Paniha's Taniwha: The Artifact Hunters 3.5 Read online

  There were a number of things Loki wanted to experience before he died. Having a sharpened stick thrust up his rectum to turn him into a spit roast wasn’t one of them. Or would they throw him in a boiling pot of water along with a few potatoes and carrots? How bland. They at least needed chillies, for he always considered himself a hot and spicy dish. But not literally.

  17

  Loki pulled at the ropes binding his wrists but they held firm. He couldn’t figure out where they were holding him. It didn’t look like a jail or stockade, but more homely. There was also the absence of any other prisoners. Why had they brought him here and not straight to Hone? Perhaps they were waiting until after the wedding, so they could torture him at leisure.

  It was at that point he realised he was naked. What had they done with his clothes? If anyone came in with a hot brush to remove his bristles he would know they planned to serve him for dinner.

  As he contemplated his predicament, with its choice between torture and being eaten, a new horror emerged. How could they leave him out of a party when he was so close? The thin walls of the hut did nothing to cover the sounds of music, singing, and laughter just a few feet away. He loved a good party and his presence always enlivened one. Yet here he knelt, tied between posts. They could have at least shackled him to a tree out in the main area so he could join in.

  The combined effect of the punch to the temple and pure boredom finally got to him and Loki drifted off to another place. He had no idea if mere minutes or hours had passed when he next raised his head. A commotion attracted his attention as laughter grew closer and a couple tumbled through the woven door covering.

  Young lovers were locked in an embrace. Shapely feminine legs wrapped around a sturdy waist as the woman kissed her partner deeply. Her hands tangled in his hair as she held his head, while he cupped her bottom.

  He recognised the pert derriere and the muscular arms—Hone and Paniha.

  Loki might have missed dinner, but at least he would get to watch the show. He now appreciated the small amount of clothing the locals wore, as the lovers quickly divested each other of what they wore without losing contact with one another. Paniha’s light dress was torn from her body and dropped to the ground. Then Hone pulled the flax skirt from around his hips and tossed it to a corner.

  Hone kept hold of the woman, one large hand on her hip, the other under her bottom as he drove up into her. Paniha’s head was flung back, her long black hair hanging like a midnight waterfall. Her arms were wound around Hone’s neck.

  Loki wet his lips as he watched. His body fell partly forward and blood flowed to his member. An ache took up residence in his limbs that had nothing to do with the ropes and everything to do with the entwined couple.

  The muscles in Hone’s thighs and arms clenched as he held Paniha aloft then lowered her in a slow, repetitive rhythm. Her gasps and soft cries filled the hut. Loki had no problem watching the young couple pleasure each other, but he would have much preferred to be involved. He was more of a doer than a bystander.

  Paniha leaned forward, her teeth sinking into Hone’s shoulder as she urged him to a faster pace, but the warrior ignored his new bride. His black gaze locked with Loki’s as he continued his exquisite slow torture. Loki’s breath came faster in his throat. He could only watch yet he was included, as Hone fixed on his reactions. Paniha’s moans escalated in pitch and tempo until she hit a crescendo and cried out. Her head dropped to Hone’s shoulder with her cheek resting against his skin as her torso rose and fell with her rapid breathing.

  After a moment of silence, Paniha whispered in Hone’s ear and she kissed his throat. The warrior closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Loki’s curiosity clambered to be sated. What had she said to him?

  Then Hone opened his eyes and stared at Loki.

  “Yes,” Hone said in answer, but to what question?

  The chief lowered Paniha to the floor. The woman walked toward Loki with mischief in her gaze and desire in the swing of her hips. She was a magnificent specimen with full, high breasts, a swoop to her waist, and rounded hips. Her black hair hung loose around her shoulders. With the tattoo on her lip and down her chin, she looked like an exotic enchantress.

  This was definitely Loki’s idea of torture.

  “What do you plan to do with me?” Loki asked.

  She ran a hand through his hair and then stroked the side of his face. “You are my wedding gift to Hone.”

