Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle) (12 page)

— IX—

Zaren had never imagined
anything like London.

He felt as if his eyes were going to pop out of his head, they were moving so rapidly, taking in so many things: buildings, carriages, horses, shops, churches…and people. So many people! He couldn’t believe there were so many of them in the world.

Though he’d been king of his own habitat, utterly at home in the dangerous, lush, complicated environs of the jungle, Zaren wasn’t certain he could ever become comfortable here in this loud, busy, dirty, dark, and smelly city. There was just so…
much
.

The smells alone were almost too intense for him to bear, and the lurching motion of the carriage was even more uncomfortable than the ship had been during the one stormy night they’d experienced. Yet the tall buildings fascinated him. The cacophony of sounds—so different from those in the jungle, most of which he could identify as easily as his own fingers—made him strain to understand and differentiate them.

He gawked at the variety of vehicles and carts where men or women stood and shouted at passersby, trying to give them flowers or other items unfamiliar to Zaren. He thought it strange that most of the people simply walked past when a girl thrust a bunch of flowers at them, or a man shoved a steaming item that looked like something to eat toward a group of three men.

Though he thought Everett and Effie had prepared him for the city, Zaren found he had infinite questions about what he saw…and there were so many he couldn’t even begin to organize his thoughts and ask them. Instead, he merely watched out the window, half listening to the conversation of his companions and understanding very little of what he heard.

“The house won’t be open when we get there because the staff isn’t expecting us, but I’ll soon set things to rights,” Effie was saying. “Those lazy girls will be shocked right out of their stockings, they will.”

“And I’ll send word to my lawyer immediately,” responded Jane’s father. He sounded unconcerned and almost jovial.

“Best to keep your return quiet. If them Scotland Yard boys hear you’re back, you’ll be thrown into Newgate faster’n a soiled dove pickpocket,” said the woman. “Can you trust your lawyer to keep it quiet?”

“Utterly. He should be able to sort this out with very little delay, as I have a solid alibi for the time of the crime. I cannot even begin to imagine how they meant to convict me—and in my absence! What is England’s legal system coming to?”

As he, Everett, and Effie trundled through the crowded streets (he had to remind himself several times of the word “street”) in a taxi (another strange experience and even odder word), Zaren felt a sudden sharp pang of grief and loneliness. Oh, how he missed Jane! He needed her—not just to touch and kiss and hold, but to be with him as he entered this new world. He wanted to see it through her eyes, he wanted her to share her world with him just as he had done—albeit ever so briefly—with his.

My beloved Jane. Where are you?
He stared out the window, the once-fascinating sights fading into a blur of gray and black shadows when his eyes grew damp.

His heart hurt so much, and though he would hardly admit it to himself, he was terrified he’d never find her in this maze of people and streets and vehicles. How would it be possible? How could anyone even find their own way, let alone search out someone else?

Zaren was in a strange place and had no information except the name Darkdale—the man who was with her on the ship—and of course the beauty and personality of Jane herself (surely anyone who saw her wouldn’t be able to forget a woman such as she!). He’d also remembered most of the letters on the ship that had taken her away, and Everett and Effie had helped him make sense of them so he now knew the name of the vessel was
The Fighting Hawk
.

And then, settling back into the amazingly soft cushions of his seat, Zaren suddenly became calm. His nostrils flared with determination as the realization struck him: when it came down to it, this task was no different than hunting in the jungle. He would track them. He would learn his adversary’s strengths and weaknesses. He would investigate and scent his quarry, and with the help of Effie and Everett, he would follow the trail through this strange and different sort of jungle.

Zaren was an excellent hunter.

***

“Do you remember anything more?” Everett asked. “Are any of your memories coming back, now that you’ve returned?”

“Don’t force the boy,” Effie said. They were sitting in a chamber that was called the “study” that night after dinner. “You’ll sure as shootin’ get him to forget whatever’s in there! Whatever he knows’ll slip through his mind like water through a sieve.”

