Her Insatiable Dark Heroes Read online

  HER INSATIABLE DARK HEROES

  Chrontropolis

  Savanna Kougar

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  HER INSATIABLE DARK HEROES

  Copyright © 2009 by Savanna Kougar

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-263-0

  First E-book Publication: May 2009

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2009 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  To the Superhero and Superheroine in all of us.

  To the first Superman in my life, George Reeves.

  To the second Superman in my life, Christopher Reeve.

  To the third Superman in my life, Dean Cain.

  And to my brother, Tod, who loved Superhero comic books.

  HER INSATIABLE DARK HEROES

  SAVANNA KOUGAR

  Copyright © 2009

  Prologue ~ The Dance Club

  Chrontropolis, six months earlier

  “You are such an incorrigible flirt.” Wendra smiled coquettishly, batting her eyelashes like the women she’d seen Zent with four years ago, when both their lives had been wonderful, and sweet with promise.

  He rumbled a playful laugh and swept up her hand. He squeezed affectionately, his emerald green eyes dancing as he drew her closer. Grasping her other hand, he held them as he usually did whenever he stopped by the dance club to visit her as one of his friends.

  “Once everything is—” he began.

  “Don’t say it.” She cut him off.

  “You don’t know what I was about to say.” His handsome brow furrowed.

  “I know you’re here tonight because—”

  “Because I love to watch you dance,” he interrupted, returning the favor.

  “Taking a break from being a superhero?” she challenged.

  He shrugged. ”Emerging superhero status, only.”

  Wendra knew by his shuttered gaze he wasn’t telling her the gritty nightmarish details he lived everyday. He never did. And truthfully, with her own struggles to stay alive in their weather devastated world, she had little energy to worry about him. Or about his brother, Zotorro, who wanted marry her. Or about his two other brothers, Zavier and Zion.

  No, the hellish fact was it no longer mattered how deeply she cared for all the Dark Brothers, or that she would have helped them any way she could. Not in this destroyed world.

  “It’s rough emerging, isn’t it?” She fondly squeezed his hands. “My flame power didn’t flow as easily tonight. And last night—”

  “Last night, what?” he demanded in that imperious way all four of the Dark Brothers did on occasion.

  She felt her shoulders drop before she could halt herself. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. My hand kept sparking.”

  “Hit me with some of those sparks,” he bantered.

  “Right now I’m all sparked out.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” His expression turned grave.

  “Who is okay these days? I’m getting by. Have you found a decent place to live yet?”

  His eyes darkened slightly. “Not yet. Chrontropolis is still a nest of criminal vipers. And too many of the buildings have been lost. Wendra, we’re okay for now, I promise.”

  “You’re not going to tell me where you’re staying, are you?”

  “We move every few days. Too many enemies,” he added.

  She knew he’d only told her that bit of truth because she would have asked him why. With her heart surging toward him, Wendra stood on tiptoe, flinging her arms around his neck. As he bent over, she hugged him tighter. “Be careful, please.”

  He nodded against her cheek. “I need to go, sweetheart. I’ll be by soon.” After wrapping her tightly in his embrace for a moment, he let go and stepped back. He grinned rakishly, chucking her chin.

  Wendra watched him stride for the dance club’s back exit, her mood plummeting to her toes. Still, she straightened her spine, moving briskly toward the one sanctuary in her life, her dressing room, where her prized costumes were kept. She didn’t dare bring any of them to her tiny gloomy apartment. They would have been stolen or her wayward flame would have scorched them beyond repair. Or worse, burned them to ash.

  Undressing by rote, she took care to hang her dance costume properly. She only had so many left now, with no chance of making any more, unless she found fabrics and decorative baubles in what remained of a house or shop.

  Ignoring her sudden weariness, Wendra pulled on a shabby over-large shirt, some heavy duty pants she’d been lucky to find, and her clunky boots. To remove her performance makeup, supplied by the club’s kind owner, she walked inside the general dressing area.

  Riselda didn’t turn her head, continuing to wipe off her lipstick. Still, one huge chocolate-brown eye rolled to the corner, looking at Wendra. “I swear you should be donkey-kicked in the head.”

  Since Riselda rarely bothered to be friendly, let alone speak to anyone, Wendra’s curiosity grabbed hold of her. Crossing her arms, she asked, “Why is that?”

  “A man like that. Seduce him and get the fucking hell out of here, honey.”

  “Zent’s a friend, only. We knew each other as teenagers.” Wendra moved to the only other mirror in the room, easing down on the large padded stool.

  Finished, Riselda stood and cocked one sleek hip. “You’re a fool. No woman can afford to have a friend like that in these times. You should be jumping his fine handsome bones, proving to him he doesn’t ever want to be without you.”

