“And blessed art thou, oh tigress, who bears the fruit of the earth’s fertility,” she chanted and offered another crown to Corinne.
Corinne bit her lip, then kissed the thing and bent her head to don it. This was feeling entirely too real for comfort. If that business about “bearing the fruit” actually comes true . . .
The High Priestess began to chant, invoking the Horned Goddess’s blessing on Mykh and Corinne.
Corinne lowered her eyes while she listened, her nose twitching at the crown’s clean, sweet scent.
Welcome, little sister, a voice purred, sounding like Rene Russo.
Corinne’s eyes darted from side to side. Who on earth is that?
I am Svetlhana, little sister. Her Russian accent was so thick that it sounded more like “leetle seestr.” The Imperial Tigress. We can chat together as friends now that you’ve been seated on the Tiger Throne.
Where are you? Corinne demanded, lifting her head to search.
Don’t look around! The Dark Warrior watches us, even here.
Corinne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She’d known about the Imperial Tigress, just as she understood all four of the celestial animals who walked in Torhtremer from time to time. They took shape whenever a catalyst lived, someone like Mykh who could summon them. A Dragonheart, as the people of Torhtremer called him.
But a tigress’s catalyst, or Tigerheart, was the rarest and most unpredictable of all. Corinne had briefly considered one as Mykh’s wife, then rejected the idea as too difficult to manipulate.
Da, you are my little sister. Thanks to you, I can roll in Torhtremer’s mint fields again, Svetlhana purred.
Why don’t you show yourself as Khyber does? The silver under her was now as soft and yielding as an old leather sofa.
Why should we tell the Dark Warrior everything? Let him wonder for as long as possible whether you truly are my little sister. Perhaps it will buy us a little time.
Okay, Corinne said slowly, trying to grasp the implications.
Now we must talk quickly before I depart. Understand, above all, that the great halberd is the key to summoning me, as the sword is for Khyber.
Corinne grimaced. It was a very big halberd, twice the size of anything at the kwoon where she’d studied kung fu.
Da, it is as impressive as my claws, Svetlhana agreed smugly. Relax; it will be as light as a feather in your hands.
Thank you, Corinne said dryly. But what about . . .
I must go now before I am discovered, Svetlhana hissed urgently. Enjoy yourself, little sister.
Corinne settled back into the throne, which had become a very agreeable place to sit. If only she’d been able to ask Svetlhana who Mykh’s true love was.
The High Priestess finished her chant, and the other high priests and priestesses came up onto the dais where they gathered in a circle around Mykh and Corinne. They raised their hands over the two and sang in a variety of languages, some magical but most not, about how the land’s fertility reflected the High King’s. The musicians joined in, adding a sweet counterpoint to the priests’ melody. Corinne listened politely, more interested in the harmonies than the words.
Then power welled up in her from her feet to her throat. It brushed her face like perfume before diving back to the floor. Her face flushed and her breath came faster.
The power looped through her again as the crowd joined in the song. It gained strength as more people sang and sent sparks along her meridians. Her nipples swelled against the leather and liquid heat rose from her core.
Mykh’s dragon coat lay neatly against his strong neck, reminding her of the man underneath the costume. A glance sideways showed her his cock rising hard and proud inside the trousers, with a small wet spot in the silk marking its tip. She remembered how it had looked when he displayed it for her . . . and how completely it had filled her. She wanted to touch him, kiss him, taste him immediately.
Ch’i drummed through her bones until she swayed with the glory of it. She needed that cock inside her now. She shifted restlessly on the throne.
Mykh shuddered with each breath. He looked like a man straining to reach shore, given how his shoulders rose and fell. His cock strengthened until the silk barely contained it. She bit her lip against the temptation it offered.
The song finally finished in a crash of cymbals and flourish of trumpets and Corinne staggered at the ebbing energy flow. A rose landed on her hair and another brushed her shoulder, as all the priests and priestesses showered them with flowers. Her ch’i stabilized, but she still ached for the man beside her.
