Mine! he wanted to shout. All mine, for now and forever! But he knew better. Not now. Not yet. First he must break the Daemoness.
She had asked him to trust her. He almost felt that he could. When he was done, when she lay helpless beneath him, too spent and exhausted to argue, he would tell her the rest. For now there was only the taste of her, sweet and salty against his tongue, and the feel of her body trembling beneath his touch.
The Daemoness would not break. He was the one who broke. He wanted her, needed to feel her tight sheath close like a fist around his cock, his aching, wanting, needing cock. She clawed at him as he pulled away, crying out, then clawed at him again, pulling him closer. He moved over her to wait trembling at her entrance for an invitation.
"Braunnan," he whispered.
Bright gold eyes focused on his face, glittering in the dark, as she arched up off the furs to take him within her.
It was like coming home. Nothing had ever felt so perfect, so right. He fought to remember to breathe as he slid home, pushing against muscles that were already quivering and contracting around him, pulling back slowly, so that he could feel the waves of pleasure convulsing around him. More of her steaming juices flowed over him, stinging the head of his cock, making it easier to push his way into her, lubricating his path.
He lifted her legs through the crooks of his elbows as he knelt between her thighs, opening her wider to his thrusting, pushing deeper into her, filling her until his balls slapped against her ass in the rhythm of a wild drum beat.
More. He could feel her desperation clawing at him. She wanted more. He wanted more. They wanted more. Harder. Faster. He jerked against her in a blinding frenzy as the room went black, filling for the first time with stars he could see with his eyes open. He was the one who broke, as, ultimately, he'd known he would be. The Daemoness had won. He screamed out her name as her slick sheath fisted around him, demanding his offering as his seed shot into her, milking him, leaving him helpless as he convulsed against her, unable to separate his lust, his need, his fulfillment, his release from hers.
When at last he collapsed at her side, spent and exhausted, he felt the emptiness close over him again, and he knew that he had lost. And then her arms wrapped around him, her head nestled against the hollow over his heart, her leg thrown over his thigh, and she filled him again, her contentment overwhelming him as he cradled her against the length of his hard, hollow body.
First light was soon enough to speak of the world above. For this shift there was only this, this warmth, this safety. Within moments she was asleep in his arms.
* * * * *
The constant drip of the water was a torture he could not escape, like the smell of the mildewed stone walls and the damp that seeped through the floors into the core of his being. He hadn't eaten for several cycles. His gut was so hollow it might have been a reflection of his soul.
Worse was the hole they'd ripped in his heart.
For the first time, he felt truly defiled. They'd broken him at last. And they'd done it so easily. All it had taken was the touch of a woman's hands against his skin.
He threw back his head and roared out a cry of grief, his despair echoing through the dungeon.
"Shhh!" Strong arms pinned him against a deceptively soft chest. "Hush now. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you. I'm here."
He sobbed incoherently against her chest as reality shifted again. "I was back in my cell. You were gone. I was so empty…"
"Don't leave me again," she whispered, rocking gently as he curled against her, her lips brushing over the top of his head. "I need you here with me."
"You were gone…"
"No. Stay with me."
"I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know what's real."
"I'm real," she assured him. "As real as you are. I need you. I don't want to be alone again."
She was turning it all around…he hadn't gone anywhere. Or had he? He'd been back in his cell…how could that be? She was still here. They were still here. In her cabin.
She was the Daemoness, come to trick him again.
Yet he felt no deception in her. Only concern and caring and—and something stronger he was afraid to name. Were there two realities? Did he have the power to choose? Could he make this life real simply by believing in it? In her? "Braunnan," he whispered. "Braunnan, Mistress of the Fifth House of Clan Bear."
"Yes!" she encouraged, laughing through her tears. "You remember! I was afraid you would not know me this time."
This time? Had he come and gone before?
