Salome at Sunrise

by Inez Kelley

  Finding the small stream had been more miracle than skill. He’d never taken water for granted again. He remembered the panic of agonizing thirst. The same burning craving radiated through him now. Salome was a spring, a cool trickle of glistening water and he was parched. He drank more from the bottle but the bite of liquor only heightened his thirst. It loosened his tongue.

  “I want you.”

  “I am yours.”

  Salome brushed a lock of hair from her cheek and his hand caught hers. He adored that long curl, the flyaway piece that continued to caress her skin, defying her attempts to restrain it. Her fingers intertwined with his, she brought his knuckles to her lips.

  “Will you let me sing to you?”

  “A song isn’t what I want right now.”

  Infinity existed only in her eyes. It captured his gaze as she leaned close, skimming a down-soft kiss across his lips. Hunger mixed with thirst and he thrust his tongue deep, tasting the sweet waters of her mouth. Her palm, abraded and jagged, scratched across his cheek but she didn’t pull away. She angled closer, nipping him back, sliding her mouth along his, fanning the growing flames.

  One arm curled around her waist, bringing her closer. Small, firm breasts pressed into his chest and the fire built. Her fingers slid up his face, dipping into his hair and gripping tight. Her other hand fisted his tunic at his shoulder. A shudder balled in his belly. She was so responsive, matching his every nibble and lick. His mouth glided to the sweet spot beneath her jaw, the tender flesh more potent than the alcohol. The taste buzzed through his veins with a lusty burn and his control cracked. Like a moth to a candle flame, he couldn’t resist her even if the scorch would mean his end.

  The bottle in his hand prevented him from cupping her ass and hauling her to his lap. If he pulled her astride him, the temptation to sink into her softness would be too great. Her nipples scraped against his chest, hardening and thrusting out. His hands ached to cradle them, to run his thumbs across those small crests, feel them on his lips.

  Salome made a low, pleased sound that rippled across his tongue. An answering call rose swiftly in his chest and he took her mouth, bruising, savage, famished. His lips whispered across her jaw, tongue licking at the hollow of her throat. Against his mouth, her skin flowed like heated honey.

  A moan rose from his gut. “I can’t help it. I ache for you. I want to feel your skin next to mine. I want to taste every inch of you. I want to hear my name echoing off these walls as you fly beneath me. I want—oh, God, Salome, I want you.”

  “I am yours,” she whispered into his hair. “Take all that you wish.”

  The bottle lowered to the stone.

  It hit a tiny rock, tipping over with a sharp ping. Her mouth tore from his as she lunged for the glass. Wet whiskey splattered her raw palm and she hissed in pain, yanking her hand away.

  An ironic groan bowed his head. Alcohol and pain obliterated the sensual haze surrounding them. They were his salvation as well as his damnation. They kept him from losing the last of his honor. He’d nearly given in to the baser urge and lost himself in her arms. His embrace fell away and Salome jerked straight, cradling her hand.

  “You need to wash it out, stop the stinging.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she murmured, leaning back to him. He averted his face, keeping his jaw stiff when a confused wrinkle sliced into her brow. He could still feel her, taste her. His breeches stretched too tight and one touch, one gentle touch, and he’d crumple, take her and feed the need still clamoring in his blood. Then come morning he’d regret it. He had enough regrets and would not add her to his list. She deserved better.

  Her chin raised and he fought a sigh. How courageous she was. Even as he pushed her away, she refused to pout, to whimper and cast blame. The blame was his. Ego made him brave. Her tenderness made him weak. The liquor made him stupid. Righting the flask, he brought it back to his mouth, draining the last few swallows. Now if it would just bring him oblivion.

  Salome began to sing. Inhaling her honey scent mingled with the moist night, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the stone. The same song she’d sung in the wind reached into his soul and caressed his heart. The beats slowed, his eyelids grew heavy and tension ebbed from each muscle.

  What did those words mean? The foreign language melted from her tongue in calming notes. He’d walked Jana when she was restless, humming wordless songs and letting her feel the vibrations of his chest. This was no different. The subtle waves in the air washed over him, pulling him toward darkness.

  His hand was too heavy to grasp the bottle and he didn’t fight when she plucked it away. “Come, my charge, rest. Sleep. Sleep and heal.”

  He floated. There was no ground beneath him, no boots on his feet, no belt at his waist. He was weightless, drifting, sinking. Fingers threading through his hair bought a smile and he turned his head toward the touch. Silk and velvet brushed his cheek and he sighed as the deep fathom of slumber took hold. His last thought was never had his pillow felt like heaven. Heaven dropped a kiss on his brow and kept singing.

