Salome at Sunrise

by Inez Kelley

  Cold training buried all fear, all emotion. He could not risk missing one step, not and save his family. His mind spun with every lesson he’d ever learned. Light feet, balanced weight, peripheral check, ears alert, slow breath, note the hips to anticipate a move, dagger in left boot, curved foreign blade right hip, spiked rings on both hands.

  A twig snapped to his right and Bryton twirled, sword swung high, catching a second Skullman across the face. The agonized screech split the night and Skullmen descended like locusts. Right hand swinging his sword, left cutting a path with his axe, Bryton held them back for a minute. Only a minute. Then a dagger raked across his scalp and gushing blood blinded him.

  Sharp, stinging fire pierced his side. His knuckles throbbed from a swiping blade but he blindly swung the axe. A liquid gurgle and jarring force told him he struck true. The rage of war pumped hot adrenaline through him, and sweat mingled with blood. He swiped a forearm across his face and skewered another man. Wide gold eyes locked on his, the light fading. He shoved the body from his blade and leaped over the fire. He kicked the blaze’s edge, sparks and flaming bits spraying an approaching enemy. The scent of scorched flesh churned his gut. The man pawed at his face and stumbled back toward the forest, screeching in sightless pain.

  Five. There were five dead men littering the ground; how many more were there?

  The ground vibrated with the rolling thunder of the border patrol. Hope washed strength through Bryton. They might make it if the guards got here in time. The cry of the horses and a rumble of wheels jerked his head to the left. Two Skullmen had hitched the team and stole the wagon, but he couldn’t care less. Where was Katina?

  “Jana!” Her shriek shot through his soul with an iced blade.

  Sunshine hair streamed from one side of Katina’s head, the other still pinned tight above her ear. Her skirts bunched as a Skullman pawed at her legs. Her hard-soled travel boot nailed him in the balls. She drew back her palm and hit him full in the face, ramming his nose back into his brain and sending him to hell in a shitload of pain. Frenzy glittered in her eyes when she whirled and pointed after the wagon.

  “Jana’s in the wagon!”

  She dies…

  The night swallowed the cart, his daughter invisibly hidden inside, and terror coiled tight around his bones. “Oh, fuck, not the baby!”

  Two Skullmen appeared at the woods’ edge, running toward the fire. Screaming for their infant, Katina grabbed one burning log and brandished it like a sword. She held her other hand straight out. A spat chant flowed from her lips. The two men collapsed, holding their bellies and bellowing in agony. Bryton dropped the axe and took off after his daughter while they retched.

  Insects stung his face and his side burned with a fiery bite but he ran harder than he had ever run. He knew the woods and paths like a fox and climbed a steep knoll, barreling down the other side. Hot blood cooled on his skin but fear fed a furious burst of power to his legs. The echo of hooves and the clang of steel rang through the night as the border patrol flooded into the area.

  The Skullmen frantically unhitched the team, more interested in fast horseflesh than a slow wagon weighted with provisions. Bryton gained precious seconds swinging off a stout elm branch. One fled into the darkness with the horses, the harness dragging leaves and bramble along the ground. Bryton severed the other’s head with a single blow, letting the body flop into the dirt. He leaped into the bed.

  Nothing. He couldn’t see anything in the pale moonlight. Jana was hidden well and silent. Did Katina’s spell carry this far? Had the baby been found and tossed out somewhere? Visions of slain infants at Istimar forced bitter bile into his throat. Dropping to his knees, he felt the entire bed, pleading to touch a warm body. Horror cramped his gut and fright twisted it. Nothing.

  She dies…

  “Jana!”

  His terrified shout brought a startled, mewling cry from the front of the wagon. She was there, under the seat, in a box that had held her clean diaper cloths. A shaky laugh flew from his lips as he felt his daughter’s firm grip on his finger. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her, could hear her. She was alive.

  Jerking off his bloody tunic, he wrapped the invisible squirming child so he could see what to pick up. Her tiny head fit into his palm and her behind into another. Tucking her close to his chest, he wiped more blood from his eyes. He had no horses, a useless wagon and a baby he couldn’t see. Weakening, he ran back toward the camp.

