by Anna Argent
“I would never touch you with anything that would do bad things. The garala could fail—my skill with it may be lacking—but no harm will come to you. I will not allow it.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. She could feel it in the way he hesitated, see it in the way his gaze avoided hers.
“What else, Warrian? What else is going to happen?”
He pulled in a deep breath that stretched his shirt to the limits. She could see the masculine contours of his body clearly outlined, giving her a little visual thrill. It wasn’t nearly as nice as being pressed up against all those yummy contours, but even the reminder of it sent a swath of heat spreading out through her limbs.
Her coat and cloak were swiftly becoming way too hot with a man like him around.
“You may feel a sense of intoxication, but I assure you that it is fleeting. I will ensure you do nothing foolish during this time.”
“Intoxication doesn’t sound so bad. I’m wound so tight I could use a bit of loosening up.”
His grim expression told her that he didn’t agree. “You may also feel an artificial… closeness to the wielder of the garala.”
“Artificial closeness? What does that mean?”
“The garala pulls energy from the wielder for the repair. That energy flows into the injured and lingers there for a time. It’s a harmless feeling for two people who are not enemies. I would never use this feeling in a shameful way.”
Too bad for her. She was almost certain that what he thought was shameful she would enjoy immensely. “So, I’m going to have part of you inside of me? And it’s going to make me like you more?”
His skin darkened and the muscles lining his jaw bulged. “Yes.”
This whole thing was really getting to him, and because she desperately needed a distraction from monsters that were hunting her by smell, she clung to the one he offered.
Isa hid her grin. “What kind of like, Warrian? A let’s-go-watch-the-football-game-together like? Or a let’s-get-naked-and-fuck-like-bunnies like?”
He blushed, which amused the hell out of her. Men who could fight like he could should not have been capable of turning pink.
“I will not allow you to do anything improper.”
“Not even a little kiss?” she asked, just to rattle him. “Maybe a hand job?”
“I don’t know this hand job.”
Isa grinned, enjoying the distraction from her pain he created. She gave a pointed look at his groin. “It’s when I wrap my hand around your—”
He spun around, giving her his back. “There will be no jobs or kisses. There will be nothing other than repair and protection until you are safely through the window.”
“Party pooper.”
He looked over his shoulder, frowning in disgust. “I do not…. No more talking. I will repair you now.”
Isa laughed, and a huge bulging bubble of tension fell out of her with the sound. It was simply impossible not to be amused by his archaic sense of morality, or whatever it was. He hadn’t even teased her back, though she supposed it could have had something to do with the language barrier.
Still, she hadn’t been kidding about the kissing part. If she got her mouth on his again, there wasn’t going to be any words necessary. She was going to soak him up and enjoy the thrill of having a man like him at her mercy.
“You’re going to tell me about this window soon,” she told him, purposefully not phrasing it as a question.
“When the damage is gone, we will talk. First, you will let me use the garala on you.”
She didn’t see much choice. Her shoulder was killing her. The light streaming out of those rings hadn’t hurt her when it had gotten close before. And she tasted no hint of deception coming from Warrian. “Fine. Just do what you’re going to do, but no drugs. I don’t trust you enough to let down my guard.”
“No drugs,” he promised. “But I must touch your skin.”
She offered him a blank look. “And?”
“My hands are meant for combat, not empresses.”
“You just said you knew how to do this. What am I missing here, Warrian?”
“I am not allowed to touch you.”
“Says who?”
He gave her a look like she was the one talking crazy talk. “Everyone. The laws are clear. Unless her life is in danger, the empress may be touched by none but her family, and then only with permission.”
“But you’ve already touched me.”
“Not bare flesh.”
“Your mouth was on mine. What the hell would you call that?”
“Necessary. Your life was in danger.”
“I just had the wind knocked out of me. It wasn’t life threatening.”
The color faded from his face and a stark look of horror overtook him. “I broke the law?”
He was serious. And from the expression on his face, the punishment for touching her wasn’t just a slap on the wrist. “No. I’m sure there’s a loophole in there somewhere for people who think they’re saving a life.”
“The law contains no holes.” He stood at attention, his feet braced and his body clenched as if awaiting a sentence.
“Really? You all are that uptight? It’s just a freaking shoulder.”
“It’s Your Imperial Majry’s freaking shoulder.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. This is ridiculous. I am not an imperial anything. There are no laws about me that I haven’t written myself.”
“You will rewrite the law?” He seemed really confused now.
This was insane. She was out of patience and she hurt. Maybe the pain was making her cranky, but that was just tough. He was man enough to take it.
Isa pointed her finger in Warrian’s face, gaining his complete and utter attention. “If I am your empress, then I can tell you what to do, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m ordering you to forget about that stupid law. I don’t like it.” She pulled in a breath to calm herself before she started screeching. “Now please, call me Isa and fix my stupid shoulder.”
He bowed his head, “Yes, Your Imper—Isa.”
Good. Finally, his crazy was working in her favor for a change.
