any movement of any sort beyond the shifting of the limbs of the mighty oaks that surrounded it and formed a natural tunnel along the long, winding drive that led from the gate through the park-like grounds that surrounded the place.

The drive disappeared behind the stone edifice on the southern side and ended in a carriage house cum garage in the back. She knew. She'd arrived before dark, parked her car in an unobtrusive tangle of honeysuckle vines, and walked the perimeter.

The high stone fence that surrounded the place was well maintained. She hadn't found a break or a single place where crumbling stone might offer an easy hand or toe hold.

The place reminded her of a mausoleum, she decided. That was what was creeping her out. The gothic style of the architecture looked like something straight out of Europe's distant past, not like anything that should be sitting next to a bayou in the U.S. of A.

And yet, it fit right in.

Did the owner fit in, as well, she wondered? Would she discover he was some modern day equivalent of Count Dracula?

It bothered her that she hadn't managed to get so much as a whiff of a description of the man of any kind-the beast master.

There was a weird moniker! Daegon, the beast master. That was all she had after weeks of digging. No last name, no history, no other aliases-Daegon, the beast master.

She hadn't even been able to discover why he was called that if, in fact, there was any reason behind it.

There usually was. She would've thought he'd be called the leather master, though, or maybe the pussy master considering the club he owned. Total freaks! Goths on steroids! She'd felt like she was dressing up for a Halloween costume contest when she'd donned the 'essentials' for getting past the barbarians at the gate, the behemoths that passed as bouncers.

She'd begun to entertain a lot of doubts about the case almost as soon as she began to delve into the dark world little Sheila had been a part of. As far as she could see, the woman had already had one foot in the grave the moment she embraced the lifestyle. She hadn't seen drugs, granted, but it seemed to go with the territory-the leather, bondage-and probably sadomasochistic-orgy-minded clientele of Noir.

If she'd been a betting woman, and she wasn't, that was the reason Sheila had decided to off herself-maybe not even intentionally. She certainly wouldn't be the first idiot that had accidentally hanged herself trying to get a sexual boost from autoerotic asphyxiation.

Her parents wouldn't hear of it, though. Sheila's parents. Her own parents, being best friends with them, were convinced there was something dark going on at Noir and dragged her into it or she wouldn't be sitting in the dark now, staring at the creepy mausoleum the owner of Noir called home.

Well, there was a lot of 'dark'.

What she didn't understand was that the place had never been raided-not once. She'd checked. She still wouldn't have allowed her parents to rope her into investigating except for one tiny little detail. Sheila was the third young woman to frequent the place who'd supposedly committed suicide in the five years since the place opened.

It wasn't much to go on even though her gut reaction was aroused suspicion. She'd studied the files backwards and forwards, talked to the coroner that had performed the autopsies and thoroughly pissed him off, and she'd had to conclude that it was suicide, or accident. There just wasn't anything to indicate anything else.

She wouldn't even have been able to put the three together if she hadn't noticed something nobody else seemed to have noticed-the mark. All three of them had it on the inside of their upper thigh. She didn't know what it was, but it damned sure wasn't a tattoo.

It was the only link between the three young women and the club, though.

And it was probably nothing. She was going to get her ass booted off the force chasing ghosts!

Not tonight, though, she told herself. The owner wasn't home. She'd arrived well before dark. Even without any sign of movement either on the grounds or inside, if there'd been anybody home, a light would've come on long before the moon rose.

The longer she sat trying to think up excuses not to go in, though, the more chance there was that he would come home and catch her trespassing.

To go or not to go, she wondered, studying the house uneasily, feeling a warning prickling along her spine?

If she got caught, she was going to get her ass chewed out by the chief, at the very least. If she didn't at least find something to give her parents to give their friends she was going to have to endure accusing looks from her parents for months.

Shaking her head, she opened the car door and got out. After studying the narrow road leading back through the woods to the mansion for a few minutes, listening intently, and assuring herself there was no sound or sign of an approaching car, she moved briskly to the wrought iron gates of the drive and used the ornamental iron for the hand and footholds she needed to go over. She didn't like being so exposed, but she was pretty sure trying the stone wall would be an exercise in disappointment. The spikes at the top were a real bitch to get over without sticking herself, but she managed it, dropping to the ground on the other side.

She moved quickly then from the open drive to trees and shrubs that lined it. She was positive there was no one home, but she still didn't like the idea of boldly striding across such a wide expanse of lawn in plain sight. She hadn't gone far when she heard a low growl that didn't sound anything like any dog she'd ever heard. Unfortunately, even as she stiffened and glanced back toward the gate, she realized she was far enough from it that there was a good bit of doubt in her mind that she could reach it and climb fast enough to elude whatever it was that she discovered was staring at her from the brush no more than two yards from where she was.

* * * *

The hunger, never far, was already beginning to make itself known to him and yet Daegon resisted. Noir had seemed like the best solution to his needs when he'd started it, as perfect as anything could possibly be in such a world and considering his limitations. He could feed at will without arousing the sort of attention his overlord deplored-the sort that might inspire his overlord to summon him back to the underworld.

