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The full moon shown silvery white, turning the night sky cobalt blue; hundreds of stars sparkled across the cosmos lighting the wolf’s path. The animal could not resist the ancient call as it climbed the Mayan Pyramid. It felt the cold hard stone beneath its feet and heard the click, click, click of its claws as it rose higher and higher toward the heavens.
But it was not alone in the night. A black Jaguar watched from the edge of the Jungle. Its shinning yellow eyes went un-noticed by the wolf and no scent was carried through the air in the breezeless night. The Jaguar was on the hunt and it had found its prey. The silver gray wolf was nearly at the top when the large cat crept from the shelter of the trees and began to climb the pyramid. Its paws made no sound as it padded quietly up the sacred stairway.
The Wolf reached the top and turned its face to the moon, stretched its neck out and howled its call for a mate into the night. The call was answered by the roar of the jaguar as it reached the top of the hallowed structure.
The wolf turned to the sound, its fur stood on end and it showed its teeth as a low growl emanated from its throat. The jaguar circled in a silent prowl, crouched low, it crept across the stone, ready to pounce should the wolf try to run. But the wolf knew… there would be no escape.
Blair awoke with a start and shook himself as he climbed out of his cot. The dream had been vivid, seen and felt from the wolf’s point of view, right down to the feeling of the cold, hard stone under his hands and feet. He brushed his wayward hair from his face and rubbed the palms of his hands together in an attempt to warm them. “Thank God for small miracles,” he muttered to himself, grateful that the dream ended before the huge cat had pounced and ripped open the wolf’s throat.
He grabbed his clothes and started to put them on when he noticed the moist, slick, fluid on his inner thighs. He moaned, it could only mean one thing, the quickening. He hoped that Abby had brought some sanitary napkins with her and would have extra that he could use. He grimaced, wondering if she knew about a male guide’s anatomy and their “vaginal opening” tucked so nicely behind their cock. He was told in class that sentinels called the opening “the tunnel to heaven,” but he had overheard some of the female guides calling it “the tunnel to nowhere,” and some of the teachers referring to it as “the glory hole”. As far as Blair was concerned it was a nuisance. This was the third time his body had put out a call for a sentinel mate, and it would be the last. A third call was rare and no potential guide ever quickened a fourth time. Most of the time a male guide’s “tunnel” remained tightly closed, but when he quickened it dilated and dripped clear, slick, vaginal fluid, sending out pheromones in a signal that the guide was ready to be claimed by a sentinel. Luckily there were no sentinels, bonded or un-bonded, at this dig, and Blair was happy about that. He had made a life for himself in academia and had come to accept that he would never be claimed by a sentinel. He had been through the quickening twice before, and although his body ached for the touch of a sentinel at those times, none had ever shown an interest in him. Not when there were more desirable guides to choose from.
Blair had known he was a potential guide from an early age. His mother had tried to hide it, but testing became mandatory when Blair turned 12 and his mother’s deception was found out. She was arrested and imprisoned for her illegal act and Blair was put into guide training. His teachers shook their head and pretty much gave up on him by the time he turned 18. Blair was too intelligent and too wild to ever be chosen by a sentinel. Sentinel’s had a strong preference for guides of average to high intelligence and Blair had tested to be in the highly superior range. Couple that with being labeled to have a “wild streak”, (which was any guide that resisted total submission,) along with his overly talkative nature, and the teachers and trainers knew there was very little chance he would ever be chosen. Blair tried to convince them to let him go and pursue his own life, but the Guide Guild refused. They transferred him from school to school, in an attempt to find a teacher that could get him properly trained and make him fit into the standard guide mold. They tried and failed to turn him into the type of guide a sentinel would want.
After the second quickening, with no interest at all shown from a single sentinel, the Guild came to him with a proposition. They would pay for his education if he would agree to become an archeological anthropologist and study the ancient history of sentinels and guides. Blair jumped at the idea. It was like a dream come true, an education, a chance to travel and meet people. Yes, it served the Guild’s purpose, but it served his purpose too; and now, here he was at a dig in Peru, thought to be the birthplace of sentinels, and he had quickened once again.