She pulled the cloak off. “How long will it take before the Dregorgs start to smell me again?”
“I can’t say for certain. If we broke the trail, then it may take them some time to find it once again. And the weather will slow them.”
“At least we have that going for us.”
She peeled off her coat. The motion hurt like hell. The swelling had been contained by the cotton sleeve of her shirt, but it was straining to cover some impressive puffiness.
Isa unbuttoned her shirt just enough to try to pull it off of her injured shoulder, but every little tug on the fabric made the pain worse. She was shaking and queasy when she finally gave up.
Isa captured Warrian’s gaze. “If I cut my shirt off, are you going to freak out?”
“Freak out?”
“Go all crazy, spouting about laws that say you can’t look at underwear or something. I have a bra on. It’s no worse than a bikini. Can you handle that?”
He gave a grave nod. “I will handle what I must to see to your care.”
Gee. Way to make a girl feel special. “You have seen boobs before, haven’t you, Warrian?”
Confusion was plain on his face, so she grabbed her breast and jiggled it, strictly for informational purposes. “Boobs.”
He turned dark red and averted his eyes. “Yes, Isa. I have seen boobs.”
“Good. Glad to know we’ve got that going for us. Now help me out of my shirt.”
Chapter Five
Warrian had been trained well over the course of several years. He’d devoted his life to the empire, protecting all within her borders. He had studied combat at the hands of masters, excelling in every task he’d been assigned. He’d been through countless battles against Raide, Dregorgs and Cyturs—all victorious. He thought he was prepared for anything this mis
sion might have to offer.
He had been mistaken. He was not prepared for imperial boobs.
Pushing the empress out of the way of the truck, felling the Dregorg that dared to assault her—those things were supposed to make him proud. They were good and noble things that were meant to bring him satisfaction.
But he hadn’t expected that the press of her mouth on his would be even more satisfying, and that his satisfaction would have nothing to do with restoring her breathing. The deep sense of pleasure he’d experienced had come solely from feeling her relax under his body, from tasting her lips and from knowing that a small part of him lived within her now. It had only been his breath, given to ease her suffering, but even that could be his doom. There were no witnesses to her alteration of the law—no council approval. And yet he was going to touch her. Not only that, but he was anticipating it, savoring the idea of putting his hands on her royal person.
How was he ever going to restore his family name and wipe clean the stain of dishonor his father had left behind when all he could think about was getting his hands on the empress—the one woman he was legally not allowed to touch? If anyone knew about his deep longing to disobey the law, all these years of striving to live a good and noble life would be forfeit.
The best he could hope for now was ending this task as quickly as possible. He would offer a full confession to his commanding officer and pray that the man had also made some error in judgment during his own career—one that would make him capable of overlooking Warrian’s offense.
He found a sharp Imonite blade and sliced her shirt free of her injured arm. The fabric split open, baring far too much of her body to his gaze. She was even lovelier than he could have imagined, with smooth skin wrapped lovingly in the most tempting garment he’d ever seen. It was House Loriah blue, and cupped her breasts, both shielding them and offering them up in invitation. The gentle swell lured him in, forcing his eye to follow the sweet curve until it disappeared beneath shimmering fabric.
His blood began to heat, and his throat tightened around a spike of lust. He’d seen many other women before. Naked. He’d felt their bodies merge with his as he’d bedded them. But all memories of them crumbled to ash as a hot flame of need ignited deep within. He knew what the empress tasted like. He knew what she looked like with her hair unbound and free. And now he knew what she looked like beneath her clothing. Part of him wished he’d remained ignorant, while the rest of him was lurching forward, desperate to reveal even more of her.
Had he been a stronger man, he would have looked away, but the empress drew him in and made him forget his place. And his honor.
The dishonor his father had brought down on his family was more than enough to bear. His job was to restore his family’s honor, not destroy it irrevocably.
Furious with his lack of control, Warrian grabbed his cloak and covered her the best he could, leaving only her swollen shoulder bare. A dark bruise had formed just under her skin, and he could see the distinct outline of a Dregorg-sized handprint around her upper arm.
The joint was misshapen and…wrong.
A slow, simmering anger began to bubble within him. The Raide was their enemy, along with the Dregorg slaves they used as disposable soldiers. Warrian had killed many of them over his years of service, but never before had he felt such anger. Until now, the war had been his job. He obeyed orders, carrying out his commands with little judgment or feeling. It had been a logical, methodical process, driven by duty, not emotion.
Seeing the empress’s injuries, seeing the marks that Dregorg had left on her skin—that made a wave of fury rise up inside him, pressing dangerously close to the surface.
“How did this happen?” he asked, his voice creaking with anger.
“The Dregorg tried to pull my arm off.”
“It appears as if he nearly succeeded.”
“Great,” she groaned. “Please tell me I’m still repairable.”
“You are,” he assured her.
One way or another, he would find a way to mend the damage that had been done, even if he had to resort to human medicine to make it happen.
