Masqued Tails Read online

  Masqued Tails

  Dawn Montgomery

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2008 Dawn Montgomery

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ISBN: 978-1-59596-990-3

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Masqued Tails

  Dawn Montgomery

  Trapped!

  Magickal null Alaya Bellemore is stuck in a mansion where murder-mystery games become a little too real, midnight encounters with a certain shape-shifting fox become the norm, and even the walls and doors are alive.

  Shad’s been trapped for far longer than he’d care to remember. When the luscious Alaya walks into his life he finds hope beginning to burn in his heart and soul. And when their passion explodes in an inferno scorching enough to temper their resolve, Shad finds there’s another way to give life to hope.

  Can Shad help Alaya escape the clutches of an eclectic collector before she becomes part of his living museum?

  Dedication

  To Lexxie, you are my inspiration in trying times.

  Prologue

  Unnamed terror tore through Shad. Cold sweat coated him. He shrugged out of his shirt, letting the rough cloth fall to the ground. His breeches were next. Faster, move faster. Why hadn’t he listened? Western civilization was full of greed and fury.

  His shoes had long been lost in the race across the stark landscape. He couldn’t tell how long the race had lasted -- only that it wouldn’t stop, could never stop until he was imprisoned. He shifted his fingers to half form, clawing his way up a large boulder to scan the darkness. No sign of pursuit but his pearl screamed from within the leather he’d wrapped it in, tucked safely against his chest. It knew something was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it, only run. Unencumbered by clothing, he leapt from the rock. In an instant he flooded with magick, wrapping him in fox skin. His paws scraped the ground and he was off.

  Raw, powerful, wrong magick tore through the earth. The reek of necromancy and demon greed rolled over the fox, making him retch and scramble away from the new threat. His pearl screeched along his body in a metaphysical terror so intense it froze him for just a moment.

  It was enough.

  A miasma of pressure rolled over the Kitsune, trapping him to the ground. Tendrils of death encased him, shoved against the putrid earth. Shad shifted to his half form, part fox, part human. He feverishly clawed at the tendrils to no avail.

  “Ahhh, this is interesting,” a sly voice croaked from the darkness. Shad tried to shift again and the pressure built until he couldn’t breathe. A harsh glow filled the night sky, illuminating the weathered face of a man no longer human.

  “My name is Devonshire.” Thin lips stretched into a parody of a smile.

  He could understand the words, but refused to speak the language. Shad barely inhaled a breath. Heat and fury built in his gut and roiled against being trapped. He cursed and spat, clawing at the raw magick.

  “Ah, yes, you understand me.”

  The magick wrapped around Shad’s pearl and he arched in agony. It floated from his skin with dark liquid pooling around it, hardening, congealing. Foxfire raced across Shad’s torso, tearing the pearl’s hold from him. His soul screamed and his throat echoed, becoming hoarse with raw pain.

  The pearl was swallowed by the thick material, sealing away part of Shad’s soul with it. He twitched and gasped. Fury knotted in his gut.

  “Fascinating.” Devonshire peered at the enclosed gem with no little greed.

  “I will seek your death and rejoice in it,” Shad sneered.

  Devonshire glanced at the fox. “It’s interesting that this thing chose you as the first. Interesting, but perfect.”

  “The first what?”

  “Why the first in my collection, of course.” Devonshire wrapped his hand around the pearl and Shad winced, expecting a backlash of magick. Nothing happened.

  Black rage roared through his head, tearing apart his sanity. He became a mass of destruction, tearing apart the binds and launching at Devonshire. Raw power slammed into him and he fell into blessed darkness.

  Devonshire stood over his body with a firm grip on his new acquisition. A Kitsune and his pearl.

  Chapter One

  Alaya blew dust off the old tome in her mother’s attic. Some days, being a magick null was a blessing. Coughing through the pain from dust in her throat, she realized today wasn’t one of those days. The supple leather sling holding the book caught her eye. The intricate rune set tugged at her memory, and she traced the dark burns with a half smile. Dead languages were her specialty. She’d been helping her mother delve into texts of the arcane since childhood. Pain shot down her side and she groaned, trying to stretch it out. Lifting all day had definitely taken its toll on her back.

  The attic was packed with obscure magickal crap. None of it worked and her mother couldn’t go through it all in fear of misfires and misfortunes on the caster. The curse of the Bellemores. Luckily enough, things that would make every magickal being sick rarely did more than cause a small sneezing fit for Alaya. She uncapped her sport bottle filled with iced tea and took a refreshing sip.

  She pulled the heavy book out of the sling and tucked it against her chest. Heat radiated from the cover reaching through her. Interesting. She rubbed the back of the book and it responded, stroking her pussy from the inside. Alaya jerked in surprise and dropped the book on the floor. A cloud of dust woofed out from beneath. Alaya covered her face in response, but couldn’t stop staring at the book. Her heart raced, from fear or excitement she didn’t know. She rubbed her thighs together to ease the tingle of awareness in her pussy. A relic that actually caused a reaction? In her? Impossible. She clenched her eyes shut. All of the things up here were dangerous. Potentially deadly.