  Dreams of gentle waters, huge rounded backs arching out of the ocean, and the soothing lap of waves filled his sleeping mind. Rest as he’d not known for months whispered to him, the song calling deep into his spirit. Salome was there, as a bird high above the water. Her windsong caressed him and he tilted his face up to feel the warm sun bake down. Colors so vivid they nearly hurt shone in azure, cerulean and sapphire. Sky and ocean, both endless, both eternal, stretched wide and welcomed him.

  “He’s unimportant,” Karok grumbled, tossing the ruby on the side table.

  “He knew who to contact to get a message to you. That tells me he’s important enough to investigate,” Chakor spat.

  “If you want to kill him, do it. I’m busy.” Karok pressed his hands on his pet’s blond head, forcing her to swallow more of him. The gagging noises were less this time. She was learning.

  Chakor spun on one heel, headed out of the massive sanctuary.

  Karok halted his exit. “Wait, if you kill him, bring me his head. I want to see this old friend of mine.”

  His man left and Karok leaned back in the huge stone throne and spread his legs wide. He tightened his fist in her hair. She was learning well. The rhythmic sucking let his mind drift and he picked up the ruby. The torches created bloody light shimmering from it. Someone was looking for him. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time some piss-ant with a grudge stomped their foot for attention.

  This country pissed him off. Everything was too damn green, and the people were like slugs—weak, mindless insects to be crushed by a heavy boot. His own country had once nearly worshipped him, the mighty revolutionary who would overthrow the ancient and archaic government. But even then his followers were unworthy, unable to see his vision of the new order of things. They had no revulsion when he skewered their enemies and took their lands, their daughters, their riches. But they whimpered and bawled like sick calves when he did the same to them. Mewling little worms, all of them.

  In the ultimate betrayal, they’d banished him to that dismal island with the stone walls and rat-infested rooms. But the Great One watched over him, sent him deliverance in the form of Emerto Marchen.

  Some men didn’t want to follow Karok. They either died by his hand, his followers’ or the king’s swordsmen. It didn’t matter to Karok as long as they were dead and out of his way. But he’d lost too many to the Royal Guard’s blades. That rabid bastard who sat on the throne was nothing to scoff at. A curl peeled the lip away from his teeth. He’d enjoy beheading that cretin…after making him watch as Karok took the queen over and over.

  Karok had pulled back his men and reconfigured. This foreign place was his new home but it was unconquered, filled with opportunity and challenges. One province after another, he would take control of this strange country. Revolutions took time, took gold, took blood. He raided the very people he would crush. His catacomb stockade now filled with the gold and jewels needed
to raise the stakes, he could soon put his plan in motion.

  A hearty chuckle ended on a moan and his hips thrust up. His general would have made it to Lacornia now and would soon return with more of his loyal followers, those hiding in exile, waiting for his triumphant resurgence. It took a mastermind to orchestrate the deathblow he planned for Eldwyn. Karok relished the challenge.

  “Harder,” he demanded, yanking the rope around his pet’s neck. She increased her suction and his head fell back.

  The Great One favored him. This ancient stone church, buried in the mountain caves, bore pagan symbols he’d crushed and obliterated. The ornately carved rock harkened back to a time these imbeciles forgot, a time of blood worship and sacrifice, the way gods should be worshipped. Karok’s favorite deity now graced the walls, the entrance ways. Her benevolent gaze looked down approvingly.

  Yes, Twylea had blessed him, brought him freedom, riches and a new land to conquer. She’d blessed him with a child. His hand dropped to his pet’s rounding belly, feeling the hard stretch of her stomach as his son nestled inside her. It would be a son, this he felt sure. If not, if this one was another girl, he’d kill both it and its mother, as he had the two previous pets and their weak female offspring.

  His blood pounded and he shoved her head down farther as spasms ripped through him. Twylea, the Great One, smiled down on him, her wide wings spread in glory.

  Bryton’s skull split wide and tiny men with pickaxes were chiseling away at his brain. He groaned and rolled his head. His tongue felt wrapped in heavy leather and his stomach twisted into a rope. Cheap-ass whiskey. Had he really drunk the whole bottle? Damn, he’d forgotten how miserable a hangover was until he tried to move…as in blink.

  A harsh hand scrubbed across his crusted eyes and scratched at his bristled chin. He must have stumbled in from the entry ledge but had no memory of it. The last thing he could recall was that song. He cracked his eye, wincing in anticipation of blinding pain. His bedding sat deep enough in the cave that no morning glare assaulted him. In fact, the chamber was dim, none of the lanterns lit and the fire ring held nothing but smoldering embers.

  He lay on his pallet, covered with the new blanket. Leaf was curled into the crook of his neck and he peeled the furry body away. The kitten blinked at him then stretched on the coverlet near his knee. His boots rested to his left, right side up. He never did that while on the trail. He always either kept them on or turned them upside down to prevent spiders—or worse—from crawling inside.

