Dominated Read online

  Pleasure Masters Book Two:

  DOMINATED

  By

  Jaide Fox

  Copyright March 2013 by Jaide Fox

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN: 9781301046430

  Cover art by Eliza Black (c) copyright March 2013

  www.jaidefoxbooks.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.

  Other titles by Jaide Fox:

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book One: Marked by the Beast

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book Two: Seduced by the Beast

  Beastmen of Shadowere Book Three: Conquered by the Beast (Coming Soon)

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book Four: Tempted by the Beast (Coming Soon)

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book Five: Captured by the Beast (Coming Soon)

  Pleasure Masters 1: Ravaged

  Pleasure Masters 2: Dominated

  Pleasure Masters 3: Mastered (Coming Soon)

  Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord

  Dark Lords 2: Seized by the Vampire Lord

  Dark Lords 3: Ensnared by the Dream Lord

  Summoner’s Captive (Coming Soon)

  Earth Girls Aren’t Easy

  His Forbidden Fruit

  Misadventures in Pleasure 1: PleasureBot

  Misadventures in Pleasure 2: PleasureBots (Coming Soon)

  Misadventures in Pleasure 3: StarCaught (Coming Soon)

  Misadventures in Pleasure 4: StarRomped (Coming Soon)

  The Sky Fox

  Captured by Aliens 1: Alien Captive

  Captured by Aliens 2: Alien Abduction (Coming Soon)

  Heart of Darkness

  Chapter One

  “Let the games begin!” the Master of the Games announced to thunderous applause in the Coliseum of Thunder.

  The Antarians who had gathered in a throng to see the ShadeShifters battle for the right to mate cheered with deafening cries. The stands reverberated from the force of their feet stamping on the bleachers. The walls seemed to hum from the power of their voices.

  This was not the time to enjoy the praise of the crowd, however. Though it was not a battle to the death, every ShadeShifter gathered in the coliseum knew there were only so many women to be had for the taking. And every man there was willing to fight to the end or until a halt was called to the games for that right to a woman.

  Long had it been since Navarre Viseus had tasted the pleasures of a woman’s flesh. Not since that bitch had betrayed him and sent him into destitution, driving him into the arms of the Planet Antares and the life of a gladiator to satisfy their bloodthirst for the games.

  He’d required many binding markings after that day, for the rage at her betrayal had driven him to the brink of insanity. Even now, he felt the berserker biting the edges of his reason with only the memory of that woman.

  He used his rage, channeled it into the tattoos covering his body. The markings glowed blue as he summoned his power. Wings carved from the flesh of his back, unfurling from his body to flap in the air. He felt the artificial wind stir in his short hair, raising his hackles.

  Bowing his head, Navarre summoned claws to spring from his fingers, preparing to meet his foe and fight to the death if need be. They had a strict rule amongst themselves to avoid killing one another, but the threat of it was always there if any lost their mind in the bloodlust that fueled them.

  It was that danger that kept them all on edge and kept the undivided attention of the crowd.

  His challenger came at him when they’d both drawn their powers. Navarre ducked the slash of claws cutting across his neck, his foe narrowly missing the arteries that fed life-giving blood into his system. He returned with a slash of his own, angling his body into a better position with the flap of his wings.

  Drakar grinned wildly, taking the blow and rolling across the dirt that covered the center of the arena. Furious blood pumped through his veins, strengthening his resolve. Sensing an easy defeat, Navarre drove down hard, striking Drakar on the temple with his knee and knocking the man out cold and out of the running.

  Almost as soon as he’d conquered one foe, another sprang up to take that one’s place. It wasn’t difficult for any of the shifters to see who would dominate the games and who were the top candidates to gain access to a woman. Navarre was one of the strongest shifters, and the most likely to go berserk. Few had ever dared to cross him.

  But the promise of fleshly delight was enough to drive any man to take chances he would not normally take.

  Raker Anilan was a favorite to win. He was the strongest of the bunch, and so Navarre left him to his own devices. He didn’t need to take down the lead man, only to fend off any comers so that he would earn a place at the top.

  Points would be awarded and tallied, but he knew what drew the crowd the most, he knew what would earn him the points he needed to reign victorious.

  Two shifters came at him at once, hoping that a gain in numbers could make the difference in who went down first. Prepared for this tactic, Navarre slung his arm, extending the claws into tentacles that shot through the air as he threw one of the men down and shielded a blow with his other arm.