Three days earlier:
The drug dealers were not happy. Once more someone had killed their night guards. The word was that a sentinel had returned to the people of the forest and was avenging them.
The dealers laughed at such a superstition. There had been no sentinels among the native people for almost a century. They had all gone to the cities where they could find work, live with modern conveniences, and not have to wash in cold mountain streams. No, the attacks had come from tribal warriors. Ordinarily the drug dealers would capture the warriors and make their captive slaves watch as they took off the warriors’ heads with a machete, or failing that, killed them outright and hung the body in the camp for the vultures to eat. But this particular warrior, or more likely warriors, was very good with their guerrilla tactics and all attempts to catch them or stop them had failed. The decision was made; they would cut their losses and move to another location. The tribes were territorial and would not follow once the drug dealers left their area.
Jim growled as he looked at the disserted clearing. The drug dealers had abandoned the site; slicing the throats of the native workers they had enslaved to process their heroin. Incacha, Jim’s shaman teacher and healer, since his being found in the wreckage of a helicopter crash months before, began chanting a prayer for the dead.
Jim circled the encampment, sniffing the air and searching for tell tale signs of which direction the drug dealers were traveling. He could not let the murder of innocents go unpunished, not on his watch. And this was his watch; these people had been more than kind to him. They had nursed him back to health and helped him through the transition when his sentinel abilities triggered. If it took him the rest of his life he would see that the murderers paid for their crime.
Jim found what he was looking for and loped off into the forest. Several warriors began to follow but the shaman stopped them. He knew this was something the sentinel would have to do himself. He called to the Black Jaguar, the sentinel’s animal sprit guide, asking that it would travel with the sentinel and protect him as Jim disappeared into the forest.
Blair had finished his lunch and was just about to head back to the temple to continue translating the hieroglyphics when the men invaded the camp, shooting their automatic weapons into the air.
They had been traveling through the rainforest for days and had seen no signs that any warriors were following them. It was a complete surprise to come across a group of archeologist on a dig and a bonus they were not expecting. Kidnapping could be quite lucrative and it would make up for the loss they took by having to move off of their last site. Now all they had to do was find out who was bankrolling the little expedition and in a week or two they would have a nice payoff for their trouble.
Jim heard the gunshots through the forest. He had been gaining on his prey and was less than a mile behind them. He was sure he would catch up with them tonight and make them pay for their outrageous act. He continued cautiously along the path that the drug dealers had cut for themselves, through the thick growth of the rain forest, turning up his senses, scenting the air and listening for human sounds to make sure they were not doubling back on him.
Jim traveled only a few steps more when he picked up guide scent. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes dilated, and nostrils flared. His tongue darted out tasting the air. Yes, it was guide scent, ripe and calling to a sentinel to be claimed and mated, and then the scent suddenly mixed with the pungent, acrid scent of fear. His muscles tensed, his heart pounded, his eyes turned to black fire; rivulets of sweat ran down his arms and torso leaving their mark in the trail dust that clung to the sentinel’s body.
If Jim’s abilities had triggered in the States, he would have been given Sentinel training and a choice of compatible guides, he would have a guide with him to stabilize him. But Jim’s abilities had triggered here, in the rainforest of Peru. Incacha had done his best to prepare the man for the demands that becoming a sentinel put on his mind and body, but Incacha did not speak English and many of the traditional stories he told the American were lost. Jim could only sit around the fire listening to the sound and cadence of the shaman’s voice. Somehow he knew that what the tribal elder was telling him was important, so he listened, but he had only just begun to learn the native language and to comprehend what the stories were about. Jim didn’t know that his body and his mind had just slipped into a state of pure instinct. He had become The Blessed Protector.
The drug dealers had herded everyone into the center of the camp and tied them up, swearing and making demands. If a ransom was paid they would live, if not, they would die.
Jim heard every word as he crept closer and closer. The kidnappers began going through supplies looking for anything of value, demanding to know where the artifacts the group had found were hidden. Dr. Harold Morgan, the head of the expedition, told them there were none, they had only just arrived a few days ago. Jim heard it all and each word only increased his seething anger at the murders of the innocent.