He licked his lips, trying to decide how much he could share with her, how much he trusted her. "I—it was dirty, and dark, and I was afraid to go to sleep…" he took a deep breath, trying to reconcile the two realities. "It was all real, wasn't it? The cell. Everything. You took me out of the cell."
"The cell was real. But it's over now. Now I'm here, and I'm real."
Whether she was real or not, she certainly believed she was real. There was more, too. That stronger something that went beyond believing and caring. She felt possessive towards him. She felt—No. He could not be reading her right. Still, she cared about him.
He straightened, finding the strength to look at her face to face, his fingers brushing over the curve of her cheek, the strong, defined point of her chin, the soft, silky bow of her lips. "Braunnan."
"Yes."
Her breath felt warm and moist against his fingers. "If you're real, then the other things…"
"You were dreaming."
He wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe this was real. And that would be his undoing. "I could taste the filth in the air, could feel the damp clinging to my skin."
"Dreams can feel real. Sometimes my dreams feel so real I think I'm dreaming when I wake up here. Sometimes I feel so lost and alone…"
It was his turn to comfort now. His turn to hold and console. The action was so alien to him that merely slipping his arm around her, pulling her against his chest, brought out a fierce protectiveness in him he'd not suspected himself of. "What frightens you, Braunnan?" he whispered into her hair. "What do you dream about?"
A tinge of fear colored her. She wished now that she hadn't told him so much. He cut her off before she could say the words out loud. "I will believe you. You do not have to prove yourself to me, Braunnan. Not now, not ever."
"I—I dream of our past. Of our people's past. Before we came to this place. We were not always so, a subjugated race. I dream of freedom."
No wonder she was frightened. "You know. You know what we must do."
"I know we were not meant to live so, buried beneath the mountain, our magic held in check, our children born as slaves."
The lights were fading in. The walls outside the cabin began to glow with a pale phosphorescent parody of the sun they mimicked. He chuckled as he ruffled her hair. "You must not say such things aloud, or you will yet end up in my cell. Come. The work-shift begins. Another new cycle awaits us."
Braunnan ran her hand through the wispy curls that covered his chest, setting off this new emotion, this feeling of protectiveness and possessiveness, in him afresh. "I like to swim in the lake before start of shift. Would you care to join me?"
Watch her swim, naked and slick as an otter, and come to him dripping and shimmering in the early shift light? When there was not time to do aught about the erection he'd be trying to conceal? The woman was torture itself. "The chain's a bit much to try to swim with, but I will go to the lake with you." As if he could help himself…
"The chain! I can't believe I forgot about the chain!" She scrambled to her feet, holding out her hand to him. "Come. We must take care of that damn chain."
He felt his face color, knowing that she could see the direction his thoughts had taken at the mention of the lake. "M'Lady, I would not be an embarrassment to you. I cannot parade about your quadrant naked."
Her smile left no doubt as to whether she'd noticed his reaction. "Why would I find you embarrassing? You're rathe
r pleasing to look at this way."
"'Tis not appropriate. I am not some young cubling, to wander around naked." And randy as an unschooled boy, he thought to himself. He had to reestablish some control in his life. Some self-discipline. Some…
She bent to extract a tunic from the footlocker against the wall, and his cock sprang to full attention as her breasts dangled before him, full and ripe and plump, like fruit waiting to fill his hand. Her ass faced him, rounded curves turned up like an invitation. The thinking side of his brain, if he had one, shut down. He crossed the small room to her in one stride, his hands framing that lovely ass as he tipped her back against his aching cock.
"Mmm." She didn't try to push him away. Instead she rubbed herself against him, breaking his last hold on sanity. His hand slipped between her legs, spreading her open, feeling her first juices gush onto his fingers as he warned her of what was coming. She spread her feet farther apart, rocking hard against his exploring fingers, a small moan shaking her as she slammed the lid of the locker shut, the tunic caught in her fisted hands.
