Catalina, Queen of the Nightlings: Gold Rush

By J. Lee Roberts

Adventures of a Sexy Seductress

Torn between a simple life in San Francisco and her calling as a Queen, Catalina must choose her fate. There’s just one thing standing in her way — Werewolves. Will her lust for love and treasure, derail her future or will she fulfil her every desire?

Join Catalina, on another erotic adventure, if you dare.

Reader Advisory: Be forewarned, the story within contains X-rated tales of a Nightling’s naughty escapades.

PUBLISHER NOTE: 45,900 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463806982

J. Lee Roberts

J. Lee Roberts spends her time between the majestic Hawaiian Islands and the soft, rolling foothills of central California. She loves dancing and experiencing live music. She spends her days tinkering in her garden, where she grows an abundance of fruit, vegetables, and fragrant flowers. She spends her nights snuggling with her hunky, blue-eyed partner. When not dancing, gardening, or snuggling, J. Lee enjoys spending time with the girls. Anything can happen at a girls night; naughty photo shoots, poker tournaments, and the occasional solstice celebration are just some of the crazy things they get up to on an all girls night. Catalina, Queen of the Nightlings, Volume 1: Cleopatra’s Pearls is the first of a long line of tales, involving a sexy seductress, who just can’t be satisfied. J. Lee Roberts is also in the process of finishing her first, full-length thriller.

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CATALINA, QUEEN OF THE NIGHTLINGS

VOLUME 5: GOLD RUSH

J. LEE ROBERTS

Adventures of a Sexy Seductress

Torn between a simple life in San Francisco and her calling as a Queen, Catalina must choose her fate. There’s just one thing standing in her way — Werewolves. Will her lust for love and treasure, derail her future or will she fulfil her every desire?

Join Catalina, on another erotic adventure, if you dare.

Reader Advisory: Be forewarned, the story within contains X-rated tales of a Nightling’s naughty escapades.

PUBLISHER NOTE:  45,900 words

CATALINA, QUEEN OF THE NIGHTLINGS

VOLUME 5: GOLD RUSH

J. LEE ROBERTS

WWW.LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

CATALINA, QUEEN OF THE NIGHTLINGS

VOLUME 5: GOLD RUSH

Copyright © January 2019 J. LEE ROBERTS

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:

Prada

Band-Aid

DEDICATION

For the inner Catalina in us all.

BEFORE

Professor, I’m getting a really strange reading right here. The instruments must be malfunctioning.

There shouldn’t be any problems. I just recalibrated this last night.

For ten, long, hot days Doctor Alexander Night and six incredibly resilient student volunteers had been climbing the 400-foot sand dunes of Death Valley, California. The blistering sun and violent wind were the only added encouragement as the group clumsily slid down the hill precariously protecting the fragile instruments used to record their findings.

For decades, scientists studying the sonic phenomenon had dismissed the cello-like music that resonated from the dunes as mere friction. Not Dr. Night. He was determined to solve the mystery behind the musical dunes.

The conditions over the past days had been ideal for capturing the eerie, yet beautiful tones of the mysterious singing dunes. Not that it mattered, for if anything was a constant in Alexander’s life, it was his attraction to bad luck. Every day it was something else. A broken microphone, a shattered laptop screen. Hell, someone had even eaten the best part of his lunch the other day. His patience with this study was running thin, his budget was running out. Not only had he sunk every last penny of his own money into this venture, but he had scavenged every grant and called in every favor. On campus, Professor Alex Night was becoming a laughing stock, and he was close to losing his teaching position and his credibility.

 As he readjusted the broken recording device for the thousandth time, he couldn’t help but think he was wasting his time, his money, and his expensive education. It’s just that he was so close, a mere calculation away from uncovering a phenomenon that Charles Darwin himself had found interesting enough to document. In truth, the professor was no nearer to cracking this mystery as were the scientists who had come before him.