  The pace and his familiar hold soothed the infant and she quieted in his arms. The border patrol’s shouts and cries filled the muggy air. Bryton sped through the black, aimed toward an orange flame.

  His heart shuddered and his throat clamped shut at the unspeakable evil that held his wife. The Skullman’s shirtless skin gleamed as golden as his eyes. The skull on his face was a mask of death on a living devil. Strange white symbols covered his body, and bones painted on his skin in the color of chalk heightened his menace. Sweat shone on his head, bald except for the long braid of black hair from his crown reaching his waist like a rope. The hand fastened over Katina’s mouth bled bright red where she clawed at it. Katina struggled, kicking and hitting, but the Skullman didn’t notice.

  He shook her like a toy, screaming into her face. “Curse me, will you, magic bitch? Can you chant without a tongue?”

  Bryton stooped as he ran, dropping Jana in a protected nook between two trees and flew toward Katina. Two Skullman grabbed at the man who held her, tugging him toward the tree line. He shook them off and they ran. A horn sounded and the rapid beat of hooves quaked the leaves.

  The man looked up as Bryton burst through the foliage with a battle cry. His sword raised then froze as the Skullman spun Katina and held her against his marked chest. He shielded himself behind a woman, like a coward. Above the press of his dark numbered hand, her eyes were wet and wild, the flecked blue-green begging Bryton silently.

  Bryton locked two things in his shuddering mind. Her eyes and 2173.

  The Skullman grinned, wide white teeth like a wolf’s, and kept his golden eyes on Bryton’s face. “Slow there, friend. Wouldn’t want this little bit of meat to get caught between us.”

  “Let her go then, asshole.”

  A sinister chuckle widened his smile. His tongue darted out, tracing a line along Katina’s temple. Her whimper made him chuckle. “Sweet. She yours?” The Skullman took his hand from around her waist and brought it to her breast, flicking his thumb over the tip.

  A snarl peeled Bryton’s lips from his teeth. “Get your fucking hands off her!”

  “As you wish.” Bryton didn’t have time to blink. A vicious twist made a loud pop as the Skullman snapped her neck.

  “No!”

  The Skullman threw her limp body toward him and melted into the night. Bryton’s knees buckled, clutching at Katina as she fell. Her lifeless eyes were open, her head loose on her broken neck. Tears and blood dripped from his face to her chest. Her name whispered from disbelieving lips. There was no response and never would be. His heart cracked, and a torturous cry ripped from his throat.

  “Kat!”

  Bryton bolted upright from the pallet, cold sweat lining his face, his heart racing, his mind grabbing at a fading image. Her name echoed in the hushed tent.

  So vivid. The nightmare came so vividly after all this time. Night creatures stirred beyond the canvas walls and a gentle breeze blew under the flap. He needed to escape, to rid his body of the pulsating adrenaline coursing through his veins, but his watery knees required another minute to gain strength. He couldn’t breathe. Struggling to suck in air, he wiped shaking hands down his cheeks.

  Salome’s slender palm smoothed along his back. He jerked away. He didn’t deserve pity or compassion. Her touch burned like fire. He was so cold inside. Confusion swirled in his brain, horror mixed with loss. Why couldn’t he banish the nightmare? There was never a rest from it. He carried the bitter image every minute of every day, whether his eyes were opened or closed.

&
nbsp; The border patrol had brought Jana to him, her invisibility vanished as Katina’s life slipped away. He watched them cover his bride with a cloth, listened to his daughter wail and could do nothing. Six dead Skullmen lay crumpled around the camp, one somewhere near his wagon and one lifeless woman who’d taken his heart. Panic jabbed into his numb chest when he noticed blood on Jana’s blond head until he realized it came from him, dripping from his scalp to hers. Only then did he let a guard bind his wounds.

  The black had appeared in his hair the next day. It seemed fitting. Why wouldn’t the brightest part of him be tarnished? His soul carried a wound that would never heal.

  “Shh, the dream has gone.” Salome’s lilting voice was an anchor in his stormy emotional sea. Such hideous, evil images swam in his memory and her touch was sweet, purely giving and tender. The cramped tent trapped her scent and the fragrance of wild honey blended with earthier, damper smells. He blinked, finding her outline in the dark as her hand rubbed up his shoulder.