Still, he hesitated. It was too sudden. He hadn't prepared her properly. He hadn't considered anything but his own hunger, and the inviting picture she presented. He pulled back slightly, trying to think of an appropriate apology. "Braunnan, I'm sorry. I—"
"No you don't. No explanations. We don't have time. Shut up and fuck me," she ordered, pressing back against him.
She bent lower, leaning onto her forearms over the chest. His cock, at least, knew how to follow orders. He thrust hard into her waiting sheath, his hands gripping her hips as he rammed against her. She was as hot and willing as if he'd spent an hour making her ready. He felt her clenching at him already, and he shoved harder, faster, sliding a hand around to stroke over her clit in rhythm to his thrusts.
He was in control. He could do whatever he wanted. But what he wanted, what he needed, became secondary to her pleasure as he felt her tense, felt her strain against him, helpless to do anything but support herself. He could feel her, feel her universe narrow down to the aching need, the need that only he could fill, and he wanted nothing more than to pleasure her until she fell limp into his arms.
"Yes!" she shrieked as she broke around him, her muscles tightening as if to hold him within her. She locked rigidly beneath him, her juices washing over him like a balm.
It was not enough. He gave her a moment to regain her senses before he drove into her again, harder, faster, demanding more. She shattered around him again and yet again, her skin damp and slick now with the strain of their exertion, her breathing hard and fast like a runner's.
"Now," she managed as she reached for her peak yet again. "Come for me now. I can't take any more."
He held her now, supporting her as her legs buckled, easing them both to their knees without breaking his rhythm. So tight. Had she not been wet and slick with the release of their mating he might not have been able to move within her she was so tight. He abandoned his control, convulsing against her like a madman, feeling her quake beneath him as she broke, her spiraling release sweeping him up until he shattered within her, his seed washing over them both as she cried out mindlessly.
He nipped at her neck, licking at the imagined wound, too sated to do more than collapse beside her in the furs. Her contentment filled him, seeking out all the empty, hollow places and washing them clean, chasing away the smell of the cold, dank cell.
"You frighten me," she whispered against his chest.
"You don't feel frightened."
"I feel. I…I care about you. I haven't cared about anyone in a very long time. I promised myself I wouldn't let this happen. Now here I am. Someone matters to me. When you leave me, I will have to learn how to be alone all over again."
"Why would I leave you?"
Silent tears fell from her eyes. "Because you will heal. You will remember who you were, where you belong. Once you tire of our mating cycle you will return to your life. Such is the way of our world. Yet when you go, my world will no longer seem complete."
He bent his head to kiss her eyelids. "I know who I am. I am a man who is lucky enough to have found the missing pieces of my soul. I will not leave you. Not until you tire of me. And I pray that will be a long, long time from now."
"That will be a very long time, my mate. A very long time indeed. Longer than just the matings required to prepare my body to conceive."
* * * * *
A cub. Cubs. Cubs with her strange amber eyes. Cubs with the face he'd seen in the surface of the lake. How could they bring cubs into this world?
Memories came drifting back. There was another world. He'd begun to remember when she spoke of her dreams. Yet the curtain of fear shrouded that world. Still, new resolve helped him battle his fears. When he closed his eyes and looked up, he could picture it all. The warmth on his face. The brightness that was too much for his unshielded eyes. If the rest would not follow, if he led but one other back to the world above, at least he would not pass on the Torc of slavery to their cubs. Somehow he would make her believe…
"Sandish, give me a hand here please."
A muscle-bound giant who somehow looked vaguely familiar turned at Braunnan's words, his smithy hammer poised mid-strike. "M'Lady?"
The Daemoness handed over his chain as if he were one of the goats being handed off to the butcher.
No. She was not the Daemoness. By the gods, he knew better. She was Braunnan. He had come to trust her. She would not hurt him.
Braunnan, Mistress of the Fifth House of Clan Bear.
Braunnan, who had saved him.
Braunnan, the woman he was falling in love with.
Braunnan, the woman who had promised to bear his cubs.