“Guard her well that she may dance with joy on the third day,” the High Priestess intoned as she raised her hands in a final blessing. Corinne had just enough wit to follow Mykh’s lead and nod politely.
Then the priests and priestesses stepped aside, opening a path to the great portal. Mykh came to his feet in a rush and grabbed Corinne’s hand. She jumped when a spark flew between them and all but flew at his side when they marched down the aisle.
The audience cheered and cheered again. Rose petals and sage leaves, plus bits of cedarwood bark rained down on Mykh and Corinne. Too much to brush off, the potpourri gathered in their hair and clothing, its aroma filling their nostrils. Every breath swelled her lungs and sent blood pounding through her. She was more intensely aware of the man beside her than ever before.
Outside the portals, Mykh turned sharply down a short corridor. Sentries held open the doors at the end, their faces beaming. Mykh and Corinne emerged onto a balcony above a great courtyard, overflowing with a chanting crowd, which Mykh saluted.
Beyond the palace wall, the streets were full of more cheering people as far as she could see. Even the piers jutting out into the harbor were covered with leaping figures.
Instinctively Corinne waved at them and the applause redoubled.
“Dragonheart! Dragonheart!” they roared, while a few voices rose in counterpoint, “Tigerheart! Tigerheart!”
Mykh wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled Corinne close. Hidden by the railing from the crowd, his fingers slid inside her skirt and fondled her. Her breath caught as her insides turned liquid with longing. He delved farther and her knees nearly failed her.
Corinne gritted her teeth. If he doesn’t stop handling me soon, I’m going to grab him . . .
FOUR
Somehow Corinne smiled and waved at the crowd again. Mykh’s big hand cupped her and she arched, her head lolling back helplessly. He jerked away from her.
“Come now,” he said abruptly and dragged her back inside the palace. He strode through the corridors at a conqueror’s pace, leaving sentries and servants in their wake. She could hear the crowd celebrating in the distance.
He slammed open a door, shoved her through it, and snarled at the guards who tried to follow.
Corinne found herself on a balcony with marble walls and columns, overlooking a horse paddock. A large black stallion looked up quickly, ears pricked to identify the intrusion. Battle scars on his flank marked him as Nightflyer, Mykh’s warhorse.
A shadow loomed up behind her. Nightflyer relaxed and returned to grazing.
Two big hands spun her around and tossed her up against a column. Mykh crowded her against it before she could slide down, his legs ruthlessly spreading her thighs.
“Wife,” he growled, a universe of possessiveness in the single word. Then his mouth covered hers and rational thought fled.
She was sandwiched between marble and hot masculine muscle. His tongue slipped down her throat so quickly it was a wonder she didn’t strangle instead of moan. Her hands dug into his arms and found slick silk, instead of a man’s satin skin.
She moaned again, frustrated. Nothing mattered, not the setting where servants could appear at any moment, not his opinion of her, not her vulnerability to him, nothing. Only being immediately filled by him meant a damn.
His hand moved urgently somewhere below and then his cock’s fat head finally branded her nether lips. She
lifted her legs to wrap them around his hips in welcome. Mykh simultaneously shoved into her hard and fast, buried to the balls with his first thrust.
Corinne screamed into his mouth as she promptly climaxed.
Pinning her against the stone, he rode her with the hard, mindless rhythm of a stallion in rut. His ruthlessness allowed her no time to recover but sent her spiraling into another climax. She was still pulsing when he tore his mouth away from hers to bellow his release, as jet after fiery jet filled her.
He leaned against her afterwards, gasping for breath but still hard deep within her. She doubted she could stand up if he freed her, given how her legs were trembling.
A polite knock sounded on the door. Mykh disregarded it and circled his hips against her.
“Shouldn’t we answer that?” Corinne said faintly, trying to ignore how her body melted to welcome him. If he touched her again like that, she’d melt and say to hell with ingrained pride and wariness. A grunt was his only response. Then his fingers bit into her hips as he adjusted her against the column.