  Loki chuckled. “You could have just asked. I would have turned up naked with a ribbon tied around my dick. You didn’t have to knock me out, drag me away, strip me naked, and tie me up.”

  Paniha laughed. “The warriors were told to look out for you and to bring you here, but you should not have started a fight and hit Niko. Then Rawiri hit you in defence of his partner.”

  “One of them hit me first. I was defending myself and just trying to make my way to you.” He refused to sulk, but the urge was strong. Either way, events had transpired in a most satisfactory way. His hungry gaze roamed over Hone’s naked form and he decided that, by comparison, he acquitted himself rather well in certain departments.

  Paniha dropped to her knees before Loki and the warmth of her skin caressed him. “You still don’t understand. There is no place here for the selfish pakeha captain. This is to help you become our Kahu.”

  He frowned. There was only one Loki. What you saw was what you got. “I can’t change who I am.”

  As soon as he said the words he wanted to recall them. They tasted false on his tongue. He could change. The process had started the moment he set foot on Aotearoa and the changes grew each time he was near Hone or Paniha.

  Paniha’s hand cradled his cheek. “Yes you can, and we are here to set you free. You are like a block of pounamu. We chip away to find the treasure you bury deep inside, hidden from everyone, including yourself.”

  Hone moved to stand behind Loki. His large hands rested on his shoulders and gently massaged tight muscles.

  Paniha leaned into Loki and kissed him. Her tongue slid against his eager one. Just as he was leaning into her to seek more, Hone’s hand moved to wrap around his throat and turned his head to the side. The warrior took the maiden’s place. The kiss turned fierce, picking up where they’d left off on their last encounter, a hungry clash of teeth as they sparred. Each man bit and pulled at the other’s lips.

  Heat spread through Loki’s body. They did roast him after all, for he began to burn. Then Loki found himself turned again to Paniha. She soothed the bite marks on his lips with her gentle approach. Back and forth the Maori couple traded control of his mouth until Loki no longer cared who kissed him, so long as they didn’t stop.

  Hone drove back over his lips as Paniha nestled closer to Loki’s body, her thighs straddling his as she rubbed her body against his straining member in the most exquisite torture he had ever experienced. Loki pulled at the ropes again but she laughed, a soft melodious tone that worked shivers over his skin. Meanwhile Hone’s controlling hand at his throat reminded him who was in charge.

  “Will the metal hurt?” she asked.

  Loki gritted his teeth as liquid heat flowed through his limbs at her teasing. He needed to reassure her that he would never cause her harm. “No. Most women find it increases the pleasure. But I suggest going slow to allow your body to adjust.”

  “Hone will watch us both,” she whispered as she kissed him again.

  Paniha dropped to her knees and gasped as Loki entered her body. He ground his jaw and groaned. Never had pleasure been this intense, this needed, this vital, as though each breath drawn into his lungs fuelled his desire for the couple and spread it deeper through his body. Meanwhile a part of him struggled to be free, fighting and straining against years of being ignored and buried under the layers of shallow words that he used to protect himself.

  Behind him, Hone also sunk to his knees, his body pressing into Loki’s back. With his arms tied he could do nothing to reciprocate, yet oddly, he wasn’t being used. He
simply gave.

  Paniha made tiny movements up and down Loki’s body, pausing on her upward movement to torment them both, before she dropped her weight down again. Hone kept one hand on Loki’s throat and his other reached past Loki to rest on Paniha’s hip, guiding or steadying the woman.

  With a fingertip she toyed with the gold ring through Loki’s nipple, making the metal pull through his flesh. Still she couldn’t be rough, never tugging on the metal enough to hurt. Paniha sucked the ring into her mouth and then let it go again. With her lips on his skin she whispered to him. “Hone has to be so gentle with me. He worries about hurting me. About being too big and strong.”

  Loki bit back a groan. Paniha’s gentleness fanned an equal desire for the opposite. His body screamed for rough and hard.

  “You want me to smooth off Hone’s rough edge?” Desire flared anew through Loki’s body. There was more than enough of him to go around, he could satisfy both maiden and warrior.