He hadn't been unleashed upon the mortal world to find satisfaction with his lot, after all, but rather as a sick punishment to begin with for displeasing the bastard. He wasn't allowed to feed as he pleased from them, to satisfy his cravings. Only to take what he needed to sustain him and to suffer the torments of the damned to be surrounded, always, by what he hungered for but could only sup from.

It almost seemed to him that it was worse when he'd nibbled at what he wanted to gobble, sucked the meager portion he was allowed. It seemed to make the hunger worse.

He should have known from the look of satisfaction in Trydan's eyes when he'd proposed the club as 'cover' that he was playing right into the bastard's hands, but he'd been too tormented with the pain to think clearly. He'd thought he could gather his slaves together and finally know true fulfillment, if only for a short space of time. He couldn't take all he needed from one of the puny mortals, but together they would make a fine meal.

Trydan hadn't been blinded by needs, though. He'd known immediately what Daegon had planned … and it coincided nicely with his punishment. Daegon could draw his slaves into one place. It would attract far less attention, but he was still bound by the limitations set upon by the overlord. Only one every two to three days and only what they could give him without surrendering their souls.

He'd still thought it would be better, that he could hedge just a bit. They gathered for him. He didn't have to search, to wait for an opportune moment to feed discreetly. He could feed and the moment he was allowed to feed again, there would be one waiting.

It was almost worse, he discovered. No! It was worse! More torment to be surrounded by them constantly, to watch them feed upon each other and know that he wasn't allowed to touch!

He couldn't even bring himself to withdraw to a distance that made it more bearable at first. Night after night, he watched them, always hungry, always wanting, always waiting until he was allowed to nourish his needs.

He'd begun to fight it, however. It had almost been more agonizing at first, to know they were there and not go to watch at least, but he'd discovered when he persevered that he could tame the hunger with distance. Holed up in his mansion, so far from the smell and sight of them, he could bear the pain a little better. He still watched the clock, still waited impatiently, but the pain wasn't as searing. It was more bearable.

His thoughts gave him no peace. Dwelling on his circumstances only made it harder to control the hunger and he welcomed the distraction of his hawk with relief as it called to him and then lit on the balcony where he stood staring blindly at the lazy waters of the bayou that meandered along the rear of his domain.

The hawk tilted his head, fixing him with one beady eye. Female.

Daegon scowled at the hawk. "Why tell me?" he growled. "Go fuck her if you want to."

Human.

Daegon's anger vanished immediately. "A human female? Here?"

Snooping. Go 'round wall.

Disappointment flickered through him and his anger rose again. "That doesn't do me any bloody good! I can't entice her in! And I can't use a glamour on her if she's too far to reach!"

No go. Look see.

Daegon was tempted to ignore the hawk. In point of fact, it occurred to him to wonder if his overlord had sent the little bastard to torment him more, but the hawk had always been a loyal familiar.

On the other hand, there seemed little point in taking a look if she was beyond his reach. His retreat had become his prison. Trydan's stipulation for allowing him to create Noir was that that would be his hunting grounds forever more. He could feed on the mortals that came to him. He could no longer stalk prey beyond those walls, and his mansion was too remote even for the occasional prey to drop into his lap.

And he still couldn't resist. Nodding at the hawk, he cloaked himself and bounded over the railing. Landing in the yard two floors below, he glanced up at the hawk and then followed the bird as it led him around the mansion to the front.

Snooping, the hawk had said, he mused. A reporter? His mouth watered. Reporters-nosey fucking bastards, but pretty spineless for all that. Would her curiosity overcome her sense of self-preservation, he wondered? Lead her to him?

He could hope.

He discovered when he rounded the house that he hadn't needed the hawk to guide him. The cougar and the tiger were both perched in the trees near the gate to the driveway, staring at something beyond the walls with absolute focus. The cougar blinked as he approached them, sniffed the air, and went back to watching. She's in the man box.

Annoyance flickered through Daegon. He'd already caught her scent himself-and it was a delectable one. However, he curbed the urge to point out that, while his senses might not be quite as acute as the beasts that were his familiars, they were certainly far above mortal senses.

His familiars were useful to him. They guarded his back so that he had no need to guard himself. On occasion, they fetched for him and, even more rarely, they neatly disposed of troublesome mortals without him having to lay hands upon them himself and risk his overlord's wrath. They thrived as much upon his approval, though, as the care he gave them. They could feed themselves, if it came to that and often did. They were willing slaves, however, because they did thrive upon his approval and he made it a point never to chide them or punish them unless they actually stepped out of line.

Their conceit over their superior senses wasn't just cause for a reprimand only because he found their tendency to lump him with mortals annoying.

He spied her as soon as he reached the gate. She'd parked the car she drove, a light tan older model, in a thicket of vines that offered concealment.

His pulse leapt at that realization. She had a keen interest in him and she meant to do some serious snooping or she wouldn't have gone to those lengths.