  Above him, in the stands, he heard the crowd cheered. Their delight fed his power, pushing him ever closer to the edge. The tattoos binding his sanity glowed brighter, turning purple with light.

  The foes spun from reach, moving in sync in opposite directions to keep him distracted and off balance. What they hadn’t counted on was the fact that his berserker, kept in check with the glowing markings, had always been barely restrained.

  A growl ripped from his throat. His jaw ripped open, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Savage hunger exploded from him, driven by lust for flesh.

  Dimly, he heard the sounds of battle around him, the cries of the wounded, the roars of the victorious. Above all, he heard the crowd. Fed off the crowd, fed off the battle, fed off the scent of coppery blood tingeing the air.

  Movement caught the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around, felt a strike at his back and rolled. One of his wings ripped off his back, grasped by horrific fingers curled into black claws.

  There was no time for pain, no time for weakness. He could die at any moment and knew it.

  Blood pounded in his temples. Adrenaline surged through his system.

  To his right, he rolled, ducking beneath the thick legs of an attacker, coming up with his hands and flattening the man’s dick and balls against his crotch. The man screamed in agony and fell to the ground, clutching his groin in pain.

  Bleeding profusely, Navarre struggled to his feet, gaining momentum, willing the strength to return to his limbs as he faced the next foe and returned blows. Lightning fast, his reach grew, until he’d conquered another. His jagged teeth snapped at loose fingers, ripping off claws and digits alike.

  Battle seemed to last hours, but he knew time was distended and warped. It always happened thus. A fog took over his brain, crowding out reason and feeling, fatigue, until there was only the feel of his fists striking flesh.

  And then, he was surrounded by fallen men. Breathing hard, he felt the blood rush through his veins, felt his skin tingle from constant strikes. A heavy thudding closed his ears, but then he recognized the voice of the Master of the Games calling a halt to the fighting.

  The victors were being announced.

  Navarre’s name came second.

  Slowly, as though moving through a time warp and drowning in water, he felt the rush leave his body. His legs went weak, barely able to hold him up as he contained himself from further fighting.

  At last, he would have himself a mate.

  Medics rushed the field, taking care of
the heavily wounded as the women were brought inside and paraded before the ShadeShifters and the crowd.

  Navarre watched the women come inside, drenched from the rain that pummeled the ceiling of the coliseum. He hadn’t paid it much attention before, but appreciated the sight of the women barely clad and soaked to the skin.

  He looked up briefly, distracted from the medic applying a laser to his back to seal the wound from his wing being ripped from his body. The heated beam stung, but not so much as the fury that impaled him at the sight on the stage.

  Instantly, the rage that had fueled him during the fight returned. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but running across the field and taking vengeance. He fought the feeling down, swallowing it down like a black rock of despair to settle deep in his gut. His gut clenched, jerking with spasms in reaction.

  There. There in the center stood the bane of his existence. The one woman he’d thought never to see again. The one woman he hated above every other lifeforce he’d encountered.

  He smelled burning flesh, felt the salve go on, but he ignored the medic tending his wounds. All he could do was focus on the petite, pale redhead that seemed to cower in the crowd, as if she hoped that none of the ShadeShifters would notice her presence on the stage.

  But Navarre noticed. He would never forget the face of the woman he’d once loved to the detriment of himself. The woman he’d trusted with everything, including his life. The woman who had cared nothing for him, who’d only been out to take the inheritance of his father from his accounts and leave him with nothing to fall back on, forcing him to become a gladiator in the games.

  Kittana Minx.

  Navarre Viseus knew at once which woman he would select to claim as mate. And she would rue the day she ever crossed his path and took him as her lover.

  ***

  Kittana Minx choked back the fear that threatened to swallow her whole. A chill that seemed to come from the grave assailed her, and it was not caused by the dousing rain she and the other women had been driven into before coming inside the Coliseum of Thunder.

  Drenched and shivering, Kittana tried to move to the back of the row, hoping against hope that he did not see her standing in the mix, but one glance at the field told her that no matter how much she might try to avoid her fate, that she would not be so fortunate.

  Navarre Viseus stared straight at her. Ignoring everyone and everything, she could feel his gaze like a drill boring deep inside her soul.

  Quickly, she averted her eyes, hope dying inside her.

  He knew she was here. She had only to hope that he was not a victor of the games and able to select a woman as a mate.

  “Our second place winner, come and select your prize,” the Master of the Games announced through the mouthpiece hovering beyond his lips.

