How did you become a werewolf?
Alas, I was cursed by Maharani Ziya, my father’s queen and a powerful sorceress, before I was even born. The jealous Ziya was burned alive as punishment for trying to murder my father the Rajah, along with my mother, his beloved concubine. As the pyre consumed her, Ziya cried, “Your son shall be a rutting beast like his father. And you, whore Chameela, will die without ever seeing his face.”
All that she prophesied came to pass. My mother perished bringing me into the world. My father sent both Ziya’s son Amir and me to England, to educate us but also in the hope that in that distant country, so far from my mother’s home, I could escape my fate.
A vain hope. My sixteenth birthday fell upon a full moon. That night I changed for the first time, from a mostly innocent youth to a fierce, lustful animal—an enormous wolf with just enough human in my form to rape a village girl and then rip her body to bloody pieces.
Since then I transform with every full moon. Since Cecily came to the palace, in fact, I’ve begun to change at the new moon as well. It’s horrible.
What’s the worst thing about being a werewolf?
There is nothing good about being a werewolf. I would do anything to free myself from this filthy enchantment. I have even considered suicide. Perhaps the worst aspect, however, is losing consciousness of who I am and what I am doing. The beast takes over my mind as well as my body. Violence and lust become my only reality.
Only later, when I return to my human form, does my conscience stir, and by then, it is too late.
Have you ever killed?
Before I understood what was happening, I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes I wonder what sins I committed in my past lives, to bear this burden in my current existence.
Once I realized the dire reality of the witch’s enchantment, I learned to take steps. For more than a decade, I’ve hidden myself away, raging and howling behind iron bars whenever the moon was full, to spare any more victims.
Once a month was bad enough, but now, with Cecily near by, it seems the curse is tightening its hold on me. I wonder, despairing, whether there will there come a time when I must wear my beast-form every night
Are there many others like you?
By Shiva, I truly hope not. We have many marvels here in Rajasthan, but I have never encountered another shape-shifter like me.
What makes you happy?
Even in my human form I’m a man of powerful passions. One thing my brother and I share is an interest in―how shall can I express this delicately?―activities that involve the chastisement of female flesh. We often share our women. In Amir’s cleverly-engineered playroom, I can sometimes forget, for a few hours, my awful fate.
Do you have a love interest?
Much against my better judgment, every day I find myself falling deeper in love with Miss Cecily Harrowsmith. Our devious but voluptuous captive awakens something in me I’ve never felt before. I know I should not trust her―that she’s a spy in the employ of our enemy the British queen―but I can’t help myself. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of answering tenderness in those bright blue eyes of hers. But perhaps I’m deluding myself.
In any case, I’m delighted to have the chance to enjoy her body. I must say she seems to find a good deal of pleasure in mine as well.
Do you have a code of honor?
I am a prince. My duty is to my brother the Rajah and the people of Rajasthan. I do whatever is necessary to fulfill that duty.
Furthermore, ironic as it may seem given the beast that lurks within me, I abhor violence. My brother is far more blood-thirsty than I am.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
Surely you mock me, in asking this. I pray daily to every one of our multitudinous gods, asking them to remove the curse that afflicts me. Each waxing moon fills me with dread. All I want is to be fully human.
However, this might come at too high a price. Cecily claims to have found a counter-spell among Ziya’s occult books which could return me to normal, but only at the risk of her life. Much as I dream of freedom, I cannot accept this sacrifice. I’d rather change every moon for the rest of my life than hurt the woman I love.
Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet Sarai
Steampunk werewolf BDSM Rubenesque ménage erotic romance
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 the rugged, arid land of the Raj puts 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 that can 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熔ffering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveal 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 constraints of her life in England?
Sarita arrived in a matter of minutes. “Are you finally finished?” Her petulant expression suggested that her earlier mild temper had evaporated.“ My Lord has refused to dine without your company. Come on—you’re keeping him waiting.”
The courtesan grasped Cecily’s arm, dragging her towards the door.
“Ouch! You needn’t be so rough.” Cecily shook off the other woman’s hand and massaged her temples. “I’ve a devil of a headache, and I’m as eager to eat as the Rajah. Don’t be so cross, Sarita. I’m trying to help your Lord and his brother.”
Sarita’s face softened a bit. “Did you find anything useful?”
A half truth is always better than an outright lie, Cecily reminded herself. “I’m not certain. Perhaps. I have some promising leads, but I need to investigate further.”
“I do hope you are successful. Perhaps then my Lord Amir will allow you to leave.”
