Mistress of Death

by Jeya Jenson

  Throat constricting painfully, her voice stumbled. “Taran,” she whispered. “Is it really you?” Her face burned when he took her hand in his own and nodded.

  Letting her hand drop, he unknotted the sash at his waist. Lifting his tunic over his head, he parted the folds of his stained string tie undershirt. There, etched above his left nipple was a tattoo. But his was no longer perfect. Deep, heavy scars had almost obliterated it.

  “Taran of Amarak doesn’t exist anymore,” he said in a low voice. “I never embraced the power I was born to assume in the legion, nor have I ever wanted to. Here, among the no-people, I am known only as Ardan. To them I have no past, as they do not themselves.” He closed his shirt, covering the hateful mark.

  There was a brief silence between them. Outside, the night winds blew, whistling around the edges of the walls, the cold moist breeze huffing down the chimney to fan the fire in the heath.

  A flicker of a smile came to his lips, coming and going like summer lightening. “All the years I have been away from the cult, I have thought of you, Dria. Even then I saw your budding beauty, saw that you would be pure of heart and spirit. I wanted for the longest time to bring you here.” He spoke her name with such a humble intensity and longing that her breath caught in her lungs.

  “Your coming today was a deliberate plan?” she asked, with a strangled cry of comprehension. “To claim me?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. There was a strangely needy tone in his voice, as if he wanted to blurt out everything at once. “I wanted to share the truth with you, perhaps even persuade you to make other choices. I thought since we were pledged as children…”

  Again, he paused, his intent features betraying an emotion so stark that Dria could not face it. She bristled, fighting to keep her composure in the light of his startling revelations. Her brain was spinning with confusion. She did not want to accept his words, to think that he had willfully kidnapped her to… what?

  For a moment, her tongue would not obey her, but at last she managed to gather her wits about her. She lifted her chin, giving him a sharp look. “You thought wrong, Taran, or whatever you call yourself among these savages. My choices have also been my wishes.”

  In the back of her mind, though, she knew her words were not true. Since the day of her birth, her entire life had been guided toward a single goal. She had no will of her own to turn away from the path others had chosen for her to walk. Had she shown the slightest weakness, she would have been cast aside as feeble, useless. The Dragon allowed for no wavering of faith. Ardan, too, might claim he had a choice, but that was hardly true either. Once the occult had a hold on a soul, the gods were loath to let it go. In a way, both were pawns, manipulated by otherworld forces they really could not understand or comprehend, only acknowledge.

  Hearing her words, his eyes abruptly lost the luster of a love-struck calf. Gaze hardening, his voice was low and furious.

  “The legion wants survival through the death of the weak,” he snapped, nostrils flaring in anger. He gestured toward the bowl of stew. “Just be quiet and eat your food before I change my mind about letting the men outside take you as they will.”

  Picking up his own bowl, he began to ladle the food into his mouth, barely stopping to chew before he swallowed. He ate, staring into the flames.

  The silence he’d wrapped himself in was almost stifling. Between her nerves and the trauma of the day, she was on edge. Tense. Not knowing what the next moment was going to hold for her was excruciating. She was totally dependent on this man to keep her alive. She thought about the weapons across the room. If she could get her hands on one of his knives, she might have a chance of escaping. She might not escape alive, but she could at least try to take a few of the warriors with her. Dying in service to the Dragon would certainly bestow a great honor on her family.

  Letting him retreat into his own thoughts, Dria lifted her own bowl and peered into its depth. Chunks of meat floated amid pieces of potato and carrots and wild onion. Though she was not an eater of meat, she picked up her spoon and dipped it into the bowl. She tentatively lifted it to her mouth, taking a delicate taste. To her surprise, it tasted as good as it smelled. The stew had been seasoned with sage and other wild herbs. She realized that she did still need to eat something.

  Dipping her spoon in again, she took a larger bite. The feel of warm food going down her throat strengthened her. Taking a bite of the bread he’d given her, she washed it down with a big gulp of wine.

