Shifters Desire 1: Vampire Fangs & Venom Read online

  The elder’s hand flitted over the fabrics inside, and then pulled out a short-sleeved shirt. “I noticed you’d ripped yours.” Her voice was edged with humor when she handed it to him. She added, “It wouldn’t do for you to transport into a different time with torn clothes.”

  Raynor really didn’t care, but he guessed trying to find needle and thread in a distant past could be a problem.

  “Are these all I will need?”

  “Remember your lessons, my son. Only the basic necessities. You will need to secure any other items from the time period in which you find yourself.”

  He shook his head. That was true. No need to burden himself—he might have to come out fighting once he reached the other side. Also, the portal was limited by the amount of inert material it could send through. Jumpers had to carefully choose items to take with them, guided by the elders’ vast knowledge.

  The three elders strode quickly and took up positions in front of the portal, then joined hands. Raynor stood apart, knowing he should not interfere or break their concentration. He watched with genuine interest while ancestral time periods passed before their eyes. The portal switched into different eras every few minutes.

  The question was, would the elders be able to locate Briana before she got into serious trouble?

  Scene after scene flashed through the time portal’s magical barrier: Civil War soldiers slaughtering each other across a sunflower-strewn field; Native Americans riding with flawless skill atop their painted ponies while they pursued a herd of buffalo; masses of dark-skinned people skillfully fitting a huge block into the side of a pyramid; a metal-clad knight riding swiftly past on a magnificent steed.

  Bhaskar turned to catch his eye and said quietly, “She has passed into this century.” He turned back and a glow emitted from their joined hands.

  After a few more minutes, he remarked, “We have located the country.”

  A mere minute later, he said, “Now we know the decade.”

  The flickers of past lives went on for a good hour; the scenes centered on humans. By their clothes, he guessed the time period to be in the Medieval age. Many sights were so wondrous Raynor wished he would have time to explore them further, that he were not on a mission to save his beloved. Finally, the elders stirred, dropped their joined hands, and turned to him.

  He knew without them saying a word, this was the timeframe, the point in time where Briana had jumped through the portal. Approaching the gateway quickly, before it had time to switch, he nodded respectfully to the elders, and then stepped through.

  Chapter Four

  Briana didn’t know what to think once she stepped through that archway. The garden turned out to be something entirely different. No walls were visible, either cave-like or any kind of fencing or barrier that would normally bound such an area. The vista went on as far as she could see.

  What was going on? She should have stepped into a courtyard. The cave couldn’t open into land such as met her eyes. From the plant life, the place seemed to be of a temperate zone; the deeply rich, green color more indicative of England or Ireland than the United States. The area outside the cave was scrub brush and desert. Touching her head tentatively, she wondered if she’d truly bumped her head. Were knocked-unconscious dreams this bizarre? Taking a step, she paused in confusion again; she couldn’t move, felt weighted down.

  Glancing downward, Briana couldn’t stop the squeak that escaped her lips. A long, flowing gown draped her form. She fumbled at her collarbone, feeling a weight there, and looking down, saw beautiful brooches on either side attached to it. Peering behind her, Briana realized the pins attached a gorgeous velvet cloak to the dress, its edges trimmed in what looked like fox fur. Something was on her head—she fingered some kind of cloth covering all her hair. What was going on? Had someone re-dressed her while she was apparently knocked out? She glanced quickly and fearfully around her; that crazy man wasn’t in sight.

  In fact—her eyes took in the whole circumference around her—not only was the wolfman not pursuing her any longer, no cave or mountain were in view either. A quiver ran down her spine. Neither was there the arch through which she’d passed.

  Suddenly, fear ripped through her more powerfully than when Raynor had changed into a werewolf in front of her. Shivering, she pulled the cloak around her shoulders; it was quite chilly, which she found surprising since the greenery bespoke a summer season. Her cold body gave in to exhaustion.

  Spying a large boulder nearby, she struggled with the heavy folds of material, finally gathering them in both hands and hiking them up high to make walking easier. Wearily, she sank onto the rock and hung her head for some moments. Thoughts of insanity crept back into her consciousness, but she quickly shook that off; she didn’t really think she was crazy.

  She just didn’t know what to do. Nothing was recognizable, she had no idea where she was; she could be in Oz for all she knew. Briana had no idea how long she sat staring into space, but abruptly a loud popping, fizzling sound broke into her reverie. She started. She’d heard that noise before, when she walked through the archway.

  A tickling sensation hit the back of her head, and she quickly turned the best she could with the cumbersome clothes and stared toward the crackling sound. A beautiful light display made up of slashes of icy blue lightning bolts shot from a grassy area between two great oak trees. Then he stepped from nowhere, into this place.

  She must have had a premonition, for she was convinced it’d be him; she’d grabbed handfuls of the gown, ready to run when she saw for certain what had caused the strange noises. But once he appeared, she lost all thoughts of running and collapsed onto the boulder, deep laughter gripping her so hard her ribs hurt.

