Salome at Sunrise

by Inez Kelley

  His headache returned with throbbing force. The heat from the fire warmed his back but his face flamed. Cursing his complexion, he dug for the words, the explanations, that were too personal and not something soldiers needed to have explained to them. Salome wasn’t a soldier. She was his peacemaker, an innocent he’d shoved into a strange man’s arms when she barely understood the rudimentary actions of loving. Rubbing between his eyes, he fumbled. “Fly…um, you know, find…release…orgasm.”

  “Orgasm? What is that?”

  His swallowed groan jammed beneath his jaw and he forced it down. This had to be a punishment for every barmaid, farmers’ daughter and the occasional minstrel he’d ever taken. Sweat formed along his temples and he wiped it away with an unsteady hand. He’d faced hundreds of armed men, lived through a war and more horror than one man should see in a lifetime. One little magic spell should not twist his stomach into knots like this, not even if she did look to him with huge, evening-sky-lit eyes. Command and authority boomed from his voice, the captain in him giving instruction while the man winced in embarrassment.

  “When the loving is right, when it’s good…the feelings, the sensations, grow, compound…until there is a peak. The peak is an orgasm. It’s like your soul is flying.”

  Understanding brightened her eyes and her chin bobbed. “Like a storm reaching the crescendo of power, I see. No, I did not fly with Roric. I flew from him.”

  “Flew from him?”

  “I flew away…with wings. There was no loving. I want no other man.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “You didn’t…You’re still a virgin?”

  Moonlight infused her hair with silvered threads that shimmered with her slow nod.

  His whoosh of relief feathered a tendril away from her forehead and he couldn’t stop his arms from encircling her. How could something not real feel so right in his arms? “Thank God.”

  She burrowed closer, nuzzling his neck and clinging to him. “Even now, it’s your touch I crave. I am free to choose and I choose you.”

  “Salome.” Bryton pulled from her arms and smoothed that one stubborn curl away from her cheek. He was really beginning to like that lock of hair. “You’re right. You are free. I’m not.”

  “You felt lust for me?”

  “Like I said, you’re irritating as hell but beautiful. I’m only human. Yeah, I wanted you.”

  “Do you still?”

  Bryton considered lying. He thought about denying it, making it firm that he was in no way attracted to her. A hidden cruel streak toyed with the idea of laughing at her. But in the end, he took a deep breath and forced his gaze to connect with hers. He gave her the truth. “Yes, I do.” Pale pink lips parted with a soft inhale but he’d taken that first step and could not retreat. “My body wants you but my heart doesn’t have room for another woman. I can’t do that to you.”

  Her hand caressed his jaw, thumb slipping over his cheekbone. A soft, teasing smile played with her lips before curving them into a wide smile. Starlight melded with twilight in the depths of her gaze, reaching into his chest and that dead lump of aching flesh he called a heart.

  “Your heart has no limits. It is not a tomb, Bryton, but a gateway. Couldn’t you let me in, just a little bit?” Her nose crinkled before she bent to rub it against his, like a rabbit nosing its mate. “I’m not very big.”

  A sigh hid his laugh. “Somehow, Salome, I think you are a very small package containing a butt load of trouble.”

  The hill country took them through towns of varying sizes and trails of empty woodlands. Each step, each mile, each passing town took him closer to his goal and his death. His jaw gritted tighter and the indigo of his hate flashed with binding intensity. Salome dreaded the destination but reveled in the journey, in his company. An easy friendship formed. Salome soared above or flew beside him. For a while, they walked. He talked, she listened. He told her long epic tales of valor and battle, of good triumphing over evil. Salome waited for each word with a breathless anticipation, hanging on each tale as if reliving them.

  The king and queen entranced her, their love surpassing death and magic. Bryton grumbled that the king was simply too stubborn to realize that dead meant dead. Though Bryton complained of the queen’s interference, his admiration rang through. The affection he held for them was as clear as morning. He did not mention his wife and Salome did not ask. Time would make those words easier to speak.