  The cheap muslin of her skirt rasped on the wool of his blanket. That was wrong. She should be wearing her silk, the vibrant, living color of flame, not the drab trappings of some lightskirt. She was too innocent to wear a whore’s garb. Salome. His peacemaker. She’d donned a barmaid’s gown to comfort him.

  No, she needed to be rid of the dress, to cast off the ugliness of this world so she could remain untouched, untarnished. His hand reached for her blouse and touched breast instead. The adrenaline in his body shifted course, surging south at painful speed. His honor lay shredded in the mists of dreams and shadows. Salome’s fingers trailed over his jaw, her touch a soothing balm for a burn that screamed too raw.

  Her breath tickled his chin like the wings of a hummingbird. She would be a beautiful hummingbird. The image was filled with joy and color and sweetness. He held it tight for one long second, his eyes closing to lock it into his mind, and then he took her mouth. Warm, petal-soft lips stilled at his touch then gave back his kiss. One gentle touch and his bones rattled. Her whispered gasp sucked the breath from his mouth when he parted her lips, stroking her tongue with his. She stroked back without hesitation and a grip squeezed deep in his belly. Something nudged him, reminding him he had no right to touch her, yet he couldn’t pull away.

  She tasted of dewy honeysuckle and fresh summer mornings. Purity tinged the flavor with a clean briskness that washed over him. He craved more, took more. She gave more, nipping back. Slow, inquisitive fingertips glided over his jaw then slipped into the back of his hair. They tightened, pulling him to her. A faint noise whimpered from her throat and a burst of need rushed through him. That move, that small sound, was his undoing. Hunger, thirst, longing exploded with a volcanic rush of heat. One hand strayed around her waist, his mouth seizing hers, and he lowered her to his bedroll.

  Salome was lost. This was a kiss but like none she had seen. This was needy, made her needy. Pleasure akin to soaring toward the clouds sharpened her senses to a fine edge. His tongue licked into her mouth and she licked back, tasting the spicy flavor of desire. Pure instinct wound her arms around his shoulders and parted her thighs. Strength and power pounded in his blood, heated his flesh, warmed her body beneath his. Something primitive in her responded as he settled his weight between her spread knees.

  How could she who did not require drink grow drunk on his kiss? Food did not sustain her, yet a fluttering in her stomach grew, a craving for his mouth, the taste of his skin. He was a feast to ease the famine yawning in her belly. She sought to give peace and comfort and now a furious yearning ignited in her marrow.

  Her whispered name fanned the flames along her bones until they dissolved. Fires of longing raged hotly as his mouth ravaged hers and hers fought back. Her palms learned the solid contour of his shoulders, neck and chest. Her hands pulled at his hair, pulled him against her mouth, pulled him into her. The hard evidence of his arousal nudged into her and she intuitively arched to him.

  So many sensations flooded her. Rough palms cupped her shoulders and the thin material of her blouse slid down. Far softer than the cloth, his silken tongue followed, tracing a wet path from her jaw to her neck to the swell of her breast. A gasp ripped from her lungs when his fingers rolled her peaked nipple. The crest drew tighter and an exquisite fire blossomed.

  Her fingers laced deeper in his hair. The gossamer strands bunched in her grip as she bowed closer to his touch. Liquid heat gathered between her legs, to that spot he rocked against. A deep ache formed. She needed more. More of whatever magic he cast. She felt empty. Only Bryton could ease the throb. His tongue plunged into her open, waiting mouth, drinking in her lust. Craving more, though she only had a vague idea of what, she let her hands stroke down his chest, past his stomach, around his waist. His hips met hers and their moans mingled like smoke above a blaze.

  The muslin skirt held her, pinned beneath his knee. A growl rippled across her neck as he fisted it, yanked it up and plunged his hand beneath the layers. She sucked in a moan at the graze of his fingers along her quivering thigh. The emptiness increased. His touch slid higher, slicking over satin-drenched flesh. A shudder flowed through his frame.

  “Salome,” he groaned into her open mouth. “Stop me.”

  “Why?”