  Yeah, but you’ve never felt anything before. She wiped damp hands down her jeans and bit her lip. Magick didn’t affect her. It couldn’t. So it’s in my head. It’s not like I’ve been laid in a while. Would it happen again? She fisted her hands and waited a breath. “Oh the hell with it.” She reached for the book. Her fingers wrapped around the binding and she gasped. Heat poured through the book into her. Something warm and hard, like fingers, slipped between the already damp folds of her pussy. They stroked deep and she cried out. Cream slicked her panties and her breaths came in small gasps, matching the rhythm of the ghostly fingers. She closed her eyes against the warmth of a stroking caress across her breasts. She pushed it away and the stroking stopped.

  Alaya dropped to the dusty wooden floor and let the book fall in her lap. The heat of its touch escaped her with something close to a sigh. She stared at the intricate cover with a mix of longing and fear. A tiny thrill flittered in her stomach. A book her mother had kept hidden. Why? So she couldn’t find it? The fear kept her from holding the book to her chest again.

  She opened the book and flipped to the handwri
tten table of contents. It looked like a sexual compendium of fictional creatures. One entry caught her attention. On the Mating Rituals of the Kitsune. She turned the delicate pages with care until she reached the passage. A merchant had come upon a Kitsune in his travels. Alaya turned the page and gasped. Her heart slammed in a primal rhythm. The ghostly touches were back with a vengeance. Dark lust stroked her. An image of a man with long black hair and a body built by gods, cut and thick in all the right places, stared back at her. His amber eyes regarded her beneath slitted lids. Naked with a woman wrapped around him, grasping his cock between delicate hands.

  Alaya blinked. He was a drawing, in a book! Granted -- she let her gaze slide over the hard edge of his chest, down the ripple of his abdomen -- he was a very detailed drawing! She shook her head and tried to clear out the buzzing of lust roaring through her.

  A loud banging echoed from below the window. Alaya slammed the book shut, and shivered at the sudden cool breeze. She wiped the sweat off her brow and set the book on the dusty sheet next to the old trunk.

  Another round of hard rapping below had her scrambling out of her comfortable spot. She shoved off the floor and raced down the stairs, brushing her soaked bangs off her forehead with an impatient swipe.

  “I’m coming!” You wish. Alaya ignored the jibe from the back of her mind. She jumped the last two steps and jogged to the front door. With an impatient tug on the lock, she pulled the old oak door open, wincing at the heavy creak. Those hinges really needed to be oiled.

  “Can I help you?” The question died on her lips when she caught sight of her visitor. A vision of leather and lust greeted her at the door. He stood at an angle, the flow of his body at odds with the tension radiating from his shoulders. Ash-colored hair flowed down Mr. Dark and Dangerous’s back, coming to rest on the curve of his ass. He easily topped her by a good foot or so. He turned to her with a killer smile and a dimple.

  “Alaya Bellemore?” The soft-spoken question had her leaning closer to hear him. He pursed his lips and took a slow inhalation.

  She watched a dark emotion cross his perfectly formed face before it smoothed to calm once more.

  Alaya cleared her throat and tried to slow her racing heart. “Yes, that’s me.”

  He nodded and lowered his sunglasses. Ice blue eyes beckoned. She glanced behind him and noticed a sweet motorcycle parked in the driveway.

  Get a grip, girl! Her mind whirled.

  “Can I help you?”

  Lines crinkled his eyes as a soft smile teased his lips. “I hope so.”

  Alaya wondered why anyone would be looking for her at this house. Her mother’s house. “I’m sorry; are you sure you’re looking for me?”

  “Can I see some form of identification? I have a delivery here for Alaya Bellemore and I have to make sure you” -- his smile turned predatory -- “are the intended party.”

  Without taking her eyes off the tall and handsome delivery man, Alaya pulled open the drawer of the entryway stand. She pulled out her license with fumbling fingers and handed it to him. “I don’t have to tell you that you look nothing like any delivery boy in my neighborhood.”

  With a quick glance and a smile, he gave it back to her. She slipped it into her back pocket. He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out an odd-sized envelope.

  Its wrapper was an iridescent blue. The large square seemed packed full of something, sort of like an invitation. He held it toward her. Alaya Bellemore was elegantly penned across the front.

  “Touch the envelope please, Alaya.” He held it with bare hands, so she knew it wasn’t dangerous. Maybe.

  She took a soft breath and tentatively brushed her index finger against it. A sudden violent sneeze erupted, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing her to cover her mouth. “Excuse me.”

  “Of course, Mistress.”

  She opened her eyes and blinked. The envelope was now a rich burgundy.

  “How did you do that?” She took the envelope from him and turned it over, wondering if he’d slipped a different one to her. Her name was now a shining silver, almost glowing against the envelope’s dark paper.