She paid no attention to the second knock, since it came just as he started riding her again. Long, deep thrusts this time that sent her sliding up and down the marble, twisting and pulling her top in different directions. Her body burned in welcome, nipples hard against their leather cages as his brocade coat rasped against her over-sensitive breasts and shoulders. His silk tunic brushed her bare midriff while his trousers rubbed against the inside of her thighs.
And still he pounded into her time after time, stretching her to the limit around his magnificent cock as his crisp pubic hair teased her.
He finally came in a tumultuous flood that caused him to scream in satisfaction. The harsh sound triggered something equally primal inside her and she yielded to her own climax. Waves pounded up through her spine and her head banged against the stone.
“Report.” Mykh’s voice was a rough bark in her ears as he let her slide down, then stepped away from her to fasten up his trousers. She caught the railing for support and managed not to sit down.
“I have the wizard’s report you requested, Your Majesty.” Ghryghoriy’s voice was muffled and completely neutral as if he hadn’t heard any of the noise they’d made.
Corinne’s face burned as she pulled herself fully erect and tugged her bikini top back into place. Obviously this marble column wasn’t perfectly smooth, given the smears of blood on it from where Mykh had pumped her up and down. She flexed her shoulders experimentally. It didn’t feel too bad, especially if she could just get back into that magic pool of water.
Bodice rippers never mentioned that you could feel a man’s impact down to your bones.
“Very well,” Mykh answered Ghryghoriy, half sorry to be diverted.
He took a deep breath before he spoke to Corinne. His wife, the sorceress, a woman who could probably destroy him with a single glance. Duty had never seemed harder than when he handfasted her, nor sweeter than when he rode her. “Ready?” he asked without looking at her.
“Of course.” Her voice was a little husky but that wasn’t surprising after the way she’d screamed. Something masculine deep within him roared in triumph.
“Come then.” She followed him meekly out the door, avoiding contact with him, which suited him well enough. His rod was already hinting its willingness to fill her again.
One quick look at Ghryghoriy’s face made all thoughts of carnal amusements vanish. Thankfully, Yevgheniy and Mazur waited just beyond, the big leopard prowling restlessly through the corridor. They could guard Corinne while he spoke to Ghryghoriy.
Mazur broke off his fretting and bounded to Corinne, where he butted his head against her leg and purred wildly. She choked and stooped to hug him, a silver glint on her high cheekbones hinting of tears. Blood trickled down her shoulder blade.
Mykh froze. Even at his youngest and clumsiest, he’d never hurt a woman without her consent. His mouth tightened when he saw how stiffly Corinne caressed Mazur, showing the after-effects of his rough handling.
“Yevgheniy, take Her Excellency to the Tiger’s Den. She’ll need healers and food.” She’d be more at ease in the palace’s feminine heart.
“Now you’re showing some sense, putting her in there,” Yevgheniy approved. “Don’t worry. She’ll be ready for you in no time.”
“I don’t need special handling,” Corinne protested, color staining her cheeks.
“The Tiger’s Den is the Companion’s chambers, Corinne,” Mykh reassured her.
She stared at him then nodded grudgingly. Her evident surprise at his courtesy twisted his heart.
“Really? Okay then,” she acquiesced. “But can Mazur come with me, please?”
“Of course,” Mykh agreed. She’d need a friend to comfort her after his rough handling. Goddess only knew how she’d charmed Mazur, who’d always before alternated between ignoring and hissing at Mykh’s bed partners.
He watched her bloodstained back move proudly down the corridor behind Yevgheniy, every step twisting a dart in his side.
“Did you treat the Gray Sorceress as harshly as that before you killed her?” Ghryghoriy murmured.
Silence stretched between them for a moment, longer than when he’d faced that pestilence for the last time.
“No,” Mykh said finally. “It was over very quickly.”
“Then why do you treat this one so poorly?”
Mykh whirled to face his friend. “She’s a sorceress and she took my manhood,” he hurled back.