  The mountains crept closer, dark and tall, cutting boldly into the blue sky. Nature’s abundance flourished in the warmer southland. Greens were darker, plants more lush. Trees stretched leafy arms high to embrace the breezes. Animals scampered, robust with the driving urges for new life. Sunlight rained down in beams of golden splendor. Only the human population carried the shroud of imprisonment.

  Few children played outside cottages, villages held silent roadways, in storefronts people bent their heads, hurrying to complete tasks and seek shelter. Women, if seen, were in groups or with men carrying swords, hunting knives and, in one case, a farmer’s sickle sharpened to a deadly edge. Oppression loomed darker than night in the middle of a glorious spring day.

  Bryton did not stop though his supplies grew low. He pushed deeper into the woods, higher up the mountainside. Cool, earthy scents kicked up as Jester struggled for footing on a narrow pathway. Salome watched from above as Bryton’s bright head peeked from between the dense forest canopy. Somehow, that conversation before the fire had eased things between them. They still squabbled but it held less heat, less irritation. A truce had been wordlessly agreed upon.

  Attraction arced between them, their competing now limited to flirts and teases. Bryton delighted in making her blush. Feminine pride fluttered her heart each time he tugged at his breeches, demanding she behave. Light kisses and touches thrilled her spirit, not reaching the fervent heights of his rain-secluded tent but with a tenderness that forged him deeper into her heart.

  Only his iron will held the brewing storm of passion at bay. His eyes would darken with lust and the sultry scent of want wafted between them, growing thicker with each day. Salome waited. Nature could not be rushed nor could it be restrained. The storm would come.

  Bryton might be no poet, but his description of love stayed with her and calmed the worrisome ache in her body. She loved him. Perhaps that too had been part of the call she answered but she didn’t think it was. How any woman could not love him was a greater mystery.

  The rushing of a nearby stream veered her path and she swooped low to investigate. He looked for a resting spot, not for a night but for a base camp. His mission lay but a few ridges away, secluded in the mountains and valleys. A black slash in the face of a tall cliffside beckoned and she glided to a stop. Her caw brought his head up sharply. A grin widened his mouth.

  “When I said cave, I meant on the ground. Do you expect me to sprout feathers and fly up there?” She would have arched a brow had her falcon possessed one. Instead, she flapped her wings, turned and shook her tail at him. His laugh was music. “Is that your way of telling me to kiss your ass?”

  It hadn’t been but his words sent a plume of heat through her. The down under her chinless beak quivered. To prevent those images from forming, she hopped to the right side and cawed again, twitching her head down. He read her signals as clearly as if she’d spoken. He tethered Jester to a low tree limb, grabbed a loose branch and rounded the rock base. Natural-made steps hid behind a jagged slab of stone, a fissure from the earth’s great pressures. He easily climbed to her stony perch.

  Lilac mist coated her feathers as they melted into skin and she smiled at him with human lips. “It is empty, no animals inside.”

  “Well, let’s take a look.” He knelt and drew the flint from his pouch. Sparks snapped and the end of the wood burst into flame. Large and warm, his hand encased hers, leading her into the darkness. The cavern wasn’t overly large, but far more spacious than the narrow opening suggested. The depth would conceal the light from a fire and the rock ceil
ing vaulting high above their heads would prevent smoke from choking them. Scattered bones long coated in dust suggested an animal had once used the cave but they saw no sign of recent activity.

  Bryton nodded. “Good job. The stream’s near and the height makes it easily defendable. So this it, this is home for a while. Let me get it cleaned out and then we’ll head back down for some supplies before dark.”

  “I can try cleaning it,” Salome offered.

  Bryton cocked one ginger eyebrow. “Like you tried cooking the squirrel?”

  “I didn’t know you had to turn it,” she huffed. “You ate it.”

  Summer-sky-blue eyes glistened with his tease. “I scraped the first layer off.”

  She blazed a withering glare at him but he just handed her the torch with a wink. The urge to help him, involve herself in his routine, gnawed at her. As a mortal, he had fundamental needs—a place to rest, food, fresh water. She required nothing but him.