  He stared at her, his eyes shimmering. For a moment, pity darkened his lovely face. “You’ve been confirmed. All instructions will be in the envelope. See you soon, Alaya.”

  She watched him slip on his sunglasses and head back to his bike. Alaya knew something very important had just happened, and like most things involving her mother and this house, it just slipped past her. Again. She sighed, gripping the smooth envelope against her chest.

  “What did you expect? Think he’d sweep you off your feet and take you off to Enchanta-land?” Alaya laughed at herself. The world of the magickal was out of her reach, despite living smack dab in the middle of it. But when nothing ever happened to you, even when surrounded by the supernatural, you tended to become cynical. Like you were the butt of a joke and the whole world was in on it.

  She shut the door and heard the rev of his motorcycle through the barrier. With a sigh, she slipped the deadbolt into place. It was definitely time for a drink.

  Chapter Two

  Alaya swirled the amber liquid in her tumbler. Ice rattled and she grimaced. Not even the sweet taste of rum and coke could get rid of the bitter aftertaste of the dust in her mother’s attic. The book upstairs still held a fascination for her that made all the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. She had yet to go back up. The white noise of some reality show murmured from the television.

  Soft yellow light spilled next to her from the only reading lamp in the house. The delivery sat on the trunk in front of her, glowing despite the poor lighting. She took a sip and glared at it, wondering what was inside.

  The cordless rang from its perch on the trunk. She sighed. With a clunk, she set the glass down and lifted the phone. She clicked talk and answered her mother before she could speak.

  “I really hate it when you do that, and I’m fine, so stop reading my aura or whatever you call it.”

  “If you were fine, I wouldn’t have to call you, Alaya, now would I?”

  “That’s beside the point, Mom. How’s Bermuda?”

  “Puerto Rico.”

  “Oh yeah, whatever. Are you having fun?” Her mom always went somewhere warm and decadent where she could be her easy-going self. She missed her mom when she got like this, but it had been necessary. Neither one of them could live with the elder Alaya Bellemore. Not when she lost faith in herself. She became a chaos cloud of magick, spilling into everything around her. Unfortunately, it usually meant spells gone awry and it definitely hindered her mom’s ability to keep under the radar.

  “Oh yes, honey. You have got to see the delicious male dancers here.”

  Alaya laughed. “TMI, Mom. Way too much information.” She shook her head and looked at the letter again. “Speaking of which, I absolutely adore your delivery service here.” Alaya fanned herself.

  “There’s that buzz again, dear. What’s going on?” Her mother’s crisp tone surprised Alaya.

  “I got a letter today.” Alaya stared at the burgundy paper.

  “At my house?” The quiet whisper sounded so unlike her mother.

  “From a delivery guy looking for Alaya Bellemore.”

  “Ahh, so it’s not --”

  “No, Mom, it’s not from the Bellemores.” Goodness knows her grandmother had far different ways of keeping in touch with her daughters. Once she’d hexed their old house with a screaming wail. Her mother had been forced to call Grandmother before it had stopped.

  “Well, that’s something at least.”

  “Yeah.” She picked up the envelope. “Mom, something weird happened.” Alaya turned it over in her hand and touched the flap.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I touched the envelope and sneezed.”

  “Well, you were cleaning out the attic.”

  “Yeah, I know, but when I opened my eyes again the envelope had changed colors.”

  “Neat trick. Open t
he letter, dear. You know how much I hate surprises.”

  With a sigh she slipped one finely trimmed fingernail under the seal. It released easily. She pulled out the thick card inside.

  “It says You’re Invited across the front.” Alaya flipped open the card. “It looks like an invitation to a murder-mystery party.”

  “Oh, those are so much fun. Remember that cruise we took?”

  Alaya chuckled. “Yeah, but it sucked that we figured out the bad guy before the bad guy knew he was the killer.”

  Her mother laughed. “Yeah, I know. We kept saying we’d have to write our own. Oh honey, you had so much fun! Who is the invitation from?”

  Alaya ran a fingertip against the raised letters. “A Mr. Devonshire, the” -- Alaya chuckled -- “humble host.”

  “Well, at least it’s not Mr. Body. This sounds so mysterious.”

  “It says all travel arrangements have been made. Mom, this is really weird.”

  “Honey, why don’t you research it? It might be legitimate.”

  “How did he find me?”

  “Maybe it was for me, but you know I never go by Alaya. I’ve never thought the name fit me.” Exhaustion leaked from her voice. “When I get back from this trip, honey, I’m not going to want to attend another out-of-town party, even if it does sound intriguing.”

  “Good idea. You need your rest. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what I plan on doing.” Worry hitched her breath. “Mom, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, kiddo. Just really tired. Something’s been dragging at me for a couple of weeks.”

  Alaya didn’t press any further. That something would be a supernatural something. It wasn’t that she doubted her mother. She believed her, believed in her. Too much shit had happened to prove otherwise. It’s just that she’d never had to deal with it herself. It was almost like describing color to a woman who was born blind. She got the theory, just not the application.