"I want this chain off of him. He is no longer a prisoner."
Sandish frowned at the chain, his gaze not quite meeting Braunnan's. "Are you sure that is wise, M'Lady? The man is said to be mentally unstable."
Anger flared in Braunnan's eyes. "He is no more unstable that I am. Do you question my sanity, Sandish?"
"We feared for you, M'Lady. It has been three work-shifts since you left your cabin. We began to think perhaps the prisoner had been too much for you."
Three work-shifts…the time had blurred together until he could not differentiate one shift from another. He had thought…It mattered not what he thought. Fear mixed with an unexpected pride. She could be ovulating already.
Three work-shifts were enough to proclaim them mated. Sandish would know this. Her entire crew would know. That explained the man's attitude. Sandish had been a great deal more jealous than worried. "If you thought your mistress in danger, Sandish, I am surprised that no one came to check on her safety."
Sandish raised an eyebrow, but did not in any other way acknowledge the rebuff. "I cannot cut the lock or the chain, M'Lady. Both are of Dwarven construction. I have not the tools to disturb such metallurgy."
He would not be ignored as if he did not exist. He was no longer No One. He was the chosen mate to Braunnan, Mistress of the Fifth House. If Sandish wanted something to be jealous about, he could supply that need. Possessive anger rippled through him. "If you thought Braunnan in danger, if you thought me a madman who might harm her, why did you not come to her assistance?"
The big man finally seemed to notice he was speaking. Sandish turned, his heavy black brows scowling until they formed one long slash separating his eyes from any remote hope of intelligence. "From the noises, we assumed Mistress Braunnan had managed to control you. She did not ask for assistance. Still, we worried that the deceptions of a madman might endanger her judgment."
"If you two could stop sparring like bears marking your territory, could we just find a way to remove this damn chain?" Braunnan reminded them. "Work-shift begins in one turn, and I do not want to miss another shift. I see no reason to attract the Dark Priestesses’ attention by allowing production to fall off while the two of you debate my choice in mates."
Braunnan and her anger were much more real and i
mmediate than any threat the Dark Priestesses might pose. Both men stared at the floor, immediately contrite.
He looked up to meet Sandish's gaze as the man frowned at the chain bound to his Torc. "If you cannot cut the lock or the chain, can you break the Torc?"
Surprise. Uncertainty. Sandish fingered the Torc on his own neck before he laid down his hammer. "It is forbidden to remove a slave's Torc."
"Could you do it?" Braunnan insisted. "Have you the skills?"
Sandish flushed. "'Tis not my skills that are in question. The High Priestesses have forbidden the Torc's removal. We will be punished."
"I will say that I removed the damnable thing myself," Braunnan insisted.
"You have not the skill. I am the only one here who could do such a job."
"So you could take the Torc off."
"I honestly do not know. I've never tried to remove a Torc. The Torc itself is Dwarven made, so I doubt I could touch it with the crude tools I have available." Sandish fingered the cool metal that bound his neck, fear and curiosity warring within him. "I could not break the Torc, but the hinge at the back is riveted. I might be able to break the rivet, but there's not much room to work."
He understood the big man's indecisiveness. Most of his clan looked forward to receiving their Torc. It marked their passage into adulthood. He stepped closer to the big blacksmith's forge. "The guards have tried for two cycles now to break me. Had Braunnan not rescued me, I would be dead by now. To me, this Torc no longer represents my shift, my station in life. It represents their torture. If you cannot remove it, I swear I will tear it off with my own hands, even if my neck goes with it. Will you at least make the attempt?"
Sandish met his gaze as he fingered his own Torc again. "Aye. I can. If you trust me that close to your neck with a mallet and punch. I'll be working a finger's breadth from your spine. If you flinch…"
"I'll not flinch." He stared hard at the giant's face. "All I ask is that if you miss, you promise to finish the job."
A Prisoner's Desire Page 5