“Sarita, please understand, I’m not your rival for Amir’s affections. I don’t want him. I’d leave in an instant if I could, without looking back.” Another half truth. She didn’t trust the devious prince in the slightest, but she’d miss his physical attentions.
“What you want doesn’t matter. He rules us all—you as well as I. And he finds you amusing—and arousing. That much is obvious. However, if you manage to free Lord Pratan from the curse, the Rajah will owe you a debt. Although he can be cruel, he’s also an honourable man.”
“Well, we shall see. Meanwhile, shall we go off to supper? I’ll try to convince Amir that you should join us…”
Sarita’s eyes narrowed. She nodded in cautious thanks, then started to open the library door.
Like a bolt of dark lightning, a shadowy form hurtled through the entrance and bore her slender body to the floor. Sarita’s shriek was cut short as the weight of her attacker drove the breath from her lungs.
A hulking, black-furred creature pinned the woman to the ground. He slashed her sari with brutal talons, until her clothing hung in shreds upon her nakedness, then clawed at her thighs. Blood streaked her ivory skin. A feral growl rose from the swarthy figure’s throat as his hairy back arched above Sarita’s fragile frame, hips pumping blindly. Cecily glimpsed vicious, yellowed teeth under an elongated snout and red-veined eyes that burnt with madness.
“Stop! No!” Cecily seized a handful of the monster’s tangled black hair and pulled as hard as she could, trying to drag him away from his victim. He shook her off like a dog ridding himself of fleas, so that she tumbled onto the floor beside them, then he returned his attention to the girl stretched beneath him.
Sarita whimpered in terror. The beast raked his claws across one breast, leaving a trail of red behind. His powerful buttocks flexed as he tried to impale the girl with his hugely swollen penis. The courtesan struggled beneath him, desperate to avoid that terrible weapon. He’d tear her apart if he succeeded in forcing that rod into her body.
All this happened in a matter of seconds, but to Cecily it seemed much longer. The sensation of temporal dilation was familiar from her martial arts practice. She considered her options with clarity and precision, every detail and nuance of the situation obvious to her heightened consciousness. If the beast was flesh and blood—as he certainly seemed to be, given that enormous erection—she could employ a Tibetan tserchok manoeuvre to temporarily disrupt his nerve function. On the other hand, she didn’t want to endanger Sarita. At the moment the creature appeared focused on sexual satisfaction, but if her blow fell even a millimetre off target, Pratan’s lust might change to murderous rage.
Somehow she had no doubt the beast was Pratan, transformed by the dead queen’s curse. Perhaps it was the lush, jet-coloured locks that tumbled down his back. Perhaps it was his wild ferocity as he attempted to fuck the woman trapped beneath him. In any case, that complicated matters. She needed to help poor Sarita, but she didn’t want to do permanent damage to the handsome brigand, if only to save her own skin. Amir would scarcely be sympathetic if she killed his brother.
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and come to a decision. As she moved, the silver ornaments dangling from her ears brushed her neck. Silver! Immediately Cecily recalled her hermeneutic studies, in particular the fact that silver was anathema to most shape-shifters. Of course, Pratan was a special case…but she did not have time to ponder the alternatives and the risks.
Drawing the silver wire from her pierced lobe, she rose to her knees. He still had not succeeded in penetrating Sarita, who rolled weakly back and forth while he stabbed his pelvis in the general direction of her slit. Gripping her shoulders, he tried to hold her still. His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of his prey.
Slightly behind him, out of his direct line of sight, Cecily leant forward, considering where best to strike. His hard muscles would simply bend the thin needle of silver. Finally, taking a deep breath, she brought the bauble to his neck, just below his ear, and pricked the tender skin.
The beast that was Pratan roared and reared back on his haunches. His eyes were smouldering coals as he fixed them on Cecily’s face. He reached for her, jaws dripping, talons painted with Sarita’s blood. Cecily twisted away, aware that she was too close to escape.
Then, just as she was anticipating the pain of his fangs entering her flesh, Pratan slumped into an unconscious heap. For a moment he lay there, still and monstrous. Then he began to shift back to his human form. His distorted muzzle receded and his handsome features reappeared. His gnarled paws became hands. The black hair that had covered the beast melted away, leaving only the familiar curly patches on his chest and at his groin. His massive erection shrank to more human proportions, though his cock was still engorged.
The highwayman prince lay naked on the library floor, his eyes closed, his face peaceful and composed. He might as well have been sleeping. Indeed, it might all have been a dream, save for the bleeding, naked young woman stretched out beside him.
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