  Now Wendra slashed her gaze to the side. “His brother, Zotorro, wants to marry me. Want an introduction the next time Zent shows up?” Picking up a paper towlette, she dipped a corner in the cleansing gel.

  Before she could touch the gel to her face, peals of laughter blasted inside her ear. Swiveling around, Wendra stared at Riselda’s contorted face. She held her lovely flat belly, laughing ever harder. Finally, she collapsed on top of the stool she�
��d been sitting on.

  “Is something funny?” Wendra raised a brow.

  “You could apply donkey-hoof glue to my naked body and throw me against your Zent, and I wouldn’t stick. He may keep it buried

  Deep down in some dark corner of his soul—hell, he might not know it, but that man only has eyes for you.”

  “He likes watching me dance.” Wendra turned back, wiping away her face makeup.

  More gales of laughter blew past her. Unable to resist, Wendra began to giggle, not thinking of the ridiculous possibility that Zent really felt that way. No, the scene from a popular series of donkey comedy movies played in her mind.

  “Do you remember that scene in Donkeys Do It Their Way where

  Esmeranda is dressed to the hilt in a low-cut gown?” Wendra asked. “She uses glue on the bottom of her hooves so she can stand perfectly when Torrido enters the swanky nightclub.”

  “Omygawd, Torrido was dressed in a tux and top hat. He had that red-lined cape on and a cigarette holder clamped between his teeth. I chuckled for days remembering. And poor Esmeranda, all she got was a ‘You look good tonight, kid. That tail trim suits you.’ Then Torrido passed her by and joined the table party of that snooty, all-too-sophisticated debutante, Kinsey Elegant Ears.”

  “Yes, and Kinsey lifted her hoof, so he could bow and muzzle a kiss on it.” Wendra held her stomach, laughing.

  “Then, then,” Riselda struggled to speak, “Esmeranda fought so hard to free her hooves, she finally toppled over, taking a section of the floor with her.”

  “Oh, God. Yes. They carried her out on a stretcher. There she was, flat on her donkey back, her four legs straight up in the air because the ripped-out floor was still glued to her hooves.”

  “The killer, though,” Riselda swiped at her tears, “Esmeranda had used glue made from donkey hooves.”

  “Yep, all you saw was her slack-jawed, wide-eyed look of horror.”

  Finally, their hysterical laughter abated to chuckles and hiccups, and Wendra wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve. “Strange how much movies influence language.”

  “Yeah, now it’s part of the everyday language. Donkey this, donkey that. My favorite is not worth a donkey’s blue balls.”

  “Donkey butt is mine. Whenever Gorlo got called a butt face, he would spin around and shake his furry hind end. With his tail swinging, he’d bray, donkey butt, donkey butt, I don’t hear you, I just strut.”

  Riselda nodded, giggling. “Although if you call someone a

  donkey butt these days, it’s like cursing at them.” Twisting at the waist, she lifted her enormous survival bag onto her lap, reaching down deep. “Found it,” she triumphed, holding up a half-filled bottle of whiskey, an expensive brand.

  Wendra refrained from asking her where she’d originally found it, having learned it was better not to ask anyone that question.

  “Want a drink?” Riselda waved the bottle temptingly. “It’s pure, I promise.”

  “You don’t want to keep it for yourself?”

  “I should,” Riselda shrugged both shoulders, “but I don’t feel like drinking alone right now. Besides, I’d probably drink it all in one sitting. That’s not real healthy, even during these times.”

  Wendra debated with herself. Every damn day her life went steadily downhill, despite her on and off superpower power. She was lonely and ferociously curious about Riselda. So, why not?

  “Sure, as long as Vikk doesn’t care that we’re hanging around.”

  “He won’t. I promise.” Riselda smirked, her meaning clear. “There’s a passable glass in the bottom drawer.” She pointed her long-nailed slim finger.

  Wendra bent over, searching the drawer of the vanity. Clutching the squat drinking glass, she straightened and placed it beneath the raised bottle. Riselda dribbled out a small portion, and then poured some in a larger glass for herself.

  “After the first sip,” she announced, “you’re going to tell me something I want to know. Then I’ll answer your question. Agreed?”

  Wendra nodded. In her past she never would have gone along with this drinking game. What did it ultimately matter in these horrific times?

  “To sunny days.” Riselda saluted her glass, and then brashly laughed over the irony.

  Wendra followed with her glass. “I wish,” she muttered. “I’m starved for a sight of the sun in a clear sky.”

  They sipped in unison. Riselda eyed her intensely afterwards. “Why not marry this brother?”

  Wendra savored the stinging burn, and felt more alive than she had in several months. “I wasn’t ready, and then our world went to worse-than-hell. Chrontropolis collapsed, and I didn’t know if he was alive for a long time. Now, he’s struggling with his superpowers, and doesn’t know which end is up. Besides, none of us has a decent place to live.”