Narrowing his eyes to pierce the cloaking shadows of dusk, he studied the woman, feeling his pulse leap a little higher when he saw that she was pleasing to his eyes. The scent alone had been enough to wet his appetite, but she was comely.

Not that it mattered. She was a mortal female. When all was said and done, there was very little difference in the sustenance he derived from them. In point of fact, he'd found the less attractive females were not only very eager to please, but extremely receptive. And the plump ones-well, they had more staying power and that was always a bonus.

This one looked to be a little on the thin side although, to his irritation he discovered he couldn't see her well enough to tell for certain. Disappointment still mingled with his excitement. She wouldn't make much of a meal. She'd be too weak to give him anything at all long before he was satisfied.

She would be a bonus, though, he thought, a tidy little snack his overlord would know nothing about, something to slake the pain.

If she nerved herself to come to him.

The temptation arose to open the gates for her, to try to lure her inside, but she was cautious even if she was curious. Opening the gates, he decided, might very well scare her off.

After studying her hungrily for some time, he finally decided to return to the mansion and wait. If she breached his walls, she was fair game.

* * * *

Running, Maura realized, was probably the worst thing she could do. The thought had no sooner settled in her mind, however, when the owner of the pair of eyes in the brush moved closer. She took a step back automatically, but froze mid-step on the second when the beast stepped forward again, rattling the brush that had concealed it, parting the leaves just enough that she realized the pattern of light and shadow wasn't light and shadow. It was the pattern of the beast's coat-a full grown tiger.

Her heart instantly began to surge against her chest wall in sheer terror. Her mind went utterly blank, struggling to discount the possibility that what her eyes beheld was actually real. The foot poised on one toe settled to complete the step she'd begun. Fighting the instinctive urge to whirl and flee, she commanded her other leg to take another step back. Even as she finally managed it, she heard another growl that froze her.

She stared hard at the tiger, trying to convince herself that it was he that had growled at her. The sound hadn't come from behind her, but the hair on the back of her neck said otherwise. It rose, prickling all the way up to the crown of her head.

Slowly, she inched her head around until she could check behind her.

A cougar was crouched between her and the gate.

The urge to scream for help or just scream clogged in her throat with the fear that it would be enough to make them charge her. She couldn't seem to command herself to move in any direction. She had a tiger in front of her and a cougar behind. She had far less chance of reaching the mansion than the gate, she realized, in any case, but it wouldn't help her to race for the gate with the cougar crouched there.

The tiger studied her for several moments and then began to move slowly to her side and then around her until he was between her and the nearest part of the wall. Without even realizing she'd done so, Maura discovered she'd rotated with the cat's movements until her back was to the house.

Cut off from the gate and the nearest segment of wall, she studied the two cats for several moments and nerved herself to flick a look around in search of another possible avenue of escape.

She discovered when she did that there were wolves-not dogs, wolves-ranged along the wall, guarding it as the cougar and tiger seemed to be, at least three that she could see.

They weren't going to let her out again, she thought. One step in any direction except backwards, she discovered, was enough to elicit another threatening growl. Trying to convince herself that they'd been trained to chase trespassers to their owner, she began to back slowly and carefully toward the mansion, hoping against hope that she could find a way inside if she did manage to reach it.

* * * *

That's it, Daegon thought, exhilarated, containing his impatience with an effort, enjoying the sense of anticipation. Bring her to me.

Discarding his cloaking, he abandoned his watch post when she was halfway across the lawn, strode briskly down the stairs to the entrance of the mansion and opened the door wide, watching as his minions stalked her slowly closer and closer.

The hunger added to his pleasure-now. He didn't have to fight it, didn't feel a need to ignore the gnawing at his vitals.

She was coming. He could feed. He could take as much as he wanted, he told himself as it dawned on him abruptly that she wouldn't have told anyone where she was going. No one would miss her and, even if they did, they wouldn't know where to look for her.

For a few moments he savored the thought while he watched her, but then his greed shifted focus. If he was a little more careful, he told himself, he might keep her a while.

Take all he wanted, now, knowing he could at least appease his hunger completely, for once? Or husband his new resource? Use her to supplement the meager feedings he was allowed at Noir?

He was torn. He would still be miserable, he reminded himself, but wasn't a little more better?

There was no ending the torment. Until Trydan decided he'd been punished enough, he had to suffer the fire eating at him, to remain imprisoned and surrounded by temptation he couldn't have.

She wasn't likely to last long regardless, his inner beast reminded him. Why drag it out when he might at least have one completely fulfilling night? Even if he took the chance, mastered his hunger enough to prevent himself from sucking her dry, his overlord might discover her and take her away from him.

He wrestled back and forth with his dilemma until she reached the stairs leading up to the stoop. Dismissing the internal battle, he strode swiftly through the door and wrapped her in an enchantment.

He'd feed a while, he decided, see if he could appease the pain and wait until she recovered enough that he could feed again.