  “No.” She bit his earlobe. “I want you to let him be who he really is. Show him how to let go and in doing that, we will set you free. That is my gift to you both.”

  “Yes,” he managed to hiss and Hone claimed his mouth again. A rough kiss as the warrior dropped his hands to steady Loki’s hips. Then oiled hands spread his cheeks, followed by a thick, exploring finger. Loki couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his throat as Hone removed his finger and pushed the blunt head of his member against his entrance. With an agonisingly glacial pace, Hone entered him.

  It felt more than good—not that his brain could supply words or think up adjectives. His mind soared, dancing among the clouds as pleasure rolled over him in wave after wave. He didn’t have to do anything, except surrender every part of himself.

  The warrior controlled them both, his movements driving Loki’s body but both men subservient to Paniha’s needs. She cried out and tightened around Loki. Her head fell back as she embraced her release.

  Loki swore under his breath. It was too much for his body to handle and he followed her, spinning into the void as ecstasy ripped through him. Paniha rested her head on his shoulder, her arms draped around his neck and brushing Hone’s chest. They breathed hard, sweat slick over their bodies.

  A deep chuckle from behind reminded them of the one who still orchestrated events.

  “Ready, Kahu?” Paniha whispered against his skin.

  “Yes,” he replied, without conscious thought. Ready for what?

  The thrust didn’t just drive his body forward, it made an expletive burst from his lips. Hone powered into Loki’s body with the same passion that he fought with. Loki strained against his bonds but his forward momentum was arrested by Paniha in front of him. He pulled and tugged at the rope, his mind needing something tangible to grasp as the Maori chief taught him to fly higher than he had ever imagined possible.

  Hone’s hands held Loki’s hips captive as the fierce warrior let himself go and both men rocketed toward the midnight sky. Paniha showered Loki with light kisses and caresses over his chest, a soft counterpoint to the darker savagery.

  Groans tore from the two men. Loki had already come once but his mind exploded a second time as Hone drove deep. The warrior’s teeth sank into Loki’s shoulder as he claimed what was his and set them both loose from the mental bonds that held them.

  Loki was exhausted and drew deep shuddering breaths. His wrists hurt where he had pulled and rubbed the skin raw, and his knees were bruised. At the same time, he was sated on such a deep level he never wanted to move again. He wasn’t one for cuddling, but he’d make an exception for tonight. His body was limp from being used—no, from giving, and his mind drifted on a blissful ocean. If this was what came of not being selfish, he was definitely changing his worldview.

  Hone cut the ropes holding his arms spread and helped Loki to the large mattress. He spread out and wriggled his toes, checking that everything still worked. Then Paniha snuggled into his chest and he wrapped an arm around her. His back was oddly cold without the large man behind him. Then a blanket dropped over their bodies. Hone saw to their needs before his own, then he lay down behind Loki and pulled them close, his large hand resting on Paniha’s hip.

  For the first time in his life, a sense of peace descended over Loki. With the young couple he had finally found something he’d searched for all over the world. The hungry void in his centre was filled.

  The hawk tucked his tired wings against his body, nestled safe in the eyrie, and he slept.

  18

  Loki drifted in and out of sleep. Warmth and comfort cocooned him as all his worries and concerns unravelled. His soul was a mosaic, once shattered but now, piece by piece, he was put back together. He didn’t want to ever move. Only one thing spoiled his blissful state of mind: the pressing need to relieve himself. To sit up, he first had to disengage himself from two sleepy partners. Well, one sleepy maiden. Hone stirred as soon as Loki did, the big man’s fingers tightening and flexing where they rested on Loki’s arm.

  “Nature calls,” he muttered.

  The warrior’s grip relaxed and he let Loki rise. He crept to the hut’s entrance and ducked under the screen that acted as a door. He found a secluded corner to take care of his business. Back in the hut he considered his next move. Paniha slept on and Hone had draped himself over the woman to keep her toasty.