  “What is this meat?” she asked, trying a piece. It was tender, almost melting in her mouth.

  He shot her a suspicious look. “Wild grouse,” he grunted.

  “This is good.”

  She took another bite and then another. In no time at all, she had emptied the bowl and finished the bread, surprising herself with her appetite. She did not protest when he filled her bowl a second time.

  When the meal was finished, Ardan took the eating utensils, washed them in the stone basin and put them away. It amused Dria that a man should be doing a woman’s work, but logic would dictate that when a man had no woman to serve him, he must do the menial chores himself. That done, he fetched a large ceramic bowl. Carrying it to the hearth, he fished the second kettle out of the fire and poured steaming hot water into the bowl. Going to his trunk at the foot of the bed, he took out a few items and returned, setting them out. Some soft clean cloths for washing and a couple of vials made of apothecary glass. A rarity, these small cylindrical bottles had been used for thousands of years for transporting and storing healing medicines.

  “Take off the blanket,” he ordered.

  Dria bristled, eyeing the items suspiciously. “What for?”

  “You have wounds that need tending.” He poured the content of one bottle into the water. Medicinal scents from plants known for their healing properties were carried forth on the steam, an astringent cleansing wash.

  She lashed out automatically, “Why are you even bothering? I hardly think it matters if I die dirty and stinking.”

  He laughed and his eyes crinkled at the edges, the fine lines creasing his temples. Perhaps to show you that the Raiders are not all savages,” he said slowly. “To show you that we are men who only want homes…mates…to settle in one place and not be hunted because we wish to live free.”

  Giving him a narrow look of suspicion, she slowly turned her back on him, getting up on her knees. Without ceremony, he tugged the blanket away from her shoulders to bare her back. She immediately crossed her arms over her breasts. Then, she heard him dip a cloth into the bowl and wring out the water, before feeling the warmth across her torn back. The heat felt wonderful against her frayed skin. Her head fell forward and a soft moan escaped her lips.

  “That feels so good.” Startled by her intense reaction to his gentle touch, she closed her eyes, but it did not lessen his presence and the pleasure she was beginning to feel as he washed her. The hair at the nape of her neck prickled, sending a shiver down her spine. Though she wanted to be repulsed by his touch, her senses were veering in the opposite direction. Licking dry lips, she almost jumped when the cloth brushed the nape of her neck.

  “Turn around,” she heard him say.

  Dria tightened her grip on her shoulders, covering her breasts as though guarding precious treasure. When she made no move, he reached out and forcibly turned her around and then took the blanket. She made a grab for it, but he tossed it out of her reach.

  He let his eyes roam over the rest of her. “What do you think you’re trying to hide?” he demanded. “I’ve already seen you fully spread out on the floor and ready to be taken.”

  Dipping the cloth into the water again, he caught her left hand and stretched out her arm, running the cloth over her mangled wrists. Straining against her bonds had worked vicious abrasive cuts into her flesh. He wiped away dirt, sweat and dried blood. When he’d finished, he took her right arm and repeated the procedure.

  His eyes raked over her naked skin, finding hers imploring him
in a silent way. Still, there was some resistance behind his touch, too. It was as though she was drawing him to her against his will. When his hand worked toward her chest, her breathing grew ragged and her heart began to pound against the walls of her ribcage. Her nipples hardened into little points. Between her legs, she could feel herself growing moist. She drew a shallow breath. How I’d like to feel the hardness of his body against mine.

  The forbidden thought shocked her and she blushed, her cheeks going as red as the coal in the hearth.

  With a cry, Dria pulled away and caught his straying hand between both of hers, plucking away the cloth.

  “I am capable of washing myself.” Her voice was strained, hardly sounding like her own. She continued her wash, quickly swishing the damp cloth over her breasts. Going down her stomach, she hesitated, loathe to clean such a private place under the prying eyes of a man. She nailed him down under an icy glare. “Some privacy, please!”