Mindy, a small, sweet girl with innocent sky-blue eyes and an IQ verging on genius hung her head as she approached her mentor with yet another broken piece of equipment. Smart as she was, she was still a young woman ruled by hormones. Though she would never admit it, she had only signed up for this hellish internship because she had a major crush on her professor, and who can blame her. Six-foot-two, cinnamon skin, a perfectly sculpted body, and deep brown soulful eyes. Though he carried the brunt of his father’s genes, his mother’s elegant oriental features dominated his gentle face.

Excuse me professor, but I believe we have lost our last microphone, Mindy said, knowing this may very well be the last straw.

Of course it’s broke. Do you think that maybe, just maybe, that for once, you could have come to me with good news? I mean, tell me, is there anything here that does work? For Christ’s sakes, what am I doing here surrounded by all this junk! he shouted, kicking at a crate of delicate instruments. I am so sick of all this goddamn sand!

Alex fell into a crouch, head in hands. What was he doing here? What was he doing with his life? Ashamed of the temper tantrum he had just thrown, he took a deep breath and stood to face his students. I’m really sorry, Mindy. None of this is your fault. It was wrong of me to lash out like that. Come on everybody, let’s pack it up. We’re going home.

After a much-needed shower, Professor Alexander Night sat at his desk to take inventory of his life. This wasn’t the first time he had considered giving up this fool’s errand. The long and short was, even if he could explain the science behind the mysterious acoustic dunes, who would care? At most he would get an article published, at best, tenure. The truth was, his heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Unfortunately, when he had inherited his father’s black kinky hair, it came with a side of stubbornness. How could he quit now when he had dedicated so much of his life, his money and his career? Having sold all but the bare essentials he concluded the only thing left to do was to move forward. Rummaging through his desk drawer, he pulled out an old, red handkerchief. A fragment of his past. Something he knew would change his fate for the better or for the worst. Something that up until now he had all but forgotten about. But now, at his most desperate hour, it called to him. And he was ready to answer.

CHAPTER ONE

Cat, I need you to come sign for this!

I wiggle and stretch wildly before getting out of my squishy, club chair. Why Tonya insists on yelling when she very well knows I could hear a pin drop from across the bay is beyond me. I suppose it’s just to keep up the pretense we are normal working-class girls. Just one of the reasons I keep her around.

I smile brightly seeing the young delivery man. All brawn, blue-eyed and dimples to boot, probably a college student, maybe a quarterback. I quickly size him up and change my mind. Definitely a tight end. He’s young and fresh, and I think — strike that — I know I could teach him a thing or two, maybe three.

How are you today? I say, cheerily taking the clipboard from his outstretched hand.

Just fine, ma’am, thank you for asking.

What a gentleman, but I can change that. I’m about to lead him into my lair when I noticed a rather disheartening predicament. The young deliveryman has eyes only for Tonya.

Yes, she’s exotic, yes, she’s beautiful. And yes, she is young but. But . . . Oh God, I’m pouting. I shake my head in repulsion and tell myself this is what I’m supposed to be going for. The prim gray suit, sensible gray Mary Jane’s and a tight bun to complete the ensemble. Not to mention the new addition to my disguise, reading glasses. I am supposed to be getting older.

I tuck my lower lip back in, quickly scratch my name on the signature line, and thrust it back at him when I consider cheating. I’m on the precipice of doling out a small — I’m saying just a tiny dose of my love dust, which contains a patented cocktail of pheromones I can create to subdue my prey — when Tonya, my infuriating, I mean amazing assistant, loudly clears her throat. Apparently, during my internal tantrum, I’ve closed ranks on the clipboard and both the deliverymen. By the looks of it, Tonya is considering calling the San Francisco Fire Department to rush over with the jaws of life.

Oh, yes, I sputter, just wanted to make sure the date was correct. I quickly turn to leave, lest embarrass myself further. I hear Tonya say a few pleasantries before the rattle of the loading dock door sets in motion.

You can come out now, he’s gone, Tonya yells, chuckling to herself. I peek around the corner to see for myself if it’s all clear. What was that all about? she asks, handing me the shipping form.

Did you get his number? I ask, not so innocently.

Cat, he was just a kid.

So . . . that’s a no?

Yeah, it’s a no, a big one. What’s going on with you?

I don’t know, I cry, dramatically collapsing onto a swiveling chair. Do these glasses make me look old?

