Taking Karre (Divinity Warriors 4)

by Pillow Michelle M.

  By all the bloody battleaxes in Staria, he just wanted her.

  One taste wasn’t enough. He leaned against the wall, bracing is weight with one hand as he pleasured himself with the other. His guest chambers were sparse, like most of the rooms in Battlewar, containing a trunk, a table, an adequate bed, a cushioned chair, a lit fireplace and a wall filled with weapons. There was no need for finery. He wouldn’t be staying long.

  Vidar knew the necessity of the breeding ceremony for their people, but, as the esteemed Lord Sorin often said, “Nothing in the process of prancing women before the warriors, who pick them based on an urge, guarantees a well-made match.” He was inclined to agree. If he chose a bride based on an urge, he’d be taking Lady Karre home with him this night.

  The longer his kind went without the exhausting pleasure of the bed, the more their moods were said to be altered—or so their women complained. He pumped his calloused hand harder and faster, trying to get rid of that base urge. Every logical part told him claiming Karre would be a mistake. She was beautiful, dangerous, manipulative. The more he lay awake the night before thinking of her, analyzing every second of their time together, the more he knew she wouldn’t be the type of mate he sought.

  Vidar switched hands, adjusting his weight. After coming three times that morning, his body wasn’t finishing as quickly. He planned on ridding himself of all desire so he’d not be swayed by her pretty face.

  He felt the end coming and turned, pressing his back into the wall as he went at it with both hands. Vidar cupped his balls, pumping his tight fist harder and faster. Oh, but how her pussy gripped him. And those soft breasts. Moist, sucking lips. So wet. So sweet. So hot.

  The muscles in his stomach tightened. “Agh,” he cried out roughly as he came. Breathing hard, he looked at the bed where the silken garments had been laid out by a maid. Tradition demanded grooms dress in the shiny clothing. Vidar sighed heavily. It was an odd reminder of what was coming—silk where he was used to seeing armor.

  Crossing over to a basin of water, he washed his hands and swore he heard Lady Karre’s mocking laughter. He hit the water surface hard with the flat of his palm, making it splash over the sides and onto his knee. The trail tickled as it brushed against him, just like her hair had done when she crawled over his thighs.

  Vidar braced his hands on the small table before forcibly pushing up. His cock stirred, as if mindlessly searching for Lady Karre to comfort it. With a growl, he grabbed the shaft almost angrily. It looked as if he’d be coming for a fifth time before the ceremony began.

  Chapter Three

  Because right now, in this moment, she was getting married.

  Marriage. It was never something Karre had considered. Well, she had considered a fake engagement once, but that really didn’t count since she would have gotten off the plane before saying her vows. Here, now, standing in the main hall of Battlewar Castle, she realized there was no way out—no matter how often she searched her rope-bound wrists looking for the portable jump prototype—because right now, in this moment, she was getting married.

  A crescendo of laughter and cheering resounded over the hall. The boisterous uproar had been going on for some time, as excitement pumped through the crowd. Women wiggled and pranced in their tight corset tops and billowing skirts, trying to entice the men. Some of the gigantic knights wore lightweight tunics, others leather jerkins like the guards, others light chainmail and pieces of armor, and still others wore no shirt at all. Big metal goblets had been set before them, next to matching pitchers, on the long rows of rectangular tables. Muscles bulged, littered with puckered scars and tattooed designs.

  The light came from a large fireplace on the far side of the room. Like most things in this place, it was immense and towering. Woven tapestries lined the walls in strips of material, showcasing coats-of-arms and various symbols. Karre looked around, studying the artifacts, wondering how much they’d be worth in trade.

  Not now. Blend in.

  Karre turned her attention to the head table, set high above the hall at the end of the room as a place of honor for the bridegrooms. Out of all the ceremonies on all the planes, she had never seen something as simple as the Starian marriage. Already two of the women had been claimed. Karre frowned, trying to remember their names—Jayne and Lilith. She hadn’t really been paying close attention from the moment it became evident they wouldn’t be able to help her escape. The women had discussed fighting, but nothing came of it.