  The spell between them broken, his powerful shoulders moved in a shrug and he stood up. “As you wish.” He stared a moment, eyes narrowing. A play of conflicting emotions warred on his face. Anger, sadness and, dare she think it, desire? Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he stalked over to the door, opened it and slammed it behind him.

  Alone for a moment, Dria quickly lifted herself onto her knees and cleaned away the blood between her legs. Her pussy was tender, sore from the faux-phallus that had violently invaded her virgin depths. An ache knotted itself deep in her guts. She could not forget those primitive sensations his touch had stirred in her body as he washed her. What would it be like to spread her hands over his broad chest, feel his nipples grow hard under her palms? She could sense that his body was as hungry as her own, could see it in the depths of his eyes that he desired her.

  But such an idea was a profane one and she bit her lip, quelling the very notion.

  She turned her eyes toward the weapons hanging on the wall by the door. He’d left them behind. If she moved quickly, she could take a dagger to try and fight her way to freedom. The idea was a fleeting one, flitting away back into the attic of her skull when the door opened again.

  Carrying a large wooden bucket filled with water, Ardan crossed the room and set it on the crude table. Without a word or a glance in her direction, he gathered a few items to wash with. Stripping off his clothes, he discarded them in a pile at his feet. It was clear that he intended to have his own bath.

  Chapter Eleven

  As he washed and tended his own wounds, Dria couldn’t help but stare at his nude form. It was the first time she’d seen any grown man without his clothes and in such a close proximity. Yes, she knew a bit about the male anatomy, knew how sex was supposed to happen, but she’d never been in the presence of a living, breathing, naked man. Unwillingly fascinated, she let her eyes roam brashly over his body. Tall, rangy and muscular, he had broad shoulders and narrow hips, a flat stomach and long muscular legs. She knew that she should avert her eyes, but she simply stared at him, waiting.

  After what seemed an eternity, Ardan finished his bath and turned. His eyes held a strange frustration and a simmering, potent need. With his gaze fixed on her, his hand drifted toward his penis, but he didn’t touch himself. He simply stood, posed, letting her visually examine every inch of his body. His eyes never strayed from her face as he watched her swallow, gulping down air in nervousness. An amused smile drifted across his generous mouth.

  “Have you never seen a naked man?”

  Put on the spot, her senses tightened like a bowstring. “No,” she replied, impatient with herself. Sitting by the fire, her skin warmed by its cheery glow, she felt hot, her blood burning in her veins. She should have been afraid. It had been a very disturbing day. But their differences suddenly no longer seemed to matter. She sensed that she knew this man, that there was something oddly right in wanting him no matter the war between their people. No matter, even, that the dawn might bring her execution at his hand. She didn’t know how she knew that it was him she was to give herself to. She just did, assuring herself that she was indeed in possession of some strange power, some hidden sixth sense hidden inside her psyche. She wasn’t afraid. She felt he would not hurt her tonight.

  Tomorrow, though…

  Tomorrow be damned! Her body had a lot of unfulfilled needs. She felt a hunger for him as her eyes skimmed his strong, muscular frame. What would it be like to feel his hands on her hips, guiding their motion as he plunged his cock into her waiting depths? She could not move or even speak to protest his brash behavior. The temptation to give into him was a powerful one.

  As though he too, had the same thoughts, Ardan crossed to her, bending to take her arms and draw her to her feet as easily as a mother would lift a child. He swore softly and dragged her into his arms. As she leaned willingly into his sturdy body, she slid her hands up his chest and tilted back her head. Her thighs were touching his and her breasts pushed against his chest, her nipples erect and tingling, aching to be suckled.

  Closing her eyes, Dria savored his strong hold, the warmth emanating from his very masculine body. She leaned into him even as some shadowy fear warned her that she should pull away. She simply couldn’t, though. She was shaken by how badly she longed to be taken by this man. For some inexplicable reason, they were drawn together. He closed the narrow gap, not giving her time to think or draw back. Hand slipping down her back, he dipped his head and captured her lips with his.

