Three Days of Dominance Read Online Free Page B

drink as much on other occasions, he couldn’t help frowning. A light breeze stirred the hem of her little dress now and then, lifting it, displaying the smoothness of her upper thighs and sometimes a glimpse of the summit, where her legs met. A white scrap of cloth showed there. He’d never allowed his chosen to hide themselves with underwear. If he bound her tight and put his tongue there, she’d be squealing in seconds.
    With a practiced gesture, Heketoro conjured up the toah egg , then shielded the blue glimmer from view. Last of all, he needed to get her to allow him to insert this inside her. It wasn’t a minor invasion, yet without this egg, he would never have enough power to destroy the curse.
    He could do with a little help. He sighed. Getting her to keep the egg would be difficult.
    The hundred years of his sentence on this world had passed in agonizing slowness, and yet here he was, at the very end, and he and his half sister would die if he didn’t find the answer. In the first fifty years, he’d tried so many times, and all of them aborted. Only now, with the ascendance of new sexual attitudes among humans, had he been spurred to again search for a likely candidate. Fear of hurting Danii had held him back. Yet by doing nothing, he would kill his half sister. A pity time had caught up with him—three days was all he had left.
    As well as being an energy sink for sexual magic, given enough time, the egg would help her find her true self. And now, to find out if he were right about her nature.
    * * *
    Tap. Tap. Tap.
    Danii frowned. Had the breeze sent a branch knocking against the corrugated iron roof? Possums sometimes walked about up there, using it as a convenient mating and fight arena. She sat up a little and looked about. From the gloom, where steps led up to the far end of the porch, a man came forward.
    Heketoro.
    Every groove and rugged sweep of the bones and muscles of his face came bright and fresh to her mind. How could she have ever thought him a figment of her imagination? He halted at the bottom of the porch steps, large hands resting easily by his side, garbed in a loose black shirt and slick black trousers tucked into black boots. A question in his eyes made the breath stop in her throat.
    She sent the scotch glass tumbling across the pillow. One hand on the armrest, she vaulted sideways across it and out of the lounge, to land lightly on her feet before the door. She yanked it open and stopped. The door surged slowly shut on its closer. He hadn’t moved.
    Most telling of all, Killer stood before him, wagging his little ass off.
    “What the hell?” she muttered.
    If she could rely on anything in this world, even more than the sun rising in the morning or the free community newspaper being stuck in the rosebush every second Saturday, it was Killer’s instinct to measure up the bad guys. He never growled at friends and always at her direst enemies. Even ones she didn’t know she had.
    She hesitated, torn between backing away slowly and opening the door so she could retreat into the house, or staying here and finding out why this man, this extraordinary man, had turned up at her back door. It was night time, she’d definitely not invited him, and he was over six feet. Karate only got a woman so far when it came to being outweighed, especially if the man knew how to handle himself. Heketoro radiated so much self-assurance she doubted an earthquake would faze him.
    Yet Killer’s behavior said stay, and so did her seventh sense. Her sixth sense she reserved for picking horses at the races. She had an uncanny knack herself for figuring out the bad guys at work. Plenty had tried to pull the wool over her eyes, and none had succeeded, at least none she knew of. Her mother had once called it the family trait.
    She forced herself to speak. “This is my back door, not the front. You are trespassing. Might be best if you left.”
    At that, he looked up.
    “Would you like me to leave?”
    “Would