  An oversized, ill-tempered man they called Lord Sorin pointed at Lilith, stating the single word, “Mine,” and, with that, they’d been married. Next, Lord Ronen, Sorin’s brother, pointed at Jayne. “Mine.” And so, too, was Jayne wed.

  In a way, Karre respected it. No pretense, no lies, just a simple point of the finger, a single uttered word and it was done. There were no promises of never-ending love, of happily-ever-after, of enduring whatever.

  She looked at Vidar, meeting his guarded gaze. Karre tried to smile at him, but he quickly turned his eyes away. Her smile fell. It wasn’t like she wanted to be married to him, she assured herself. Why should she care who chose her? All the men appeared to be well-built and made of muscles. Sir Vidar wasn’t so special. He just happened to be the first one of them she’d run into. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to actually honor vows she didn’t agree to.

  Karre watched him carefully, taking in his every movement while trying to appear as if she wasn’t. Vidar looked at her again and she pointedly ignored him. Two could play his game. She glanced at Paige before turning to look over her shoulder at the watching crowd. A grinning redhead in bright green sank beneath a long table filled with knights. By the way her man’s head rolled back and his hand slipped under the table, it was clear the woman was indiscreetly sucking the guy’s cock. Karre saw a couple of others do the same around the hall. Oddly enough, no one seemed to notice the bold behavior.

  When no one spoke to claim Paige or herself, she turned back to the table. Four men remained, presumably one had already chosen Paige. If she wasn’t mistaken, it had to be the man who stood first in line by the way he tried too hard not to look directly at the woman. Each bridegroom wore a different-colored long tunic, reaching to the knees, over tight brown breeches. Woven belts were knotted at their waists, the end straps hanging along the right thighs. All were strong, with proud eyes and humorless expressions. The first limped when he walked, but by the way he stared at the other bride, Karre easily assumed he belonged to Paige. Remaining were Sir Vidar, a brown-blond man with a pronounced scar on his cheek, and a bearded knight with irritated eyes.

  Blend in, Karre. Right now you are a bride.

  If bold behavior was what these men wanted, then that was exactly what she would give them.

  “Oh, all right, I’ll start,” Karre announced, drawing attention to herself. Paige seemed almost relieved. She grinned at the bridegrooms and batted her lashes, doing her best not to look too long at Vidar as she gave the others equal attention. “My name is Karre. I like jewels, riches, power, servants, fine clothes and to be worshiped daily.” She paused and arched a challenging brow, “I also like to get my way. Any takers?”

  The brown-blond warrior looked horrified by her announcement and recoiled in his seat. He ran his fingers through his short hair before scratching the scar on his cheek.

  “Come on, gentlemen, don’t be shy,” Karre strode before them, feeling very much like an auctioneer selling herself. She carried her bound arms like the situation was an everyday occurrence. “I only bite when I want to.”

  Sir Vidar cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. Karre winked at him, unable to help herself as she witnessed his obvious discomfort.

  The irritated man snorted and shook his head in denial. Standing, he said, “I have no wish for a bride. Excuse me.”

  Karre laughed, highly amused by the way he practically ran to get away from her. Perhaps she’d be the first woman in their history to not be claimed. She supposed if no one ma
rried her, she would be free to leave. Ignoring the slight ping to her ego, she dropped her arms in front of her. “Here I am in a room full of warriors and not a one of them is man enough to handle me. I must say this sets a personal record.”

  “I can handle you.” Sir Vidar stood. “Mine.”

  Karre arched a brow in challenge. Inside, she trembled, unsure if it was fear or excitement that took hold of her at his words. “We’ll see about that, soldier.”

  “Rejoice, Sir Vidar has chosen!” a herald announced their match, trying to hide his laugh. Wild calls sounded behind her, encouraging Vidar and teasing her.

  Vidar bowed slightly in her direction before walking toward a side entrance near the head table. She followed behind him, her body eager to feel his, even as a sense of foreboding unraveled in her brain. A strange instinct told her to run, to not follow him even though he led to inevitable pleasure and great sex.