  Kittana felt the words echo hollowly through her, knew that what small hope she had was dashed as Navarre, summoned, moved from the field and up to the stage. She could practically feel his footsteps reverberating through the stage as he moved up the stairs and onto the platform.

  She knew it was only her imagination that heightened her senses. In reality, she could barely feel anything but the pummeling vibrations from the wild crowds, but in her mind, she attributed it all to the doom coming her way.

  Navarre.

  His name and image moved through her like a heart attack. Her pulsed pounded through her veins, driven by intense guilt and fear. Her heart clenched in her throat, choking the breath from her lungs, palpating in her as if she would expire at any moment. Fear threatened to overwhelm her, making her ache, making her want to bolt off the stage and run for her life.

  But there was no escape. Not this time. Not now. She’d chosen this fate for herself, been driven into it by her own actions.

  Kittana hadn’t thought she would ever see him again, however, least of all here, in this place.

  What twist of fate had brought them back together?

  Navarre moved across the stage, ignoring the other women cowering before him, headed straight for her as if no other person existed in the world.

  He looked harder than he had before. No longer a young man. Etchings of blue and black scrawled down his arms, across his chest and stomach and around his legs.

  Legend told that the more markings a ShadeShifter carried, the closer they were to losing their grasp on sanity. If that were to be believed, Navarre did not have much flesh left to hold the berserker from overwhelming his mind.

  He hadn’t been that way, so many years ago.

  He’d cut off his long hair in favor of a shorter cut. Spikes of dark blond rose from his head, some spots matted with the blood of his enemies. If he’d been wounded, she could not tell it, but then the medics had tended to them all, she was certain. The points of his ears drew her eyes, and she remembered nibbling on them once upon a time, earning a rare chuckle from him at her fascination with his race’s pointed ears.

  Lines etched his face, the corners of his eyes and across his forehead, drawn into a hard mask of anger. There was no smile for her. She knew there wouldn’t be, and yet the fury, the hurt and betrayal she saw in his eyes struck her like a blow. She flinched when he met her, face to face, separated from touching her by mere inches.

  Navarre met her eyes. Every ounce of pain and sense of betrayal was clearly etched into his beautiful dark blue gaze.

  He looked from her face down her body, raking her with his gaze. The thin gown she wore plastered to her body like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. He brought up his hands, and for a minute, she thought he would strike her, though he’d never done anything of the sort in their previous encounters.

  Grasping the neck of her gown, he gave a tug and ripped it off her body, leaving her naked before one and all. She gasped as he grabbed her and pulled her in front of the line of women, allowing everyone to see what she had to offer if they hadn’t already noticed.

  He groped her breasts with a coldness that made her shudder, grabbed her buttocks as if examining a calf for the slaughter. Seeming satisfied, he stopped.

  “I claim this woman as my prize!” Navarre announced to the approval of the crowd.

  Kittana shuddered at the look in his eyes, felt her throat close up as he moved to take a slave collar from one of the attendants. The binding on her hands seemed not enough to satisfy him.

  He took the collar and leash and closed it around her neck, locking away her freedom forever.

  He leaned close so that only she could hear his words. His breath was hot and harsh against her ear, eliciting a shiver to course down her spine. She shuddered, unable to resist the impulse and show weakness. “You are mine now. Do not think you will escape me this time.”

  Chapter Two

  Navarre knew not what insane impulse possessed him. Perhaps it was a fever from the games, perhaps it was having her within his grasp, so close to vengeance meted that he could not resist.

  He wanted to shame her in front of everyone, to hurt her in some small measure to payback the hurt she caused him, even if everyone knew it and saw it. No one would surmise that she was his only weak spot, and in truth, it did not matter if they did. There were none here capable of stopping him from doing exactly as he wished.

  Her dark red hair looked nearly black from the water soaking her long tresses. It twined around her face and neck, making the paleness of her skin that much starker. Her thin gown was little barrier for his eyes, but he wanted it gone, immediately.

  Grasping the edges, he ripped it off her body. Power and rage surged through his body, kept in check only by the sight of her naked flesh before his eyes.

  She was everything he remembered and more. Tracery of fine, blue veins moved over her breasts like the network of a river, meeting at the light pink areolas of her breasts. Her small nipples puckered from the sudden rush of air conditioning that whispered against her skin.

  Seeing the buds made his mouth water. Were it not for the crowd, he would have laid her down on t
he stage and fucked the rage out of his body right then and there. As it was, he felt the blood surge to his groin, fought back the hardness that made his balls ache and tighten.