Just as Jim reached the edge of the camp the man that seemed to be in charge of the kidnappers pulled Abby from the group and began dragging her, screaming, toward a tent. Blair and Harold struggled to their feet, screaming for the interloper to let her go. Kidnapper number two raised his rifle butt to pistol whip the guide. He stopped when he heard the roar of a Jaguar and turned to see the large cat in mid-air, lunging itself at him. He turned his rifle and shot only to have the cat evaporate into a cloud.
Jim ran into the camp just as the big cat jumped. He plunged his knife into the base of the neck of the man holding Abby. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Jim instantly turned to the man who had the audacity to threaten the Guide, his Guide. The sentinel was on him before any of the outlaws could comprehend what was happening. It took him only a split second to break the man's neck and using his body as a shield he shot the other two kidnappers with the dead man’s rifle.
Jim retrieved his knife and went directly to Blair slicing off the rope that bound his hands; he pushed the guide back and began searching his body for any sign of injury.
“I’m okay,” Blair said in a quiet and soothing tone of voice. He offered no physical resistance to the Sentinel. He had been trained to recognize Blessed Protector Syndrome and knew better than to resist. “Please,” Blair asked. “Could you cut my friends free too?”
Jim looked at the man tied up beside the guide. There was no smell of blood, the man did not appear to be injured and he was not ‘Guide’, he could wait.
“Please,” Blair asked again lifting one of his hands and stroking the Sentinel’s well muscled arm. “I’m worried about them, there was a Jaguar, it could come back.”
Jim looked at the man again. This man meant something to the guide. Jim sniffed the man. He was the woman’s mate, so he was no challenge to the sentinel’s claim.
Jim gave a guttural grunt and slit the rope that tied Dr. Morgan’s hands. “Go,” he ordered.
Harold glanced at his young protégée spread out on the ground half naked from the sentinel’s inspection. He knew Blair was a potential guide, but had been declared ‘unsuitable to bond’ by the Guide Guild. “Bl…” the doctor began only to be interrupted by the sentinel’s knife to his throat.
Blair dug his fingers, hard, painfully hard, into the sentinels arm. “Sentinel,” he screamed. Jim stopped short of drawing his knife across the man’s throat. He listened, his breath coming hard and his heart pounding. And the Guide’s heart pounded too. Not in sync, not yet, not claimed by, and bound to, his sentinel. He could not let this man, or anyone, interfere with his claim.
“I’m yours,” Blair said. “Let him go to his wife. I’m yours.” Blair let his fingers slowly relax as he spoke; he modulated his voice, softer and softer, in an attempt to calm the Sentinel. “Let him take care of the others. I’m yours,” he repeated. “I’m yours,” Blair said over and over each time softer until it was less then a whisper on a breath.
Jim glared at the man as he listened to his guide call to him. The guide was speaking saying something important. He could feel it through the pain in his arm. He struggled to understand, forcing his mind process the guide’s words. The guide’s voice grew softer and softer and the sentinel turned away from the man who sat frozen in place and turned to his guide. The others around them, hands still tied, began to move away, scooting on their bottoms before rolling over and getting to their feet.
As soon as the sentinel relaxed his knife Dr. Morgan also moved away, and went to his wife. Abby’s eyes were glued to Blair and the wild sentinel that had saved all of them. Dr. Morgan signaled for everyone to gather at the edge of the camp, behind one of the tents, out of direct line of sight to the sentinel.
“What are we going to do?” Abby asked. “That sentinel is a rogue. We can’t abandon Blair to him.”
“There is nothing we can do,” Harold said. “The sentinel will kill anyone who attempts to interfere. We have to let Blair handle it.”
Jim listened to his guide’s voice, patterning the sound as it changed register and tone. He watched the lips move, so full and inviting. So many things he wanted to do to those lips. He moved closer, sniffing the guide’s breath, picking up the scent of lunch that Blair had not had a chance to brush away. He watched as the pink flesh formed the words, “I’m yours.” He moved closer, parting his own lips with his tongue, searching for the sweet taste of his guide’s whispers.