  “What? Is it that bad?” Raynor glanced down at the apparel the time portal had “chosen” for him. His expression seemed to reflect it was indeed terrible. A loose-fitting tunic hit him at the knees and baggy hose rode his legs in crumpled disarray. These unsightly, uncomfortable things were worn on top of another pair of tight fitting hose. Fortunately, a decent pair of leather boots covered his lower legs, and a wide leather belt kept the voluminous material from flapping about him like a muumuu an old granny would wear.

  He moaned in an exaggerated way and pulled at the tunic. “All modern items are changed once you step through the portal, including the coins, water flask and food. The clothes too, unfortunately.”

  The portal had done a poor job this time, it seemed. Looked like these clothes had been made for a much bigger man. Her giggles erupted and he eyed her sourly.

  “This is your fault.”

  “My fault?” She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

  “Yes, the portal picks up on the memories of the people who pass through, and ‘chooses’ those that are the most clear.”

  “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  He walked closer. She became alert, watching him warily, but the smile that tugged her lips upward made it clear to him that she was not frightened of him, not yet.

  He waved at his ill-fitting clothes and then at her lovely apparel. “One of us had buried memories of seeing clothes from this period. The time portal picked up on that and transposed our modern day clothes into these. If neither has a clear memory, then the portal chooses the appropriate clothing.”

  “I must be dreaming. It’s the only thing that explains your ridiculous appearance. You look like a clown or maybe a jester.” She shook her head, “That green-brown tunic just looks horrible with those muddy brown-colored hose.” She caressed the silk of her gown. “I must say I like my own choice.” She tugged at her head, “Although I’m not crazy about this hat.”

  “You’re not dreaming.” Raynor fingered the strange material clinging to his neck and head. “And, what is this?” He shoved it upward and off his head, then examined it. It was some kind of hooded clothing that fit snugly around his neck and ended in a wide piece that fit the upper chest. It did look like something a court jester would wear. He pitche
d it as far away as it would go, and then scratched the center of his chest furiously. “Damn, did this have to be made of wool?”

  She giggled. “You shouldn’t be itching,” she noted, “if your clothes are true to the period, from what I recall, you should have a soft undershirt beneath the tunic.”

  “I do, but I’m allergic to wool.”

  “At least be glad for the cloak.” She pointed to his back. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s cold here.”

  He peered over his shoulder, reached his hand around and pulled the woolen covering forward. “Great, more gay clothing.”

  “You’re insulting our ancestors,” she couldn’t keep a giggle from escaping. Suddenly, she changed subjects, “So, Sherlock, if I’m not dreaming, then what?” She crinkled her brow, and then clenched her jaw in anger. “You must have given me some type of drug. I’m hallucinating.”

  He sighed. “No, you’re not drugged either. This is all too real.”

  “Then where are we, and why these outfits?”

  “The arch you went through was a time portal and we’ve been transported to a different time period. The magic embedded in the portal changes the clothes you wear and anything you carry with you, to match the historical era.”

  “You should be a novelist.”

  He smiled. “I know you still don’t believe me, but believe this, whether this is real or a dream, we need to be moving on.” He glanced skyward. “It’ll be dark soon and we need to find shelter.”

  “Far be it for me to stop such a bizarre dream.” She shrugged and struggled to her feet.

  “Hard to get used to?” He glanced at her gown. At her nod, he added, “We could trade.”

  She eyed his clothing. “You do have freedom of movement, but no, I don’t think so.” She couldn’t keep a smile from erupting. The very thought of him wearing this gown, that is if he could fit in it, was too much for her funny bone. She barely held in the laughter.

  “My lady.” He held out one arm in a courtly manner.

  Playing along with the flavor of this dream, she laid one hand in the crook of his elbow, and threw a good portion of the dress over her other arm.

  They walked for some time, and then came to a crude road, a dirt pathway with two ruts running down the center and animal tracks. He pointed to the markings. “Those are from small carts. The prints are cows, sheep, and horses.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  “Worked on a farm one summer.”

  Their chitchat was interrupted by the appearance of two things. One was the ruins of a castle topping a high hill. Portions of it still stood in majestic splendor. Or so it appeared from this distance.

  The second surprise was a small boy strolling towards them. He looked to be about ten years old, very scruffy and dirty; his clothes similar to Raynor’s, but the tunic and hose were a duller brown color. “Good evening,” he called cheerfully when they neared. Briana took to his charming smile immediately and she found his page boy hair endearing.

  “Hello,” they both answered. “Is there an inn nearby, my lad?” Raynor asked pleasantly.

  “No,” the boy shook his head. “My village is that way,” he pointed back the way they’d come. “But, there are no lodgings. I’m sorry, my goodman, and my lady,” he bowed elegantly for one so young.

  “What about yon castle?”

  The boy’s brown eyes popped wide open. “No one lives there.” He seemed to notice that Raynor examined the place with interest. “Don’t go there, sir, it’s cursed.” With that the boy took off at a quick sprint, as if just speaking of the place frightened him.

  “Did you hear that?” She whispered to Raynor and tapped her head. “I heard myself, you, and even the boy speaking in middle English. I understood it in my head as modern day English, or American, but what came out of our mouths was real English.”

  “Real English?”

  “I mean, like the people in England speak.”