  I want him too much. I should run.

  She swallowed, suddenly nervous at the realization. How could she keep herself detached when she couldn’t stop staring at his firm ass beneath the drape of his long tunic? She listened for his low, seductive voice, liking the way it made her stomach tense in instant arousal. The farther they walked from the main hall, the more she began to ache. Cream gathered between her thighs, wetting her pussy in anticipation. Logic didn’t stand a chance.

  Vidar wasn’t sure if he should be happy or angry that Karre’s challenge had goaded him to take her as a wife. After finding release five times, he had seriously thought he was up to resisting her. Instead, his cock had gotten hard at the first look of her in her white gown. The fireplace lit her from behind, showcasing shadowed curves—lush, soft, perfect curves. His hands flexed, his heart raced, and he knew he couldn’t let any other man have her.

  However illogical the decision might be, what was done was done and it could not be changed now. He was a man after all and a man needed a wife. Karre was more beautiful than he’d wanted, but he couldn’t deny the terrible ache in his loins and the desperate need he felt to have her again. The rest would come in time. With Starian marriages, it always did. He just had to trust that the gods knew what was best and had given him the urge to choose his bride.

  Pushing open the door to his assigned chamber, he knew that his belongings—all but a change of clothes—were already packed and on their way back to Spearhead Fortress along with the rest of the supplies. He waited for her to walk in, wondering at the expression on her face. It didn’t match the almost frightened look in her eyes.

  Was she scared? Of him?

  “Why did you run from me?” he asked, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms. It seemed strange to ask her that, when there were so many things he should think to ask of his new bride. He opened his mouth but stopped himself from adding, Did I do something wrong? Did I fail your test for me? The questions would make him seem weak.

  “I had some place to be,” she answered. How easily she dismissed him with her easy voice and light toss of her hand, as if his question was nothing. Then, giving a wry laugh, she said, “Apparently, I had to get ready for my wedding day.”

  “You did not wish to be chosen.” Vidar tried to understand. Perhaps time would help him translate her moods, but right now they frustrated him beyond all recognizable belief. “But you said…?”

  She stepped close to his chest, looking up at him with steady eyes. The nearness cut off his words. “I believe you claimed to be man enough to handle me, my sir.”

  “Sir,” he corrected.

  Her mouth tightened at one corner. “I said sir.”

  “You said, ‘my sir’,” he said. “It is just sir. Or you may call me husband.” Vidar found it difficult to say the last word aloud to her. It seemed too new, too strange.

  Her eyed dipped to settle on the middle of his chest and did not lift back up. “Yes, I suppose I could call you that, warrior man.”

  She didn’t call him “husband”. Vidar didn’t make her.

  Sexual tension held tight in his body, but still he hesitated. This wasn’t like before. Now she was his bride, his wife, his mate. The moment seemed to call for more intimacy than before, but as she had said, he was a warrior. What did warriors know of intimacy? Should he say something nice to her? A compliment, perhaps? Ladies seemed to like those. “You appear to be very strong.”

  Her eyes shot back up with a small laugh. He looked into their brown depths, willing her thoughts to enter his mind, to answer all his unasked and un-thought-of questions without his having to ask them. Those accursed eyes kept their secrets well hidden.

  “And you appear to be very strong, as well, warrior.” She touched the spot on his chest that had held her notice moments before. Running her finger down a direct path to his navel, she added, “And warm.” The fingertip rimmed his belly button through the soft tunic before skimming over the thin trail of hair hidden beneath the cloth. “And firm.” Her touch danced in such a way as to bring his shirt up inch by slow inch. “And you smell nice, of herbs and fresh air.” As if to prove her point, she swayed closer, breathing deeply. Her eyes closed and she licked her lips. Her fingers found naked flesh on his stomach, but instead of trailing back up, she skimmed his waistband searching for his laces. “And I seem to remember your taste being…”

  Vidar’s breathing deepened. His hands flexed. This was not how he would have envisioned this night to be, with a bride doing the seduction, yet he couldn’t bring himself to interfere with her plans. She wanted him. That was a very good start. Perhaps the gods knew what they were doing. They had given him a woman to slake his desires.