  A strange nesting instinct flared; the desire to create a comfortable place for him churned with intensity. She tried cooking and admitted it was fun but the results rarely pleasing. He never berated her, just taking over and salvaging enough to sustain them. Though she’d refused at first, he insisted with a gruff bark that if she were with him, she would eat as well.

  Salome couldn’t help but notice he served her first, giving her the choicest parts of the meal. He had two bowls but only one plate, one set of utensils, one cup. Those he gave to her. She allowed his chivalry for two reasons. One, it preserved the illusion he was taking care of her. Two, it made her feel warm and cherished. That he did these things without thought, expecting nothing in return, humbled her. How selfless he was.

  She pulled her thoughts back to his actions. He gathered a few supplies from his horse, reclimbed the stone stairs and entered the cave. The torch grew to two, shoved into cracks along the wall. The dancing gold light shimmered off hidden colors. Sandy rock held streaks of gray, red and a thousand shades of brown. Some minute crystal embedded deep in the stone glistened like sun on a water stream. Cool to the touch, she expected dampness as she glided a hand along the wall but there was none. Her finger came away grime-covered.

  “I’ll go get some pine branches and start swee—”

  Salome stepped in his path with a determined thrust in her jaw. “Tell me how to assist you.”

  “Just go sit down, this won’t take long. I’m only going to do the basics for now.”

  “Basics should be simple enough for you to explain then. I can do this and you can get your supplies.”

  A split second of indecision twitched his lip but he shook his head. “Thanks, but no. You’re not my maid. It’ll take some muscle to get fresh water up here. And I couldn’t leave you here, anyway. We’ll go back to town together.”

  “I do not require a caretaker. Go to town.”

  Stubbornness stiffened his shoulders. Torchlight streaked his hair in gold and red shimmers as he ran his fingers through it. Their time together had provided insight into his mind and she could tell he was gathering patience, calming his tone. Still, the force in his words stunned her.

  “Not happening. I have no idea exactly where the Skullmen are and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving another woman alone anywhere near them.”

  Softness enveloped her. This was the care he gave without thought. The Skullmen could do her no harm. One thought and she’d be wind before they could blink. But Bryton had tasted loss too bitterly to risk it again. It was not her he sought to protect; he would give the same consideration to any woman. Salome was not a woman. Still, she wished to hold even a small place in his heart just for herself and that filled her with selfish shame.

  Shame turned sour. Had his wife been here, he would have no qualms about accepting her help. He’d spoken very little about his marriage but it was easy enough to glean that she had been a caretaker and a helpmate. She would not have had to ask what needed doing. She simply would have known and done it. The reminder that Salome was once again lacking stung her spirit.

  “This I would understand were I human. I am not nor am I without power.”

  A tick beside his mouth leaped in rhythmic beats. He stole a fast glance at the sun and one brow dropped. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Bryton, hit me.”

  “What?” His voice echoed off the cave walls. “Fuck, no, I don’t hit women.”

  “Hit. Me. Or should I say try to hit me. You will not be able to touch me.”

  “Salome, I don’t know what you’re thinking but it’s po—”

  She slapped him. Though she had anticipated a twinge, the sharp sting on her palm reverberated up her arm and she shook the pain from her fingers. A bright red mark filled his cheek and shock widened his eyes.

  Her lips pinched tight. “Hit. Me.”

  “No.” She swung again but he caught her hand, spun her and held her back to his chest, arms pinned at her side. “Stop thi—”

  Wind whipped past his face and she formed behind him. He turned and she arched her brow. “Go to town, my charge. No harm will come to me.”

  In the torchlight, grudging admiration flickered in his eyes. He shook his head, fighting a smile. A hearty chuckle poured into the cavern. “Remind me to never really piss you off, okay? All right, I’ll go, but only if you promise me that if anything happens—anything, Salome—you’ll mist to wind and come to me.”

  “I can be down the mountain and at your side in two breaths.”

  He bent to retrieve the hatchet from the side of his supply pack. “I’ll cut the branches. You’re more likely to sever a finger than a tree limb.”

