She began to feel a prickling sensation running up her neck into her scalp. She didn’t know when it had begun, but the feeling grew with each step. A low thrumming pulsated from the living rock within which they traveled. The noise, like a persistent itch inside her brain, a buzz against her teeth, raised bumps along her flesh. She remembered hearing and feeling the same thing when she was in the lower regions of Cragimore. Perhaps it was a peculiar trait, distinctive of the Night Elves’ stronghold.
“Eagnad, do you hear that noise? What is it?”
The troll tilted his head to the side, listening intently.
“Cragimore talk.” He continued on his way through the tunnel, clearly expecting Feenix to follow.
“Cragimore? What do you mean? A mountain can’t talk.”
What was the troll thinking? It was hard enough to try to understand him, without Eagnad going off on some crazy idea.
“Cragimore talk to king. Pretty Feenix hush. Almost home.”
The hair on her head prickled as a feeling of recognition raced through her. She didn’t know what it meant, but she was sure it wasn’t good.
They continued through the empty tunnel, meeting no one, as Eagnad led the way back into the bowels of the Night Elf stronghold. She supposed she needed to stop thinking of L’Garn’s people as the enemy, but habits were hard to break. The fact that they hadn’t been very friendly to her didn’t help.
Come to think of it, they weren’t very friendly to L’Garn either. At least not so she’d noticed. Why was that? He was their prince, by Mac Lir’s eye, so they should have more respect for him. When he carried her in that first day, she noticed the guards were disrespectful to him, and even called his mother names in front of him. While she couldn’t see them, she heard the hate and fear in their voices loud enough.
Could it be because he was half human? She hadn’t noticed any other half-elves while she had been here. And, come to think of it, L’Garn himself always seemed uneasy about the fact that he had human blood.
She smiled to herself, remembering the way he bristled whenever she called him ‘elf-man’. She did it just to get him riled. Maybe the reason he disliked it so much was because he was ashamed of his human side.
If that was the case, she reasoned, the smile slipping from her lips, there was no hope for her at all! If he couldn’t even stand to think about his own humanity, he must hate humans with a passion. He would never love her, Feenix realized.
This journey back into Cragimore was becoming more enjoyable by the moment.
“Put light away. Feenix home.”
The little troll had stopped at an opening in the tunnel. Torchlight illuminated the entrance, and she could clearly see Eagnad standing by the side, peering out into a vast cavern.
“How do I get rid of it?” How she hated magic.
Eagnad quietly slapped his palm over hers and the glow disappeared. When he removed his hand, there was no trace of the magic light.
“Where are we?” she whispered, craning her neck to look over his shoulder and wiping her palm on her leg to get rid of any magic residue.
“Work cavern,” he said. Motioning with his hand, he explained, “Not many elves. Sleep time for them. We move slow, quiet like rat hunting food, we not caught.”
Silently she pulled the sword from her belt and tapped Eagnad on the shoulder with a finger to indicate she was ready.
Once she had a clear view of the cavern, she recognized it as the area that contained the laundry and cooking fires. As soon as they took a step out of the secret tunnel and into the huge room, the roar of the waterfall crashed into her ears. She had forgotten about that deafening noise. The tunnel had muffled its voice.
Their backs hugging the chamber walls, they began to make their way around the cavern towards the exit that led to L’Garn’s room. The most difficult part of their journey would be when they had to pass the guard station, set behind a column of stalagmites.
They reached the station without being seen, and Feenix ducked into the guard room, looking for a change of clothing. Her slave gown was nothing more than tattered rags, and hardly covered any of the more personal parts of her body.
Sitting inside the door, dozing in a chair, was an elf holding a club and wearing a sword and whip. At her appearance, his eyes popped open and he grabbed for his weapon. With a huge grin, and an odd twinge of guilt, Feenix attacked. She ran her blade cleanly through his heart, catching him before his fall alerted other guards. She dragged his body into a smaller room, which, to her delight, turned out to be a supply room.
Gleefully, she grabbed a leather jerkin, boots, and a pair of leggings. She didn’t take the time to do more than throw the jerkin around her shoulders. She would change when she reached the safety of L’Garn’s room.
As she left the room, she grabbed a dagger in a beautifully tooled sheath and stuffed it inside one of the boots. Draping the clothing over her shoulder, she stepped back into the cavern and resumed her journey. Eagnad was nearly to the exit.
They reached the prince’s room without further incident, and Feenix collapsed on the bed with a relieved sigh.
“Guard the door, Eagnad, while I change out of this rag.”
~*~
L’Garn stepped into his room and stopped dead in his tracks.
Feenix was in the process of pulling a leather jerkin on over one of his best silk shirts. The sleeves were too long for her arms, and she had rolled the cuffs up over her wrists. The chain he had used to fetter her to the tree was wrapped around her left arm, like a strange ornament.
Her long legs were encased in leather leggings that showed off her lower anatomy in a way that shocked his body into a state of frenzied anticipation.
She wore scuffed boots that had obviously been appropriated from some luckless guard with a larger foot than hers. A dagger was strapped to the outside of the right boot. Her sword scabbard hung on the bedpost within easy reach of her hand.