Ghryghoriy shrugged, undaunted by Mykh’s temper. “She saved your six sisters time and again from your enemies, then found them strong husbands and rich lands. She gave you a kingdom more easily than anyone thought possible, given the civil wars after the old king died. You’d have traded your manhood a dozen times over for the peace found today in Torhtremer.” He studied Mykh for a moment before going on. “So what is different between her and the Gray Sorceress?”
“I don’t know,” Mykh admitted slowly. “I will offer her some recompense for my discourtesy.”
Ghryghoriy’s mouth quirked. “Fair enough that you, too, should do penance to a woman. Amber claims it often enough from me, especially if I am less than courteous to a woman.”
Mykh’s eyebrow lifted at the unexpected insight into his friend’s marriage. Ghryghoriy never chattered unless he wished to build calm to receive some unsettling news. “Penance?” Mykh questioned, curious to learn more and willing to allow the diversion.
“She calls it that,” Ghryghoriy shrugged. “She chooses the feat and I must perform it. She searches long and hard in the old scrolls to find those deeds. But I confess that I’ve found much to enjoy, including acts that I’d never thought arousing.”
Mykh snorted at his friend’s besotted smile but tucked away the advice for later consideration. Such penance would balance his ill treatment of Corinne. His voice strengthened. “Enough of that. What news makes you hide in talk of my women?”
“Ice storms in the northern mountains,” Ghryghoriy answered, all soldier now. “Too late in the season to be natural and too strong for any wizard to peek through.”
“The Dark Warrior has returned and hides his preparations from us.” Mykh voiced the only explanation, as the all too familiar taste of fear dried his mouth.
“Just as she warned you,” Ghryghoriy agreed.
At the other end of the corridor, Corinne’s long skirt whisked around a corner while Mazur playfully tried to pounce on its hem. Surely she wasn’t in league with the Dark Warrior, if she warned of his coming. But who else could he ask for word of the Dark Warrior? Who might be able to tell him more than she had?
“Damn wizards!” Mykh cursed, as he had so many times before. They could manage a bit of rain on a summer day or baffle a hundred soldiers before an attack. But they were no use for great magic and hopeless at facing the Dark Warrior. “You’ll send in someone on foot then.” He spoke the obvious while mulling over alternatives.
“Aye. But a week
or more must pass before we can learn anything.”
Mykh grunted agreement then gave the only comfort he could offer. “At least he hasn’t regained his strength since losing his army, else he’d have visited us with a snowstorm before now. What preparations have you made?”
He headed toward his private office, Ghryghoriy falling into step beside him.
A few minutes turned into hours as Mykhayl and Ghryghoriy made what plans they could for defense against the Dark Warrior. Finally Mykh caught Ghryghoriy stifling a yawn.
“Go home, old friend,” he urged. “We’ve done enough here for the day. Anything more would mean disturbing the Goddess’s Dance, something no man wishes to do. Go occupy yourself with your wife.”
Ghryghoriy snorted as he straightened up and stretched openly. “More like she’ll amuse herself with me. She’s determined that we’ll make our first child during the Dance.”
“Solemnly observing the Hunter’s Watch, is she?” Mykh raised an eyebrow. “Well, she is a priest’s daughter.”
“Aye, but I hadn’t thought before that she was this devout! She insists that we observe every detail of the rituals. Worship at the temples during every high tide, sanctified food for both of us, celibacy for me during the month before. All the while I build her woman’s ch’i with my hands and mouth, so that it can be offered in sacrifice.” He shook his head ruefully. “I swear that I’m counting the hours until the White Horses sweep in.”
“So is every other man in Torhtremer, if the priests have any say,” Mykh reminded him. At least Ghryghoriy didn’t sound envious of Mykh’s role as High King and Dragonheart during the Hunter’s Watch and Goddess’s Dance.
The priests emphasized that his first responsibility was ensuring that his Companion would be an enthusiastic partner during the dance. That could mean either frequent bedsport with her when both spent themselves or focusing solely on the Companion’s pleasure, as all other men did for theirs. The priests did suggest that the High King remain celibate on the Watch’s last night, the lightest amount of fasting mentioned in the sacred texts.
Captive Dreams Page 10