  Instructions given three times, he descended the stairs, mounted Jester and stared up at the cave entrance. Salome raised a hand in farewell. Bryton bit his lip, drew a breath and set Jester toward the township. He was trusting her and she was determined not to fail him. A burned supper lurked in her mind. She had no idea what making camp required but, with his instructions, she was going to do her best. Grabbing the pine branch, she ducked back into the cave.

  Dust choked her in minutes, and still she’d barely made a path through the grime. Oh, this is a bother. She pitched the pine outside and walked to the deepest recess of the cavern. A summons pulled power into her and focused air shot from her hands. The dirt blew away, carrying dried bones, leaves and other debris in a whirlwind. The gale scrubbed the walls and stretched the torch flame to long tongues. A satisfied smile ached on her cheeks. Apparently she cleaned much better than she cooked.

  Sharp, sticky needles poked into her skin as she hefted the armloads of cut cedar. She couldn’t understand why he’d chosen this particular tree for bedding but followed his instruction, scratching at her arms after each trip. The softer pine came next, layered over it, and it finally made sense. The cedar held firm, insulated the cold floor, while the pine provided cushion. She smoothed his blanket over his bedroll then lay on top. It was far softer than the ground but still lumpy. Removing the pallet, she fussed and placed until each bump was smoothed. Then she lay and stared into the dark overreach of stone.

  What would it be like to lay here on this bed of earth and tick, held in his arms with nothing but skin between them? Though he had kissed her, light butterfly kisses, the restraint he held himself to stretched between them. The fiery need kindled in his tent threatened to explode with each touch. A low ache in her hips joined the yearning in her blood until she rolled to her side, cradling an arm around her stomach.

  Attraction and arousal festered. She could feel the currents brewing in the air, the electric sizzle that stood each hair and whispered across her neck. His sky-bright eyes darkened with a promise of release. Heightened scents full of tang and energy grew sharp when they were close. Hints of lust and power flavored each breath. Soon, the storm would burst and drench them both with its power. A primitive ache knotted in her belly, a knot only he could untie.

  Her fingers slipped over the seam in his pallet. Here, sheltered fro
m the elements but not closed away from nature, was where she would be with him. This ticking, this thin pillow of down over branches of green, was where she’d meld her body to his. Instinct would meet need in a storm of sexual release. Hot moisture pooled between her thighs and her breasts grew heavy. Bryton watched her with heavy-lidded eyes when he thought she didn’t see. He reminded her of a tiger, all flaming coat and muscled power, scenting and stalking prey. Did he realize how eager she was to be caught?

  Frustration fed into her muscles and she leaped from his pallet, snapping the blanket straight. Work, she had tasks yet to do before he returned.

  The full waterskins were cool and heavy, the straps biting into her shoulders. Her wet chiton clung to her skin. Hopefully the warm sun would dry the material or she could shift to wind before he realized she’d fallen in the stream. Sweat beaded on her lip as she struggled up the steps. One jutting protrusion made a convenient hook and she hung the skins out of the way.

  His cooking utensils were few—a pot, a skillet, his tableware. She lined them on a low niche with his dwindling supplies. Looking around, she couldn’t help but be pleased with herself. She’d finished every task he’d set with only the stream mishap. But he would do more. What could she do now to aid him, make this stone enclosure more restful for him?

  Fire. He would build a fire, not for warmth but for light and cooking. She could do that. His hatchet was tucked into the outside loop of his packet. She tugged it free, running a finger down the blade. Sharp.

  Moist foliage and thick pollen gave the air a rich fragrance. Salome pulled a deep breath and swung the hatchet. A thud split the air and every bone in her frame crashed into her skin. Hard vibrations knocked the handle from her hands. The blade stuck in the hard trunk of a fallen tree. Her shoulders slumped. This was going to be more difficult than she anticipated. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she wrenched the blade free and began again.

  Soon her shoulders and arms burned with pain and the skin on her palms turned red and hot. A twittering nearby drew her gaze and she paused, blinking sweat from her eyes. A sparrow cocked its tiny head then leaped back into his nest. Salome ventured closer, peeking inside. Her eyes widened and joy spread through her essence. Eggs. Four tiny speckled green eggs lined the mud-brown nest. The sparrow settled its small body over the fragile orbs.