by Ann Lawrence
Ardra held him as tightly as she could. His ear was by her mouth. She took his earlobe between her teeth, gripped the viper earring, and tugged. He moaned and pushed forward—to her heart—to the very center of her being.
Tears filled her eyes. Then his mouth covered hers. She moved her tongue against his, tasted him, reveled in the hard muscles under her hands, the smooth, fluid motion of his body.
A hot coil of need burst open. It shot down her arms and legs. She held on to him, head back, every muscle of her body quivering. He surged deeper when she cried out and held still. She used him as an anchor, battering the tide of her climax against him.
Then she moaned and let out her breath, not realizing she had held it so tightly in her chest. He pushed up on his hands, continued to thrust within her, eyes closed.
She watched his face, her hands on his shoulders, her thighs still quivering against his hips. She stared at the sight of their joining and watched his chain with its impossible glass roses swing back and forth with every move of his hips.
He drew out, then pushed in with a slowness that made her want to scream. Then he groaned, opened his eyes a brief instant, and dropped his head.
His mouth was hot and wet on her throat as he poured forth his essence.
They lay on their backs, fingers entwined, and watched the sky lighten through the trees. They talked of her father. Of Tol. Of her child. And their future children.
Then he wanted her again.
How warm her lips were on his neck, his shoulder, her teeth a counterpoint to the gentle sweeps of her tongue. He lifted her onto his hips, guided himself into the slick, wet heat of her.
“I want to watch your face—every mood, every expression.” He shifted his hips.
Her eyes widened. She licked her finger, drew it down her breast, and touched the artwork on his arm. A thunderbolt of ecstasy ran through him, purely visceral, completely unexpected, as strong as any orgasm. He arched involuntarily, bucked against her.
Her hair fell in a glorious tumbling mass of heavy silk that caressed his chest and arms.
He gripped her bottom, raised and lowered her, brought himself to the edge, but held it off for her.
She gasped. Someone moaned—him.
When he reached up to trace her face, she tongued his palm, and a spasm of heat took hold of him and squeezed like a fist.
He would never tire of her golden eyes, her full lips, her nipples tipped with coral. “I love everything about you,” he managed before he came. Then he couldn’t talk. He could only bury his face against her and hang on.
She slept in his arms, wrapped in her tunic. Her lips were slightly open, her breath feathering the skin of his arm—an arm with three silver rings. Rings that somehow fit well with the coils of his tattoo.
He stroked her hair and looked up at the night sky. Four strange moons stood like sentinels overhead, completely alien to his world.
“Are you missing your home?” she asked.
“No. Just thinking that one day I’ll have to let Gwen know I’m all right.”
She sat up and hugged her knees. “I know I will never truly understand how you appeared just when I needed you, but I suspect it was not from across the ice fields.”
“I don’t think it was—but I don’t really know it wasn’t, either.”
“Will you come back?”
“Come back?”
“Aye, when you go to tell Gwen you are fine. Will you return to me?”
“Yes. Trust me. I’ll never leave you.” He lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. “I just lifemated myself to you, pledged myself to be a warrior at your side. We probably made a little Ardra just now, I’m not going anywhere.”
“It was beautiful, having you inside me, part of me,” she whispered. “Was it like…a warm, snug glove?”
“Yes. For the first time, the glove was truly a perfect fit.”
She rubbed her thumb on his lower lip. “Fit me again.”
His hand moved in a languid exploration from her throat to her knee. “With pleasure.”
She knew what would happen now when he slid between her thighs. The image of him as he had looked standing on the ramparts, his stick raised, sent a fireball of sensation through her, like lightning striking her.
But it was her name on his lips as much as his manhood sliding inside her that sent her over the edge.
The abyss was deep, and filled with roiling, hot shards of pleasure. He held her tightly, murmured her name, helped her to ride the pleasure by pushing hard against her.
They lay still again, connected, slick, wet, panting.
“I hope we made a child,” she said.
“A daughter who looks just like you. Someone for your son to protect.”
“Protect? Nay, stand beside and guide.”
He pulled out of her. She rolled to her side and he fitted himself around her, her back against his chest. “Whatever makes you happy.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Sure. I’ll sit on a wiseman’s bench somewhere in the sun while you do whatever it is you do while ruling a fortress.”
Ardra smiled at the thought. “You wanted to be a teacher, Lien. You could do that, you know. My people need someone strong to teach them.” She folded her arms over his and locked fingers with him. She snuggled her bottom against him and smiled a little when he groaned. “When we slept, it was my first moment of complete peace. It was being here in your arms, loved and wanted, that brought me peace.”
Lien whispered against her hair. Just her name. But it was enough.
