Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.
Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent extraordinaire, is a woman on a mission. When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality still has not knuckled under. Cecily undertakes the difficult journey to that rugged, arid land in order to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire’s embrace. Instead, she’s taken captive by a brigand, who turns out to be the ruler’s half-brother Pratan, and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.
Cursed before birth by Amir’s jealous mother, Pratan changes to a ravening wolf whenever the moon is full. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell to reverse the effects of the former queen’s hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual—offering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveals Rajasthan’s amazing secret source of energy. In the face of almost impossible odds, Cecily has accomplished the task entrusted to her by the Empire. But can she really bear to leave the virile half-brothers and their colourful land behind and return to the constraints of her life in England?Reader Advisory: This book instantiates kidnap/captive fantasies. It includes robot bondage devices, animated nipple clamps, electric play, clockwork dildos, flogging, spanking, anal sex, double penetration in a dirigible, a small amount of F/F intimacy, scenes of MFM and sex with a werewolf in shifted human form.
Description (from Pratan): “It’s a woman—a damned seductive woman—whose carriage I ambushed this evening. She looks Indian—dark skin, black hair, plenty of flesh on her bones—but I think she’s English. She’s got these amazing blue eyes… Her given name is Cecily. That’s all I’ve managed to get out of her.”
Dialogue line: “I’m not your ‘pet’. Furthermore, I scarcely had a comfortable moment all night, due to the after-effects of your tortures.”
Pratan Devendra Rajput
Description: Sprawled on the floor, tangled in her clothing, Cecily glared up at him. A swathe of dark cloth wrapped around his head hid everything but his deep brown eyes. Sheltering under elegantly arched eyebrows, those eyes glittered with malice and craft. He had long, lush eyelashes that any woman would envy and a high forehead that bespoke considerable intelligence. A brute, no doubt, but scarcely dumb. She’d have to move with the utmost care.
Dialogue line: “You look quite fetching, all strapped up as you are. I have a certain weakness for women in bondage. In any case I’m sure it’s safer for me to have you immobilised.”
Amir Pratihar Rajput
Description: The Rajah leant forward in his chair, no more than half a dozen feet from her. A welcoming smile lit his clean-shaven face, but his eyes were black as coal and sharp as obsidian. Jet curls adorned his forehead, peeking out from under his turban of gold brocade, and jewel-studded ornaments stretched his earlobes. His sensitive mouth and smooth cheeks made him seem somehow softer than his brother—younger, fresher, less jaded. However, the intelligence she read in his gaze quickly dispelled any notion that she was dealing with a callow youth.
Dialogue line: “You may know that Rajasthanis are renowned for their ferocity. The traditional punishment for espionage or treason involves a distinctly unpleasant combination of branding, disembowelling then being left out in the desert to die. It would be a pity to subject such a delicious creature to that sort of…indignity—but still, there’s no question that you deserve it, is there?”
Excerpt (rated G)
Sarita thrust a carved cinnabar box into her hands. “My Lord Amir bade me give you these,” she said, her tone making it clear how reluctantly she obeyed. Inside Cecily discovered exquisite eardrops of lapis and silver filigree, and matching bangles.
“Does the Rajah treat all his prisoners so generously?” she asked, inserting the wires into her pierced lobes. It was difficult not to sound smug.
“You represent the spoils of war, Miss Harrowsmith. He decorates you to make you appear more valuable—and for his own amusement. Do not become too attached to this finery,” she added, a cruel light flashing in her eyes. “He’ll have you naked and begging for mercy soon enough, I expect.”
Cecily shivered slightly. Given what she knew of women, Sarita might be a more formidable enemy than her master.
“Oh, there’s one more thing we have for you.” The Rajasthani beauty held out what looked like a silvery necklace. Unlike the earrings and bracelets, it was smooth and plain.
“That’s pretty,” Cecily commented, reaching for the gleaming circlet.
Sarita snatched it away. “Perhaps. But practical, too. This collar will keep you here where you belong.”
“Watch.” Sarita unfastened the shutters and held the collar up to the waning light. “Within the palace walls, a simple ornament. But venture even a few inches outside…” She extended her arm through the open window, the collar in her hand. Cecily heard a snick, as though some mechanism had triggered. When Sarita showed her the silver circle again, four vicious-looking metal spines poked from the rim into the interior. Some sort of liquid dripped from the needle-like points onto the floor. “Had you been wearing the collar, poison would already be pouring into your veins through the puncture wounds. You’d be dead in minutes.”
A shudder ran through Cecily’s frame, but her horror was not unmixed with admiration. What a fiendishly clever device! Z would sell his right arm to plumb its secrets.
Sarita manipulated the collar in some way Cecily couldn’t discern. The spikes retracted. After wiping the thing off with a cloth, she beckoned to Cecily. The collar came apart into two half-rings. Sarita approached, clearly intending to encircle Cecily’s neck.
Something like panic seized the secret agent. Once the collar was installed, her chances of escape would dramatically diminish. Sarita was no more than a few inches away, close enough that her jasmine perfume filled Cecily’s nostrils. A knee in the belly, a blow to the carotid, and she’d be immobilised…
“Don’t try anything stupid, Cecily,” the other woman purred, her fingertips soft against Cecily’s throat. “Bhuni is watching your every move. And I can activate the collar with a single touch.” The endpoints of each half-circle sealed together with a click. Cecily’s heart plummeted.
Sarita stood back, pretending to admire her companion. “There. I think you’re finally ready to be escorted into the presence of the Rajah and his royal brother.” She nodded to Bhuni, who clamped down on Cecily’s arm like some automaton and led her towards the door.
“It will be amusing to see how long you manage to survive.”
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