  Bryton stilled. He tugged the skirt down and shifted, rolling away from her. With an arm across his eyes, he lay flat on his back, gulping air as if he’d run a race. Confusion twisted her brows. The night’s damp air blew soft and cool but the loss of his attention chilled her. She rose to one elbow and reached for him. Her palm landed on his chest. His heart drummed with a frantic beat and his voice rumbled beneath her hand.

  “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

  “Did I displease you?”

  Her question brought his fast snort. “No. I just…It’s wrong. You have no idea what…Just forget the whole damn thing. I’m sorry I kissed you, okay? You tried to comfort me or whatever and I overreacted. I shouldn’t have touched you. You’re supposed to bring me peace, not be a piece of ass.”

  Salome worried her lip between her teeth. Peace might have been her original reason for reaching for him, but all thoughts of serenity had fled when his lips touched her. Calm was not what brewed in her now. Slicking her tongue across her swollen lips, a taste of him spiraled deeper into her belly. “Is a piece of ass a bad thing?”

  Her hand shook with his chuckle. “You’re such an innocent.”

  “That bothers you? That I am a virgin.”

  “Yeah. Look, let’s jus—”

  “But I do not have to remain as such.” An idea bloomed in her mind and she grasped it, clutching tight to the desire to rekindle the fire he’d sparked in her blood. “If that is what took you from my arms, then I shall find another man to cast off that virginity so that I might please you.”

  “What?” Jerking to sit, he gaped at her. Dim shadows cast his face in planes of gray, darkening the harsh lines furrowed between his brows.

  She fluttered her hand in the direction of his pallet, struggling to find words. “What occurred between us…I meant to comfort you but your touch…your kiss…provokes things, feelings, emotions in me that I do not understand. I liked that feeling and would like more. Is it not logical to then remove the blot which disgusts you?”

  Bryton’s mouth snapped shut and his face hardened. He grabbed her hand, jerking her palm to the stiff ridge in his leggings. Between her thighs, her ache returned. A growl vibrated from his throat. “Does that feel like I’m disgusted, Salome?”

  “No, but you will not allow nature to take its course. Wildlife does not have this issue. You are confusing me.”

  “I’m not an animal ruled by instinct to mount any female I see. I choose my bed partners.”

  “Then I have that right as well.”

  Bryton snarled. “You are not fucking some stranger!”

  Lust roared to irritation in an instant and churned in her belly. She jerked her hand from his grip. He was selfish. He would not take her vir
ginity and yet wanted no one else to rid her of it so that she might then come to him unencumbered.

  “Well, you are not fucking me, either, by your own choice,” she spat.

  The edge of her full skirt caught on her heel as she pushed to a stand and he reached out to catch her. She thrust his hands away, righting herself and ducking out of the tent.

  Night had full fallen, the air damp and cool. The trees wept intermittent drops but the rain had passed. Wet patches shimmered in a faint moonlight that peeked through heavy clouds. Water seeped into her sandal and splattered up her calves. The night was quiet, still and serene.

  Until Bryton burst from the tent. His boots splashed through the silvered puddles. Hard fingers bit into her elbow as he jerked her to face him. An angry tic leaped in his jaw. “I mean it, Salome. Do not go whoring.”

  Cool mist seared her lungs but she sucked air noisily and shrugged away from him. “You are my charge. I am not a horse which you may own, Bryton. I shall choose my bed partners as well.”

  “You’re bound to me. Me. Not any other man. I forbid you to leave.”

  Salome arched one brow. Forbid? Oh, her charge had much to learn. “Then stop me, if you can, Sir Bryton, for I tire of your irritation.”

  His hand lashed out and grasped nothing but wind. Her blistering, frigid blast slapped at him as she rushed through the air, away from his camp. The rain-soaked night split with her screamed name. Hurt and resentment pushed her farther until his voice was lost beneath the rustle of the leaves. Anger tinged her essence until the wisps of cracking wind glowed a fluorescent amethyst.

  Bitterness charged through her, lightning spiking in a streak of lavender. He infuriated her. He tempted her. He enthralled her. He’d hurt her.

  Forbid her? Oh, no, he could forbid her nothing. She might not know the ways of men, be an innocent as he so dispassionately stated, but she knew nature. He could argue with his mount all he liked but he could not hide the evidence of his arousal. All males in nature grew thick and hard when the mating urge struck.