Feenix had undergone a metamorphosis, from a lowly slave into a fearsome warrior.
Her thick ebony hair was coiled and pinned on top of her head, making her smooth neck appear long and graceful. The shirt was open at the neck, and he could see the swell of her full breasts as she struggled with the stiff leather garment.
A warrior she might be, but the accouterments of war could not hide her beauty from his eyes.
“Would you like some help with that?” he asked, once his initial surprise was gone.
In a blur of movement, she drew her sword, and lunged in his direction.
“Hold, Feenix,” he yelled, jumping to the side and narrowly avoiding the blade. It was fortunate for him that the leather top caused her movements to be awkward.
“L’Garn! Don’t you know better than to startle me like that?” She lowered the sword and adjusted the jerkin. “Eagnad! I thought I told you to guard the door!”
The little troll stepped away from the corner shadows, where he had been invisible to her.
“Pretty Feenix say she want to find prince. Prince here.”
He shrugged his shoulders and continued to eat a piece of fruit that he had pilfered from the table.
“You wanted to find me?” L’Garn asked with a smile, taking a step towards her. That she had come seeking him, rather than escaping, made him want to laugh with joy.
Instantly, Feenix raised the sword and pointed it at his heart.
“Easy, elf-man. I have a score to settle with you.”
His smile slipped, and disappointment washed through him. Of course she wanted to find him, he realized. She wanted to run her sword through him again for chaining her to the tree.
“How did you get the chain from the tree?” He noticed she still wore the collar and wrist manacles. She could not have used a key.
“Well, now, it’s interesting you should ask, your highness.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. It was one of the things he liked about her. She always had a ready tongue in her head. “An obliging dragon came along and wanted to make
me his dinner. I took objection, you understand, and in the ensuing confusion and melee, the tree was broken into firewood. I slipped the chain.”
“Were you hurt? Are you well?” He ignored the sword and came close enough to touch her, although he did not think she would allow that.
“I’m fine, no thanks to you, elf-man! Why did you chain me to that blasted tree? I almost died!”
“I was afraid you would wake before I returned, and try to escape on your own. I did not want the Watcher—the dragon—to find you and kill you.”
He watched her face and wished he could run his fingers across her brow and erase the scowl that darkened her expression.
“Well, your plan didn’t work! The dragon found me, and if not for Mac Lir’s intervention, I would have been breakfast!”
She sheathed the sword angrily before continuing her tirade against him.
“Were you trying to get me killed?”
“No, I did not want you to die. I want you to live a long life, Feenix.”
His words eased some of the scowl from her face, and it was amazing to him how that little bit of encouragement pleased him.
“Hold out your arms, and I will remove the manacles.”
“When you’ve done that, take this blasted collar off my neck! I can’t breathe properly with it on.”
She held out her left arm and he quickly unlocked the iron. He noticed her hand tremble when his fingers brushed the inside of her wrist. He looked up and caught her eyes staring into his. She blushed and looked away. It was hard for him to hide his pleased smile.
The chain, with the manacle attached, slid from her arm and dropped to the stone floor with a loud clang. Feenix held out her other hand and turned her head away, giving him a clean view of her straight little nose and strong jaw. He had an urge to kiss her until that clenched jaw relaxed with need of him. Instead, he unlocked the other manacle and it joined its mate on the floor.
“That’s better,” she said, rubbing her wrists.
He took her hands in his and turned them over, looking at the red welts that the metal had created.
“I am sorry for the pain these caused you.”
He could not stop himself from placing a lingering kiss on each of her wrists, exactly over the bluish veins where her pulse beat a rapid tattoo. His blood stirred and he felt himself become aroused.
Encouraged that she did not pull her hands from his grasp, he looked up and gave her a tentative smile. Perhaps his mother was correct. Perhaps Feenix did have feelings, other than hate and loathing, for him. As he acknowledged he had for her.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered before jerking her hands from his touch. “Now, get this blasted collar off before I lose my temper.”
Some mischievous imp compelled him to tease her, just so he could see the flush of anger wash across her face and light her eyes with an indigo fire.
“This collar is a mark of your status. If I remove it, people will think you are no longer my slave.”
She slammed both fists on her hips and glared at him. “I won my freedom, if you remember, elf-man! Now take it off or I will kill you, then do it myself!”
“I seem to recall the terms of our wager were that if you killed me, you would win your freedom. Here I stand, not dead at all.”
“The only reason you’re alive, you miserable elf scum, is because I saved your life! Now, remove this collar; or does your word mean nothing to you?”
Her attempt to anger him did not work. In fact, it only amused him to see her try to manipulate him into doing her bidding. Life with Feenix of Port Marcus was going to be exciting and never dull.
Life with Feenix? He stilled in surprise. Was he actually thinking about spending his life with this ferocious woman? This human with a temper that could flay the skin from a dragon?
The answer slipped through his heart and mind like spring honey. Yes. He wanted to spend forever with her.
Now, all he had to do was convince her she wanted the same.
“I will remove the collar on one condition.”
He watched the emotions in her eyes race across her mind—surprise, doubt, anger, resignation.