  “None of us?”

  “Nope, my turn for a question. Were you a dancer before you came to Chrontropolis?”

  Gazing away, Riselda rolled one shoulder in a dismissive manner. “I was a wannabe actress. I took dance classes as I was growing up, the usual.” Swinging her gaze back, her eyes were electric with the remembrance of her life before the devastation of the weather wars. She raised her glass high. “Bottoms up, chickee.”

  Wendra took a small swallow, letting the mellow whiskey smolder down her throat. “That is good. What’s your question?”

  “None of us?” Riselda grinned widely.

  “Zavier, Zent, Zion, Zotorro and me.”

  “That hunk of yummy muscled goodness has three brothers?”

  “Is that—? Nope, I’m not falling into that trap. Okay, my next question, let’s see.” Wendra paused. “Why did you want to be an actress?”

  “That’s easy, redhead. For the same reason you’re a dancer.” Riselda dangled her glass. “Sippee time.”

  Wendra did a full taste of the lovely whiskey, rolling it around her mouth. She was going to pay for the pleasure, though, since she hadn’t eaten anything recently, and only had a few old pieces of bread at her apartment.

  “Which one did you want to do first? Or, in your case, sweet little Wendra, which one did you want doing you first?”

  Wendra blinked and let the answer tumble past her lips. “Zavier.” Inside she spun free for a moment. Truth did that. “When was your first time?”

  Riselda flashed her eyes, and grinned. “I’ll assume you mean sex. Robbie, he was supposed to be furthering my acting career. Robbie, dear that he was, and good enough in the sack, was all talk and no walk.”

  Tipping up the nearly empty glass, Wendra swallowed her surprise at the reason for Riselda’s first sexual experience.

  “Fantasy time.” Riselda arched one brow as she held out the bottle, ready to pour more in Wendy’s glass. She carefully doled out more, and continued, “You tell me one of your guaranteed-to-get-you-off fantasies, and I tell you one of mine.”

  Probably because Wendra rarely talked about her sexual fantasies, something tugged at the back of her mind, telling her she shouldn’t go on with the drinking game. However, her tongue was loosened, so why not, since nothing would shock Riselda.

  Wendra nodded.

  After savoring a large long swallow, Riselda freely shook her head and torso, her long dark golden curls waving provocatively over her breasts. The men always went wild or utterly silent when Riselda flung her hair. “Geez, that’s prime stuff. Okay, redhead, we’ll start out with the least of your guilty pleasures. Wait, a change of question. Zavier, what does he do to you?”

  Wendra bit her bottom lip, the pain dulled by alcohol. “I’m running. He tackles me. We struggle and roll on the warm summer grass. Or I struggle while he overpowers me. Finally he pins me, kissing me forcefully. His hands are all over me for such a long time. It’s wonderful and fierce. He takes me; his lunging manhood is powerful inside me.” Wendra peeked at Riselda’s expression.

  “Hmmm, one of those women.”

  Wendy shot her brow upwards, but didn’t dare ask a quest
ion, or she would forfeit Riselda’s fantasy. “What’s your favorite fantasy right now?”

  Letting her glass rest on her knee, Riselda leaned forward, her gaze far away. “I’m naked inside my beautiful bedroom. It’s filled with a soft golden lamplight. I’ve just bathed. He arrives, and disrobes quickly because he can’t wait for what I want to do to him and what he wants to do to me. His cock stands like a pole, only it’s the most beautifully shaped thick cock I’ve ever seen. His naked body glistens in the golden light. I kneel before him and go down on him, sucking his dick at a slow place, doing it the way I like best. I’m driving him wild with lust, but he controls himself, wanting more and more of what I’m giving him. Finally, he fists my hair, pulling me up. He tells me to go to the bed, get on all fours. He rides me from behind, plundering my pussy until I’m delirious and orgasming. He comes too, yelling. His balls are slammed against my ass. But he’s not done, and gives it to my asshole. But good.”

  Wendra swallowed down more of the whiskey than she intended, the burn coating her throat less than the burn of her aroused libido.

  “Okay, Miss Flame—love how you do that, by the way. All that whirling flame around you. I like watching you dance, too. I’ve always had this thing with fire.”

  Impulsively, Wendra pointed her finger at the whiskey in Riselda’s glass. “How about flambé’?” She jumped one spark into the glass. A miniature blaze erupted, but dissipated quickly.

  “Wowza. We need some dessert or something.” Riselda inhaled the fumes, then tasted. “It is a different flavor, smokier. However, that little trick isn’t going to get you out of telling me the next fantasy.” She grinned wickedly. “What about Zent?”

  Wendra’s cheeks flushed hotter than they already were from the effects of the alcohol.