by Mark Eller
* * * *
Sneering, Sulya watched as her former lover helped Lady Gertunda into her coach. She had been ordered to ride with her ladyship, but that would not happen. Sulya had sent another in her stead, infuriating his Noble Snobbiness. No matter. Calto was in too much of a hurry to come looking for her and insist she attend the arrogant wench.
Since Larson’s death, Sulya had possessed little time to pursue her true purpose, which was figuring out why the High Priest had an unusual preoccupation with Anithia and Missa Morlon. What was so special about those two? Why did Calto concern himself with them? Were they truly in need of protection? If so, why didn’t he just bring them into his home? Lowborn or not, Anithia had still been his brother’s secret wife, and Missa was Calto’s only legal heir. Perhaps something was wrong with the child, a mental or physical birth defect, something so shameful Calto refused to have his home brushed with its scandal. If that was the case, then why did he keep such a careful eye on them?
Sulya frowned. Yes, she was sure her questions had something to do with the child, but what? Did Calto feel honor bound to look after his brother’s family despite their low beginnings, or was it more?
Sulya waited until the carriages disappeared and Dargot stood alone. Sauntering up to him, she began to emit her musk, knowing exactly how much to release to get her desired effect from the womanizing priest. Two glands tucked up close to her womanly area secreted a scent which drew any male of a compatible species to hers. As a rule, the more they succumbed the harder it became for them to break free of her allure. Eventually, all humanoid males, except those of her own species, soon became her mindless sex slaves if she so desired. All except Calto. Somehow, he had escaped her. Sulya wondered if his wretched goddess had something to do with that.
Dargot stiffened when she approached. He turned slowly, brown eyes hungry, his pupils dilated. Unconsciously, the priest’s long, broad nose flared, drawing in her scent.
Sulya smiled, a slow curving of full, black lips, when she saw his instant reaction to her presence. For a man in his late forties, Dargot had proved to be incredible in bed. There was not an ounce of fat on him, and remembering the things he had done to her made Sulya wet with anticipation. The information he passed on afterwards was even better.
Her voice was low, sultry. “Dargot.”
“Mistress.”
To her satisfaction, his manhood stirred beneath his robes. His hands clenched into white fists at his sides. She shivered with anticipation. His big, rough hands not only knew their way around a woman’s body, they were also very deft with a whip. Sometimes, when the mood was right, she liked a little touch of the lash.
She stepped within reach of the crushing strength of his arms. “I’m lonely.” Her skin’s deep blue turned a mottled purple.
Dargot’s breathing quickened, and Sulya’s smile grew as she trailed her nails down his chest. After spending an hour or two with the weak-willed priest she would know all Calto’s scheming. The High Priest might have kicked her out of his bed, but he had not yet banished her from his head, not when he had so many underlings who would do anything to entice her to spread her thighs.