  He shook his head in agreement. “The portal acts like a language transmitter, only it works inside our heads.” At her confused look, he added, “Whatever language is spoken, the portal transposes it in our mind, so we hear the language we normally use. But what comes out of our mouth, is the language of the period.” Staring at the castle in the distance he said, “That also means we’re in good ol’ England.”

  “My oh my, but this is turning into a doozy of a dream.”

  “Care to explore a cursed castle?”

  “You couldn’t keep me from it.” She laughed, truly getting into the spirit of her extremely long dream. She felt animated with excitement. “What do you think we’ll find—ghouls, goblins, or maybe some witches?”

  He shrugged and she became quiet. No way was he going to inject realism again at this point. Would she really want to know the truth? Would she want to know that perhaps monsters did await their arrival, creatures just as real as both of them?

  Most of the trail leading to the castle was rough and overgrown, like it hadn’t been traversed in ages. Only a small swath through the center of the bushes had been cleared, indicating perhaps someone used it occasionally. Good, Raynor thought. He didn’t need any meddling humans interfering with the time he spent with Briana. Plus, he didn’t want to chance hurting even one human while here either. Even discounting the fact he wished no human harmed, there were the facts drilled into his head from his youth—that a shapeshifter who traveled to past eras, and then killed, could change human history.

  While he had perfect control over his werewolf form within his own time period, there was less control when it came to the past. Besides, who knew what he might shift into? He didn’t; no one did until it happened. The only true way to control the animalistic, killing urges, the ones that hit shifters once they metamorphosed when they jumped through the portal, the only true control, once you slipped into the past, was by connecting with your mate. Merging the two essences helped tame the wild beast, so to speak. Of course there were harmless shapeshifters one could transform into, such as a fairy or elf.

  His task was difficult, but necessary if they were to make it back through the portal. Only a mated couple that were in tune with one another could jump back through, and it had to be done together. To get “in tune” with Briana, he had to teach her control over her shifting. It would be a daunting task, since she wasn’t even aware she was a shapeshifter.

  To accomplish the melding of their spirits that must take place, they had to make love in human form. Raynor smiled to himself while they trudged ever upward. He’d always thought it ironic that his people had to shapeshift to the human form to truly bond. Maybe it was the influence of living on Earth for thousands of centuries, or the very spirit of Mother Earth who swayed them.

  When they paused to stare up at the ruins of the ancient castle, he knew one thing: it’d be a very exciting journey to bonding. Shifters were highly sexual beings, and during the excitement phase, tended to shift into whatever form influenced them during that time period. Back home, he would always shift into a werewolf, but here, who knew? It would be an arduous, but mouth-watering labor, to train Briana to stay human when she burned with sexual desire.

  Just thinking about his future task made him hard, and when his mate turned to point out features of the tall edifice, he was glad for the loosely-draped material of his tunic.

  “It looks like it was savaged by war.” Briana pointed at scarred holes riddling the structure.

  He watched her surreptitiously while she talked with excitement about castles and how much she loved them when she was a child. How easy or hard would it be to get her just as excited about lovemaking? Would she be a lover who was slow to arouse, but super-hot once the fires of desire were lit? Or would she be easily turned on, a tigress in the sexual realm? Would she be a screamer, something he found especially arousing?

  His eyes flicked over her figure, gratified anew by its promising curves. Her full breasts would more than fill his hands, and her womanly hips were made for gripping
. He’d never cared for slim-hipped model types anyway. The full-figured 1950s woman was more to his liking and Briana fit that image to a tee.

  Unconsciously, he licked his lower lip when he wondered if her nipples would be large pouting, dark nubs too large to take into his mouth, or tiny rosebuds, which could be sucked in with ease? Would the texture of those lovely tits be as full and promising as it looked, or would their weight pull them into drooping, less attractive shapes? Flitting downward, his eyes wandered over her waist and hips, as if by doing so, he could see beneath the material covering them.

  He hoped her derriere would be cute and rounded, like it seemed to suggest. Next to gorgeous breasts, nothing turned him on as much as a lovely butt. His thoughts slid over her body, caressing her front side. Would her pussy be beautiful like her figure? Would it be trimmed neatly or would she wear it natural? A frisson of excitement shot through him while he idly thought about a shaved mons. Would she be so bold?

  He expected her curls to be black since her hair was brown, but what lovely shade of pink would he discover once he spread her inner lips? A dark, sultry pink or a lighter, enticing color?

  His cock throbbed against the clothing, rock-hard and pulsing. He ached to plunge it into Briana’s softness, but now was definitely not the time. He had no idea exactly what she’d been saying to him the last few minutes, and didn’t want to act as so many of his fellow males, coming up with a distracted “what”. At a pause in her words, he said, “Briana, look at this,” and then pointed to an arrow partially buried under rubble at their feet.

  Her enthusiastic “oh” as she leaned down to retrieve it, gave him an opportunity to shut off his horny meanderings. That’d be all he’d need, change due to his heightened arousal before she was ready and jump her bones, probably scaring her to death in the process.

  He stood peering down at the arrow with her, listening to her point out its ancient features, washing his being with appreciation of old war instruments and pushing out those of a sexual nature.