It was a ghost of a sound now, carried on the exhale of a breath. Jim’s tongue touched the warm moist flesh that spoke the silent vow, and then, for the first time he entered his guide. His tongue lapped up the sweet taste as it probed deeper in an attempt to satisfy his hunger for the guide.
Blair moaned as the kiss deepened. He could feel his cock harden and his body’s aroused response to the sentinel’s kiss. Three days growth of beard brushed Blair’s face as he opened his mouth and sucked in the sentinel’s tongue. He held the sentinel in his mouth, hard and tight until he had to let go to breathe.
The sentinel pulled back letting the guide take a much needed breath. The guide wanted him, needed him and was pulling him in. Jim carded his fingers through the long, thick, curly hair and waited.
Blair gasped for air, his body throbbed, “Tent,” he managed to say the word. His mind fought to put together a sentence when all he wanted was more of the sentinel’s touch. “I...please…my tent.”
Jim stroked the guide’s hair again. The guide was nearly at the apex of his quickening. He looked around. They were in the open, that wouldn’t do. Jim stood and scooped Blair into his arms. “Where?” he asked.
Blair managed to lift his too heavy arm and point it in the right direction before his head collapsed on the sentinel’s bare shoulder. He opened his mouth and latched onto Jim’s neck, licking and sucking in the salty taste of the big man’s sweat and dust from three days on the trail. None of that mattered to the Guide. He raked his tongue against the sentinel’s throat telegraphing his need and insuring this sentinel would choose him and not turn away.
Jim found the tent. Guide scent led him to the right one. He shouldered his way through the flap and stood just inside holding his guide. There was no one else inside and the tent was too small for anyone to be hiding in. Jim stood Blair on his feet and reached for the rolled up sleeping bag at the end of the cot.
Blair moaned when Jim let him go. “Need,” he breathed. “Need you.”
The cot was too small for both of them so he kicked it over and spread the sleeping bag out on the floor and then pulled Blair down next to him. He quickly pulled off the rest of Blair’s clothes and then removed his own as Blair clawed at him. Guide scent quickly filled the small area and every breath brought Jim closer to a bonding thrall.
Jim laid the guide on his back. Blair’s cock felt like velvet covered granite as Jim stroked it; he licked the drop of pre-cum at its tip and then lifted and spread Blair’s legs. The area just behind Blair’s cock was dripping fluid and a small wet spot had already appeared on the sleeping bag. Jim moved in licking at the moisture.
“Need you, now!” Blair demanded.
Jim moved over his guide and Blair felt the big man enter him a centimeter at a time.
Blair wrapped his legs around the Sentinel locking them where ass meets thighs. “Don’t tease me,” he growled in frustration, he wanted and needed more. On the Sentinel’s next small movement forward Blair arched his back and pulled his legs in hard; he felt the sentinel’s huge organ fill him and hit the end of his passage. Pure pleasure sparkled through his body. “Oh, yes,” he moaned.
Unadulterated delectation surged through Jim; he became lost in a bonding thrall. Two more thrusts and Blair was lost as well. As their bodies moved together their breathing changed until they were panting in sync. Their hearts stopped and then their bodies seemed to explode into a consummate spiraling dance. They left their bodies and locked together in an unbreakable bond. A moment later they were back, hearts beating in perfect synchronization.
Jim rolled off of his guide and brushed Blair’s wayward hair off of his face. “Chief,” he asked, “what’s your name?”
“Blair, and you?”
“Jim Ellison, Sentinel.”
“Yeah,” Blair scoffed with a smile, “I kind of got that last part.”
On top of a Mayan Pyramid a Wolf lay next to a purring Black Panther, the big cat’s paw rested on the wolf’s shoulder. “We’re going to have to keep close watch on those two,” the Panther Sprit Guide said sending its thoughts to its new mate.
“Yes,” the wolf answered, in joy filled anticipation. “Our life won’t be boring.”
The cat sighed. The wolf was far too excitable from his point of view.
Please comment. My muse is back after a long vacation. I think she may stay long enough to finish my other fics if she gets fed.