Zaren’s head hurt when he tried to remember—but only a little. It pounded less than it had in the past when he’d tried to remember anything of life before his childhood in the jungle.

Recently, it had become easier. And since he’d been traveling on the ship with Jane’s father, more images seemed to have erupted in his mind. Perhaps because now he had the words to describe them.

And then there’d been that vague dream when he was lying injured in the jungle village while in Cold Eyes’s captivity, restless and feverish. He remembered his mother. He saw her face.

It had been his offhand comment about this during dinner that caused Everett and Effie to seize upon the possibility that Zaren might be able to recall how he came to be alone in the jungle, and perhaps even learn his identity.

Identity was an odd concept for him. He was who he was—Zaren, a name he’d given himself after hearing the way his wolf mother crooned over him, combined with the sounds made by a human mother he once saw bathing her child.

He was Zaren. Who else would he be? And what did it mean to “be” someone else?

“I have something to show you,” he said quietly. Both Effie and Everett stopped their energetic discussion and looked at him, for he rarely offered comment of his own volition.

Zaren rose from the table, vaguely remembering there was something he should know about manners and polite society and how one should act when one meant to leave a meal—but he didn’t care about that. When one was finished eating, one hid away whatever was left of one’s food and went about one’s business.

Since he had no belongings to speak of—definitely not the many trunks Professor Clemons, Jane, and Effie had brought with them—Zaren had kept the small bundle of objects on his person at all times during the voyage. The large, attached sacks in his loose pants were the best part about wearing English clothes (if he ever returned to the jungle he would incorporate that convenience in the pieces of animal skin he normally wore to protect himself). He reached into one of the pockets and withdrew the tattered piece of fabric.

“I found many things in an abandoned nest—treehouse,” he corrected himself. “I was always drawn to the place, perhaps because I recognized it belonged to people like me. There were many things there, but there were some things that…” It was still difficult for him to express complicated thoughts, especially the way these items made him feel.

His throat always hurt when he looked at them, and oftentimes his head did as well. But he kept them, treasured them, protected them, and now he unbundled the small packet and spread the items on the table.

He hadn’t looked at them since he met Jane. He’d intended to show them to her, but the time had never seemed right. Perhaps he’d been afraid of what they meant, or what she would think of them.

Effie and Everett were silent as Zaren laid the items out on the table among the shiny forks and spoons he’d so recently learned to use. There was the small silver disk on a chain, and Zaren realized with a start that he’d seen that very item around his mother’s throat during his fevered dream. He hadn’t remembered that until now. And there was a stiff piece of leather with letters on it in gold, long faded and hardly legible. Finally, there was a circle of metal that Zaren often slipped onto his finger, although he wasn’t certain why.

“I’ll be damned,” murmured Everett. He picked up his eyeglasses and reached for the piece of leather. “This looks like the cover of a book—I can’t quite make out the letters. Wait…ah. Here we go.” He set his spectacles in place and Zaren watched as the older man’s eyebrows knitted together. “Hmm.
Manifest of the Wind
—blast it, Effie, what is that word?”

“Wind…stead. Windstead,” she repeated crisply.

“It appears to be the cover from a ship’s manifest,” Everett was saying, but Zaren hardly heard him. “No other pages attached. Just the cover.”

“Windstead?” That word was familiar. He’d heard it before…but when? When?

Then he remembered. Something cold moved over him and his lungs felt restricted. Cold Eyes…he’d been taunting him, speaking to him, talking in circles about things he didn’t understand as he gave Zaren something to drink that made him ill. What had he said?

The ship was called the
Windstead
. It carried a well-known family from England…

His heart was pounding, and not simply because he remembered Cold Eyes’s words. No…that word, that name Windstead…

“Why, it’s a locket,” Effie was saying.

Hazily, Zaren looked over and saw that she’d opened the silver disk that his mother had been wearing around her neck. Inside were tiny, very tiny pictures of…

“Father,” Zaren breathed. All at once he was hot, swimming with perspiration and his head was pounding. “F…father.” He pointed at the pictures, images flooding back like a huge rush of water surging over him.