  Then what was the little nagging feeling in the back of his soul?

  She blinked, her lashes dipping slowly over her eyes. He fell under her complete spell. Those lips parted with a breath that hit his neck, soft and warm. She moaned, so light that he wasn’t sure he didn’t just merely feel it. He took a deep breath, wondering when the suspension of time would be over and they would again move toward each other. The scent of her flesh, a new memory, but a strong one, wafted over him.

  Vidar stayed entranced in her gaze as he lifted his hand to touch her arm. Her fingers loosened the ties at his waist. He shifted his weight, lifting his foot to pull off one boot and then the other. As his bare feet hit the floor, he again touched her arm.

  “What do I taste like?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “There’s an ocean on another plane and when I stand on the cliffs, face to the crashing surf, it splashes very lightly on my face to make my lips taste like a gentle salt and sweet air. You skin reminds me of that. But your mouth is a different thing altogether. Your lips taste like…”

  Vidar kissed her tenderly. He gripped her arm, drawing her near. Her breasts grazed his chest, a tease of more to come. Karre’s fingers stopped working on the laces as they slid around his waist to his back. She held him to her. Tiny jolting sensations raced over his skin where flesh touched flesh, exploding in his lips, radiating over his back and stomach. His cock reached for her, begging for its own aggressive contact, but Vidar held back, enjoying the taste of her mouth.

  “Like a man who should be kissed,” she whispered, when they parted to share a joined, shaky breath.

  A fine haze clouded her eyes. She kept her mouth close to his so that they breathed the same air. Her hand stayed on his back, keeping him to her. Her lashes fluttered violently and she pulled back, as if stunned by her own admission.

  This time the words were harder, not as vulnerable. “Like a man who should be kissed everywhere.” Aggressively, she pushed at his stomach, forcing him up against a wall. “Take off the shirt.”

  Vidar pulled at his tunic and tossed it aside.

  “Mm, good warrior,” she murmured. Karre leaned in to nip at his chest, biting only to lick at the insignificant wound. Hands slid over his chest, palms flat and exploring. Her lips wrapped around a nipple, pursing for a kiss. He shivered and closed his eyes as she trailed warm kisses along the folds of his
muscles. She touched his sides, his chest, his neck and jaw, all the while continuing the exploration with her mouth.

  Vidar massaged her back, crushing her white gown in his hands. He maneuvered it up to reveal her legs. “Take off your gown.”

  Karre laughed. “You’re not in charge, warrior.” She bit him harder.

  “I am—”

  She bit him again, harder still. A small gasp escaped him and the pleasure the tiny pain caused. Karre raked her nails over his stomach, causing the muscles of his abdomen to contract.

  “You are not in charge here, warrior,” she insisted, digging her nails just a little deeper. “I am.”

  “Yea,” he whispered, finding himself mindlessly agreeing with her. “You are.”

  “Very good, warrior.” The pressure of her nails lightened. She pushed back. “Unlace your pants.”

  He glanced down to where she’d tried to untie his breeches. The knots had been loosened and retightened in her fumbling to get them undone. He smiled, grabbed a single strand and tugged. She watched as the knot pulled apart.

  “Turn around,” she ordered. He arched a questioning brow but did not deny her. Karre ran her hands down his back like claws. The cold sensation of the uneven stone hit hard against his chest and stomach. She rubbed his back, exploring every inch with her firm caress. Then taking his wrists, she lifted his hands up so they pressed near his head. His forehead pressed forward and he closed his eyes.

  Karre pushed the breeches down on his hips, letting them hang low. She scratched his ass, fondling it with hard, deep presses of her hands. Her tongue ran up his spine. His hips flexed forward, bumping his covered cock into the unforgiving stone.

  “Ah,” he gasped, his hands dropping somewhat at the involuntary movement. She pushed at his elbows, forcing them back to their original position.

  “So many scars.” She traced haphazard patterns over his back where he’d been struck with weapons in battle. “Move your arms again and I’ll give you another one.”