  Trailing his palms over her hips, his hands slipped down around her ass cheeks as he drew her into his hard pulsing length. He moved his hips against hers. The hard, forceful passion of his kiss sent a wave of electricity shimmering through her body. She’d never known that something as simple as a kiss could be so bluntly intimate, but the feel of his tongue lashing hungrily within her mouth seemed so sensually hot that her limbs began to quiver, her senses to quicken. She felt the hardness of his blooming erection against her bare belly. The intensity of his body’s heat seemed to fuse his length to hers, settling into the center of her soul in a personal and intimate way. His bold, aggressive move was staggering and currents seemed to rip through her, rendering her aware of nothing but sheer sensation. She cried out, half in protest, half in desire, and tried to draw away when their kiss broke.

  “No.”

  Even as the weak word fell from her lips, he refused to let her go. “I want you, woman,” he whispered in a husky voice. He was so close. Tense. Hot. And seductive.

  Dria felt herself trembling under his stabbing gaze. She was naked, chilled away from the fire, yet burning with an infuriating, arousing anticipation.

  “Let me show you how a man can please a woman without pain, without humiliation.”

  Ardan went down on his knees, his muscled arms encircling her ass cheeks, drawing her to him. His kisses glided silkily over her abdomen, then slid to the very center of her sex. His hands moved under her rear, bracing her body and lifting her up onto the tips of her toes so that she was in the perfect position to be licked. Bracing one of her legs over his shoulder, his tongue moved up and down between her swollen lips, teasing her clit with maddening flicks. Her creamy juices drenched his face as he turned his head to suck one of her inner lips into his mouth before slipping his tongue into her opening. The tip of it circled her most sensitive spot for a second, and then he pushed it deeper into her.

  His bold, aggressive intimacy was staggering to a woman who’d never been made love to by a man. Electric currents ripped through her, rendering her aware of nothing but the sensations. She cried out as her fingers tore through his long blond hair. Her thighs tightened against his head when he squeezed her butt cheeks, his mouth working magic on her pussy. He tongued her hard, fucking her as she rubbed against his face. Even as she was crying out, wanting to push him away yet unable to stop him, her whole body was shaking, racing alarmingly toward a shattering climax, convulsing in a startling, swift pinnacle of saturating pleasure.

  Before she was aware of what wa
s happening, he was standing up, lifting her into his arms. With quick steps, he bore her down onto the bed in the far corner. The bed was simply constructed, a frame pegged together. Woven ropes provided support for a thick mattress of straw ticking stuffed into two wool blankets sewn together. Fur blankets were spread out on its top, a soft haven for bare skin, a little nest of nurturing warmth.

  Dria should have been angry, aloof, indignant, even. But she felt none of those emotions. Instead, she was dazed, stunned, even embarrassed, yet ever more eager for his kisses, his touch. He had no right to take her so, to touch her unasked and unbidden. Yet logic and emotions didn’t matter at this very moment. He was taking her because he was done with waiting. He wanted her, had kidnapped her and now that he knew she had no will to deny him, he was going to have her. Perhaps he even knew that she was dying for his touch, dying to touch him in turn. Perhaps he had seen the hunger in her eyes.

  Ardan must have sensed some hesitation in her, for he made no move to mount her. Instead, he stretched his lean frame against her, laying a strong leg against both of hers. Light blonde hair covered his arms and his chest was sleek, solid, deliciously muscled. She could tell that his body was as eager as her own for his cock jutted out, straining.

  “I will not force you,” he said softly. And though his words said he would let her make the choice, his body had already made his.

  Never having been alone in bed with a wholly naked man who had the intent of making love for the sheer pleasure of it, Dria was curious about the workings of the male anatomy.

  “May I touch you?”

  “Yes,” he replied in a hoarse whisper that conveyed both his need and eagerness.

  She sat up and kissed his chest, running her hands over his hard abdomen. His huge frame shuddered under her touch. Trailing her fingers across his muscular chest, she circled a dusky nipple. Her hand moved lower to find the penis nestling snugly in a thatch of tight pubic curls. Hesitating, she timidly wrapped her fingers around his erection.