“What condition?”
He stepped closer, using his body’s heat to help her feel how intensely he felt about her.
“You will not call me ‘elf-man’ again.”
She licked her dry lips, and his arousal surged against the prison of his breeches. A sudden weakness invaded his knees, and for a moment he thought he would embarrass himself by stumbling.
“By the god’s blue eye, just get the blasted thing off!”
“And you will not call me that humiliating name again,” he insisted, holding the key in front of her face, and tempting her with its closeness.
“Fine.” She trembled, but whether from fury or passion, he could not tell.
“Say it.” He traced her jaw with the silver key, echoing with the metal what his fingers longed to do.
He watched her swallow hard. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as if trying to calm her heartbeat. L’Garn smiled, knowing that she was feeling the tension between them.
“I won’t call you elf-man again.” Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him. “Are you satisfied?”
“Oh, no, Feenix,” he said softly, dropping his eyes to her lips and then back to her green glare. “I am far from satisfied, but I will accept your word.”
“Then, by Mac Lir’s thumb, do it!”
“Lift your head.”
With an exasperated sigh, she tossed back her head to allow him access to the lock under her chin. With gentle fingers, he held the silver collar as he inserted the key in the hasp. Instantly, the lock clicked and the collar opened, releasing her long neck from its metal prison.
Before she could move, he dropped the ring of silver from her neck and slipped his hands over her jaw, cradling her head and the nape of her neck with his fingers. Silently, he bent and kissed the red sores where the cruel collar had blistered the delicate skin.
Her pulse raced beneath his lips, and he felt her gasp with surprise. She smelled of cheetamuk flowers and sweet sweat; the combination was a heady aphrodisiac.
With deliberate care, he ran his lips along the entire ring of red that marred the perfection of her skin. When she placed her hands on his shoulders, he knew she was not immune to his wooing, and his blood surged like liquid fire in his veins.
L’Garn lifted his head to peer into Feenix’s passion-filled eyes. His thumb skimmed over her cheek, and she turned her face against the palm of his hand.
“Stay with me, Feenix of Port Marcus,” he heard himself say. He knew longing filled his eyes, and he did not try to hide it.
She lifted her hand to his cheek, tracing a line from his nose to his hair. Her fingertips, lightly caressing the tips of his ear, sent a wave of desire through him, and he almost carried her off to his bed without her consent. Instead, he dropped one of his hands and pulled her close into his body. As before, her form fit snugly against his, in all the correct places.
“Let me make love to you—here. Now.”
“Yes,” she breathed, and he was lost.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Feenix’s heart raced, and her blood pounded in her ears. Was this really happening? Did L’Garn feel the same for her as she did for him, or was he merely interested in releasing some pent up lust?
In answer to his question, L’Garn’s lips crushed hers in a searing kiss at her whispered, “Yes.” The intensity of the kiss nearly brought her to her knees. The feel of his velvet tongue exploring her mouth sent shivers of desire dancing across her skin.
She found herself opening his shirt to explore the hard planes of his chest. Crisp hair tickled her palms as she slid her hands up and over his shoulder and then down to his waist. He moaned deep in her mouth as her fingers glided over his stomach and dipped into the band of his breeches. They were both in a rush to discover each other.
“This has to come off,” he murm
ured against her lips, struggling with the jerkin she had pulled on only moments ago. Without comment, and keeping her lips on his until the last moment, Feenix grabbed the hem of the garment and pulled it over her head. She felt as if she had lost her life when they had to break contact with their lips to remove the clothing.
“Oh, my flower,” he breathed on her skin, nipping her neck and licking a path to her earlobe. “You set my blood on fire.”
Flower? She choked back a soft laugh. She’d never been anyone’s flower before. Bed partner, yes. Companion, of course. But never someone’s flower. Feenix decided she liked it.
He cupped her breast in his hand and gently squeezed, rubbing his thumb across the sensitive nipple, while he nuzzled and kissed the column of her throat. She sighed contentedly and leaned into his body. She needed to feel as much of him as possible. The hard ridge pressing into her belly told her he was as excited as she.
But was it love, or lust, he was feeling?
She tried to push the question from her mind. What did it matter? She had shared lust with men before and had never wondered at their motives. Why should the prince’s reasons bother her? The only thing she wanted to think about was the way L’Garn’s mouth made her feel.
Ruthlessly, she ripped the silk shirt from his body in an attempt to put her doubts from her. What did it matter why he wanted her? The fact remained that he did. She needed to concentrate on this moment, the sensations rushing over her skin as the one she loved kissed and caressed his way to their mutual satisfaction.
His long fingers were in her hair, while his mouth and tongue lit bonfires and sent them racing along her spine. His tongue laved her nipples through the thin shirt, creating a tiny shock as the chill air hit the wet material, when he left one aching breast to feed on the other.
With a fierce tug, L’Garn sent her hair cascading down around them, like a black waterfall, effectively closing off everything except their need for each other.
“I have dreamed of seeing your hair like this again. The first moment I saw you on that beach, I wanted you in my arms with your glorious hair your only garment.” His words shot fire all the way to her toes.
THE CHOOSING Page 27