  Doubt chased the warm glow away and replaced it with cold reality. Was there really a place for him in that bed? He blew out a sigh and found his clothes, sitting in a neat folded pile next to the large chest. Loki dressed, unsure what conversation to have with the couple. In the past he would have made some flippant comment about doing it again soon. But last night’s encounter had left him raw and exposed in ways he didn’t quite understand. Words that needed to be said wouldn’t form in his gullet.

  An ember burned in his gut, a fire demanding to be fed more and he had no idea how to ask for it to be sated. If he were the sort to keep a diary, today’s entry would be headed up BEST SEX EVER and underlined multiple times. Yet his body yearned for more than the physical act—an admission Loki couldn’t even say out loud to himself, it was so ridiculously out of character. He wanted more of something intangible, a thing he couldn’t see or grab tight. Loki’s soul demanded more of a concept so alien to him, he didn’t even know how to vocalise his need for it.

  So instead of even trying, he left.

  “I have work to do,” he said, once dressed. Then he walked away from the hut and the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

  Guilt washed over him as he left with so much unspoken. But he needed time to sort through the maelstrom in his head. He was going to make a babbling idiot of himself as it was. Far better to take some time to sort out the wrinkles first, so he would sound slightly rational as he laid out his plan. Whatever it was. There was always tomorrow to figure out how to make what had happened with Paniha and Hone a long-term part of his life. Permanent even.

  Dawn still swept the plains with a light touch as Loki walked down the hill. He couldn’t suppress his good mood and hummed a bawdy ditty popular with pirate crews. If he had travelled to Aotearoa seeking something, he had found it. He just needed to figure out what to do about it. Relationships weren’t really his thing, but for the first time in his life, he wanted one. Or did it count as two?

  At the bottom of the hill he skipped over the white painted line. Three soldiers on guard frowned at him.

  “Oi!” one yelled out. “You need to use the gate.”

  The other soldiers kept their rifles trained on Loki as the yelling one gestured to the area of grass in front of him.

  Loki squinted. Sure enough, someone had rubbed out a short section of paint where the guards stood and made a gap, or gate, in the line. Only the British would be so painfully polite as to comply. He might be undergoing a change in this country, but he still retained his ability to flout the laws.

  “Why don’t you write me up for an infraction?” He kept on walking down the main road and the
n cut across the field to his base of operations.

  Miguel sat on the verandah, sipping a mug of coffee.

  “Grab me one, lad. Only thing wrong with the Maori hospitality is their lack of coffee.” He dropped his body into the chair as Miguel rose. With his head resting on the wooden wall, he closed his eyes and waited.

  Heat surged over his fingers as Miguel pressed a mug into his palm.

  “Good night?” The chair next to Loki creaked as Miguel took his seat again.

  “Yes.” One word summed it all up. He didn’t dare speak any more in case he uprooted the wondrous seedling that had taken root inside him. Or perhaps he kept his silence in case Miguel laughed at him. He cast a sideways glance over the coffee at his first mate. No, Miguel wouldn’t laugh, because this was a serious matter, not the subject of a jest.

  “Well, we better sort out the mess Colonel Austin has made of town so you can figure out what you’re doing.” And just like that, Miguel put everything into focus. Find the killer, shut up Austin, and then he could walk back up the hill. Would Paniha and Hone want him? Self-doubt was a hungry rat gnawing at his gut. Paniha said he was a wedding gift for Hone—did that mean it would never be repeated?

  “Stop fretting. Things have a way of working themselves out,” Miguel said.

  “I am not fretting.” Doubt must have shown on his face as his happy mood dissolved under a wave of disbelief. He started to realise life as a selfish bastard was much easier. He had never before suffered any pangs the morning after, because he had only considered himself. He moved on and never spared a second thought for his partner, or partners. Now a web of worry spun in his mind wondering what, or even if, Paniha and Hone were thinking about him.

  “Are too fretting.”

  He glared at his coffee. He was fretting, but he didn’t want it to get around that the fearless pirate Captain Lachlan Hawke was mooning like a maiden who’d just lost her virginity to a cad. He rubbed his chest. It wasn’t like he had never had sex before. His usual modus operandi was to love and leave, so why was it so hard to walk away this morning?