I thought that was the point.

I know but—

Remember, Cat, baby steps. If this is how you’re going to act now, what happens when I streak your hair gray ? Tonya asks, taking my hand.

Oh good god, no! I shriek, spinning away from her. Please, let’s not go there, not now.

If you wanted that guy, why not just dazzle him. It wouldn’t have taken very much.

Oh, I don’t know. I just wish he would have . . . Well . . .

You’re not making sense, Cat. I thought you and James were trying to solidify things?

James, I repeat dreamily walking over to the wooden crate that had just been delivered. He is wonderful, isn’t he?

You know I think so, she answers.

And handsome? I ask.

Yeah, he’s smoking all right.

And human, I say, in defeat.

You’re going to have to tell him someday.

Shit, I say, sighing heavily. Maybe I can still catch that deliveryman?

You may be asking yourself why I would be pining over a stranger when I have a very solid and accessible man waiting for me in the wings. You see, I am a Nightling from the planet Sucubi. For my very survival, I require a large dose of oxytocin every day.  This particular hormone is conveniently created in humans when aroused or happy. And I am always hungry.

A quick lay with another deliveryman is not going to solve your problems with James.

"Uuuuggg! Why do you have to be right all the time?"

That is what you pay me for, isn’t it?

I suppose, I say, giving Tonya a big hug. Well then, let’s get to work.

I easily pull the heavily nailed lid off the crate and start tossing out the antiquated shredded bamboo used for packing. Shining brightly like a newly minted penny is an intricately carved bronze bowl.

Lifting the dish out to inspect it closer Tonya asks, Did you order a new set of dishes for yourself?

Did I what?

All of these bowls appear to be brand new. There’s absolutely no patina, Tonya says, pulling out yet another perfectly preserved bowl.

I don’t remember purchasing anything like this, I say, examining the artfully crafted dish.

Well, I would remember buying these and I didn’t. So, where did they come from? Tonya asks, pulling out a three-legged pot with lid. ‘Wow, this is beautiful.

It looks like an ancient cooking pot.

People actually cooked food in this? Tonya asks incredulously, devouring the ornate detail encompassing the pot.

By the looks of it, we have a service of four.

After completely emptying the crate, we had still failed to locate any shipping documents. What we did find was a set of four bronze bowls, plates, and an assortment of finely carved bone forks, knives, and spoons, plus the three-legged cooking pot.

You haven’t said anything in a while, Cat. What are you thinking?

I . . .? Well, it’s this mark, see it here on the bottom of each dish.

Yeah, it’s a Chinese symbol. You want me to look it up? Tonya asked, pulling out her huge smartphone."

There’s no need. It’s the mark of the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang.

You said wang, Tonya giggled.

You are such a child, I rebuffed, but her silliness worked, and I cracked a smile.

So, are they reproductions? There’s no way anything bronze could look this good if it were over two thousand years old. They should be mottled in multiple shades of green, Tonya said, examining a decorative plate.

I touch, smell, and ultimately lick the plate in my hand. I can taste small amounts of mercury. A favorite element of the emperors. Qin Shi Huang believed that by ingesting the metal in small doses, he could achieve immortality. The reverse was, unfortunately, more accurate, considering the young emperor died of mercury poisoning at the age of forty-nine.

Put that down! I shouted.

I’m not going to hurt it, Tonya replied defensively, as she gingerly set the plate down.

Just go wash your hands thoroughly. In fact, take your clothes off, go up to my apartment and shower. Scrub yourself clean.

But what’s going on? Tonya asks as I pull her jacket off.

Wear something of mine. I’m sorry, but I need to dispose of your outfit.

Tell me what’s happening, Cat!

Mercury, the dishes are saturated in it.

* * * *

While Tonya scrubbed herself raw, I took several pictures of the ancient dishes and then carefully stacked the vessels in a lead-lined safe. Then I did what I was dreading. I cleaned. I placed all of her tainted clothes and mine in several layers of plastic garbage bags. Then, and this is the worst of all. I got on my hands and knees and cleaned the floor. After scrubbing myself down, and donning a set of