Inund teased them for missing the morning meal. And Ralen, who along with Nilrem witnessed their vows, snapped that everyone needed to lend a hand if the fortress was to be emptied before dark.
Lien admired everything about Ardra as she organized Ralen right out of a job. But it was past sunset when they stood on the lakeshore and stared up at the Fortress of Darkness. No torches gleamed from the towers. He imagined he could smell the rotting attic room, though he knew it was just his imagination.
He took Ardra’s hand. She was trembling, and he knew that what she was about to do caused her pain. Among the many bundles she had packed, she had placed a small square of paper with a few words from Deleh, words that informed Ardra Deleh was running off with Venrali. They were heading for warmer climes, the note said. Deleh didn’t want to be a burden, and Venrali so reminded her of Tol.
Lien figured Venrali would resurface one day. “We should find out what happened to the two sons your father had,” Lien said to distract her. “If they were sold, we should try to buy them back and raise them.”
She smiled up at him. Desire flicked him like a sharp whip—or a viper’s tail, he thought with an inner smile. How had he ever thought her cold?
“You are constantly surprising me. Once, you would not have wanted such responsibility.”
“I seem to keep finding it, though, don’t I?”
Nilrem met them in the empty courtyard with a burning torch. “I believe it is an omen that I have counted eight piles of wood at the base of this fortress.”
“Why an omen?” Lien asked.
Ardra answered. “When we met on Hart Fell, Lien, I was practicing an ancient ritual. One of beginnings. It is a ritual of the old ways, the old gods, but I was desperate for help from anywhere. It is a practice for each new conjunction. But this one was said to bring special good fortune with it as it was the first time in fifty conjunctions when the sun would remain in the sky as the night orbs lined up.”
“It is an ancient augury of good,” Nilrem said.
Lien watched Ardra look up at the sky, now deep purple. The scent of the orchard drifted in the light winds. It was a fresh scent. Not rotting or evil.
“I had extinguished my fire as old women might have done in ancient days, sifting dirt on the hearth to end the flames,” she said. “Just when the perfect moment arrived, with all the orbs in the sky at once, I was to have lighted eight candles and let them burn
down to restart the fire. I never finished.”
“The outcasts attacked you,” Lien said. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“And you appeared.” She kissed his fingers.
“Complete the ritual.” Nilrem handed Ardra the flaming torch.
Lien walked at her side as she moved around the base of the fortress walls, stopping eight times to touch her flame to the wood.
Together they walked, hand in hand, back to the people gathered on the lakeshore. The wind kicked up. It tossed her skirt in a sharp snap against her legs and whipped errant strands of her braid against her cheeks. But she didn’t look away from the burning building. She watched, her face touched with gold in the setting Tolemac sun, her hand in his.
Epilogue
Gwen Marlowe unlocked the door of Virtual Heaven and wheeled the baby stroller to the service counter. Baby Bob was fast asleep. A rare happening on any day.
She liked to do the bills after church on Sundays. It was a peaceful time. She could have the shop to herself until noon.
“How’s it going?” she asked the sleeping infant. “Do you think Natalie and Daddy will save Mommy some pizza?”
Not really expecting an answer, just as she was not really expecting Vad to save her any pizza—nursing and pepperoni did not go together, in Vad’s opinion—she rolled the stroller with one hand and sorted bills with the other.
A familiar noise penetrated her attention. “Now, how long has that been on?” She walked through the shop to the game booth. When she flipped on the lights, she remembered another time when the game had been on unexpectedly. Her heart began to pound.
The game booth was empty. Then a glitter caught her eye. Hanging from the railing that enclosed the control platform, and looped in the annoying way Neil always looped his ties on her desk lamp, was a long silver chain with a pendant dangling from the end.
She touched the pendant, not believing what she saw.
It was real. It was a silver disk, etched with a pattern she knew was really a map through a labyrinth. But instead of the chunk of amber she knew should be at its center, there was a glass rose—from one of the earrings Neil had said his grandfather made at the Millville glassworks.
She unhooked the pendant and laughed. “God bless you both,” she said and turned off the game.
About Ann Lawrence
Award winning author Ann Lawrence writes both historical and paranormal romance with strong heroes and equally indomitable heroines. Her books reflect her love of English history and Arthurian legend. But whichever genre Ann chooses, she likes to include a puzzle for her readers to solve. Ann loves hearing from her readers.
Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Ann Lawrence
Lord of the Hunt
Lord of the Keep
Lord of the Mist
Perfect Heroes 1: Virtual Heaven
Perfect Heroes 2: Virtual Desire
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Virtual Warrior
ISBN 9781419946479
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Virtual Warrior Copyright © 2002, 2013 Ann Lawrence
Cover design by Dar Albert
Cover photography by Alex Aldo, Tankist276/fotolia.com
Electronic book publication September 2013
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