He pressed his hands together and willed his garala to life. “Please remain still. This may feel strange.”
Warrian pulled his hands apart slowly, watching as green strands of energy formed between the rings. He hadn’t used the device in this manner very often, but he’d been injured in enough battles that he’d had it done to him and knew how odd the sensation could be.
He also remembered the bond that this task formed—how he’d felt a bone-deep kinship with the men who had repaired his flesh. The process left him feeling tied to those men, like brothers. He would have done anything for them, at least for a time.
None of them called to him in the same way the empress did. She was like a flickering flame at which he could not stop staring. He wanted to get close and feel her heat, to bathe in her light.
He also wanted other things. Darker, selfish things. Desires of the flesh, the wet heat of her body as she accepted his manhood, the soft cries of pleasure he could drive from her. Those images danced through his mind, alluring and forbidden.
Once he was done mending her—once a small part of him lived within her for a time—he wondered if she would know his hidden desires. And if she did, how would she react?
Warrian told himself it didn’t matter—that he would deflect whatever gratitude or closeness she felt for him. He would remain himself, honor intact.
He laid the shimmering green threads of the garala over her shoulder, draping them carefully across her reddened skin. She sucked in a sudden breath, then let it out again as a soft moan.
Warrian froze. “Did that hurt?”
“No. It’s good. Keep going.”
He let the garala guide him, feeling the gentle tug of power flowing between his fingers. It pulled his hands closer until they rested upon her skin.
She closed her eyes and her head fell back to the cushion behind her. “You’re so warm.”
A single pulse of satisfaction beat through him, but it had nothing to do with honor or duty. It had nothing to do with his station or his mission. It had everything to do with knowing the beautiful woman before him had found pleasure at his touch.
As the garala worked, it pulled from him the energy it needed. He was used to the greedy tug of power that battle demanded, but healing was something he rarely did. He’d forgotten the toll it took on the wielder, that sharp, endless hunger the garala carved into one’s being as it consumed what it needed to mend flesh and bone. The sucking vortex went through him, leaving him shaking and spent, but he refused to stop until the empress was fully repaired.
Gossamer strands of green light cascaded over her skin. Her eyelids fluttered, and soft, sleepy sounds of contentment fell from her lips.
He stared at her mouth in an effort to distract himself from the ravenous demands of the garala. He wished he could feel her lips on his once more—only this time he would take his time. Kiss her, taste her. Thoroughly. He’d have her melting under him again as she had before, accepting him as if he were a man allowed such a treasure.
The image he’d cast in his mind nearly blinded him. It burned too bright, too hot, calling his attention from his task. He tried to shove the tempting fantasy away, but the glow was still there in the back of his mind, taunting him with things that could never be.
Warrian increased the pressure around her joint, trying to remember who she was. This wasn’t any woman. This was the empress, ruler of the ocean Loriah and the lands that dwelled therein.
He was a soldier. A simple man given a dangerous mission—one from which he was not likely to return alive. He would never rise in the ranks if he failed here, even if he was lucky enough to survive. This mission to return Isa and the other Loriahan children to their people was his one and only chance to make up for the blight his father had left.
He would not repeat his father’s mistakes. He would put duty before all else, before the c
all of the flesh. He would cleanse his family’s name. His future children would grow up able to hold their heads high, without shame.
Once he returned the empress to Loriah, his life would never again intersect with hers, which was as it should be. She would be a distant, glowing memory—a story he told his children.
The garala’s light faded, crackling and sparking until it sputtered out. Its greedy feeding ceased, leaving him feeling hollow and weakened. But the swelling was gone. Her joint was no longer misshapen. All signs of bruising were gone, even the handprint circling her arm.
He lifted his hands from her silken skin, trailing his fingers across her in an involuntary caress. His hands shook, shocking him. He tried to tell himself that the weakness was due to the strain of healing her, but he knew better. He’d been through countless battles, wielding the garala for days and his hands had never shaken before.
She did this to him. With her intoxicating warmth and soft sounds of pleasure.
Her eyelids trembled as if she were trying to open them but found them too heavy. Her words were slow and halting. “That was so much better than the ER. It’s like my whole body is shimmering from the inside.”
His cloak had sagged open, revealing too much skin. A rosy glow spread over her, leaving a flush across her chest and face that reminded Warrian far too keenly of arousal. She lay there against the back of the couch, sprawled and relaxed, a faint smile on her mouth, looking as if she’d just found the sweetest pleasure.
And he had been the one to give it to her.
Warrian swallowed past the lust clogging his throat. He was aware that using the garala in that manner could create artificial bonds. It could make people feel closer than they truly were. It could make a soldier forget that women of nobility were banned from them—a temptation that could not go beyond fantasy. Ever.
And yet, looking at her now, knowing he’d given her pleasure, it was easy to see a path where a warrior could act upon his fantasies, rather than the laws that held their world together.
She reached for him, her slender fingers trailing along his cheek. “You are so sexy.”