“
Windstead
. Wasn’t that the ship that went missing? With …oh bloody hell, who was it—ah! Hampstead!” Everett said triumphantly, snapping his fingers. He was turning the gold circle around in his fingers, his voice filled with wonder. “Effie, I think it’s very possible this young man is the missing Hampstead son.” He looked at Zaren, his eyes magnified behind the round spectacles. “If that’s the case, then you, my boy, are John Berkeley, Viscount Hampstead…who is a very wealthy young man.”

— X—

“The night has hardly begun…”

When Jane heard those words from Darkdale, she could hardly contain a cry of frustration and anxiety.

How much more could she bear?

But she had no time to think about it, for suddenly her blindfold was yanked away—taking some of her hair with it. Jane blinked rapidly, trying to focus her eyes from behind the fabric and tears that had crusted them shut. The ropes that had been attached to her wrists and used to raise and lower them were removed, and the next thing she knew, Jane was being prodded down the corridor.

She had difficulty seeing as well as feeling any sensation in her long-raised arms. They prickled painfully as the blood rushed back into them. Her legs were awkward and her knees weak, and if it hadn’t been for Darkdale taking her by the arm, Jane surely would have fallen flat on her face.

The other three men seemed to hardly notice her as they made their way down an unfamiliar hall. They were all neatly dressed in shirts, neckcloths, and coats, and hardly looked as if they’d just manhandled her into the most draining bout of pleasure she’d ever experienced.

The chamber into which she was led looked like nothing more than a man’s study. There were four large leather chairs arranged in a loose circle, a fireplace with a roaring blaze, a wheeled table boasting a variety of liquor, carafes, and glasses, and a longer sideboard on which an extensive repast was displayed. The only element that seemed out of place in the chamber, however, was a large bed with four thigh-thick posts.

But Jane hardly had time to notice the details, for she was shoved into the center of the circle of chairs. She landed on her knees. Fortunately, the floor was covered by a thick, shaggy carpet that protected her from the fall. As the other men went to refill their drinks or fill small plates, Darkdale came to stand by Jane. Looming over her—for she’d remained on her knees—he lifted her chin so she could look him in the eyes.

“Behave yourself, darling Jane. Make me proud and pleased, and you will reap great rewards. Disobey me and you shall find your punishments even more severe.” His words were low, meant only for her ears.

Before she could respond, he bent and kissed her tenderly, and very thoroughly. His tongue swiped deep and slow, and he nibbled gently at the corners of her mouth. When he withdrew, she was panting and warm, and that familiar lick of pleasure had begun to build once again. She nearly moaned at the sudden absence of him, and he patted her on the head.

“That’s my dear Jane.” He gave a pleased laugh as he turned to take a seat.

Jane waited uncertainly as the others did the same, but they weren’t even settled when Darkdale snapped his fingers. She looked to him and a bolt of heat shot through her when she saw he’d unleashed his cock. It rose like a lusty red rod from the dark expanse of his trousers, and a dot of something pearl-like glistened at its tip.

She drew in a deep breath, and when he nodded, she couldn’t move fast enough to slide between his legs. She took him into her mouth without hesitation, filling herself to the throat with his thick rod as she began to slide up and down over him. Her hands closed over his width as she worked, sucking and licking and tasting him in the same way he’d done to her…the way they’d all done to her.

Suddenly, she felt something behind her: warmth against her arse, then hands on her hips—and a cock. Jane gasped around Darkdale as something thick and hard and bold plunged inside her. She jolted, gagging a little as Darkdale’s rod jammed deeper in her throat, but the sensation of being filled in her swollen, dripping channel was delicious. The man moved, sliding back out and then filling her just as abruptly once again.

Jane’s eyes widened as pleasure slid over her, hot and wet and strong, building into something even more intense as the man behind her pumped and stroked faster and harder.

“Jane,” Darkdale said sharply. “Finish me before he finishes, or you will be very sorry. And if you finish first…by gad, I will whip you until you scream.”