  His sword! Panic ripped through him and he reached for it. It wasn’t at his side. Not since the age of fifteen had he slept without a blade within easy grasp and he bolted upright. Dizziness dropped his ass back to the ticking. Leaf meowed her displeasure.

  Movement drew his eye toward the entrance. Salome stood just outside the cavern, the first fire-tinged rays of dawn slipping over the mountain peak. She lifted her face to a teasing breeze. Loose curls flicked in the air, dancing to a tune of morning birds. A smile closed her eyes. A daybreak palette of peach, copper and pink streaked across a violet sky and a rim of gold burst over the ridge top. A spark hit her gown and it erupted into a glistening shimmer of dawn. His breath caught.

  Salome at sunrise was a near-holy experience. She was serenity and elegance wrapped in creamy skin and living sunshine. The light played over her in prisms of gold, tinting her hair to polished bronze. She inhaled the dew-crisp air, tiny nostrils flaring. His heart thudded with an increasing power. Candles held not one half her beauty or her light. All the murky dregs in his mind slipped away as he drank in her splendor.

  She turned her face toward him, her eyes flickering with the flames of first light. The curve of her lips widened in joy and his chest squeezed. She smiled for him.

  “Good morning, my charge.”

  “’Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Did you…have you been here all night?”

  “I flew for a while but returned. I worried for you.”

  He looked back toward his pallet. No pillow and his pack sat along the cave wall. The answer to his unspoken question was in the subtle sweet scent of his blanket. She’d held him, for at least part of the drunken night.

  “I’m fine except for this bitch of a headache but that’s my own fault.” He thrust off the pallet and gingerly stood. The stone floor swayed but his knees held. He banged his boots on the stone, grateful nothing fast skittered out, and stepped into them. His bladder demanded attention and his face felt gritty. He snagged his pack and slowly approached her. “I’m going to go clean up. Be right back.”

  Salome shook her head and bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing at his movement. He walked as if every step jarred his head. She smoothed the second blanket over his pallet, rekindled the fire and lit the lanterns, waiting for his return. There were questions she had, answers she could possibly give him, but she needed his eyes, his training.

  He entered a short while later, water darkening his hair and jaw freshly shaven. The pale fawn tunic shaded his eyes to the hue of bluebonnets. The rich fragrance of the bean brew he liked soon filled each corner of the cavern. Bryton nibbled a piece of plain bread, each motion of his jaw bringing a wince. He squinted at the parchment she handed him.

  “Unless I cannot see them, as you cannot see the cat’s eye, there are no bird wards.”

  Bryton didn’t even glance at the paper before lowering it. “He has a bird, a big one on his chest. It’s on another parchment.”

  Salome brought the leather folder and settled beside him. The soft rasp of paper unfolding made him moan. An eagle demigoddess depicted in broad strokes of charcoal stuttered her breath. Under her ribs, her temporary heart fluttered. “I can see this, my charge. It is not a ward.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s a talisman. Look, see how the bird looks east? It signifies rebirth. The talons, they are clutching a rope, for security. The feathers are pointed like daggers, for guardianship. See the eyes? They are filled with fire for power. This is a calling charm, asking for blessing from a goddess that does not exist.”

  “I’m not going to argue religion with you, but what does this mean?”

  “You may not be able to harm Karok but he calls a bird to him, welcomes it, worships it.”

  The cup pressed to his lips lowered in slow ticks. “No way in icy hell are you going anywhere near him, Salome, so just stop that thought right now.”

  “You are making an error. You have a means to accomplish your go—”

  “You really don’t get no, do you?” Black liquid sloshed over the rim of his cup as it slammed to the stone floor. “No, as in negative, as in over my dead body. You can’t even throw a dagger and you want to face a murdering prick?”

  “Teach me.”

  Bryton groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “No. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. You’re a peacemaker, damn it. It’s not easy to take a life. Do you really think you can kill someone, Salome?”

  Her lips parted but no sound came. She could not lie to him, could not lie to herself. No, she didn’t think she could take a human life. The thought cramped her belly. Her mouth closed and she shook her head, shoulders slumped. Over his dead body, he’d said. Isn’t that what she feared? That she would stand over his dying form and watch his life essence slip away? A pain lashed through her. Could a heart break if it wasn’t human?

  One large warm hand encased hers with a gentle squeeze. Ocean-deep eyes narrowed with his gentle smile. “Thank you for trying to help but this isn’t your battle. It’s mine.”

  “I want to aid you.”

  “Just stay away from the Skullmen, that would aid me. I won’t risk you, too.” Bryton finished his bread and drained the metal cup before rising. He gathered his bow and tucked a bit of bread and cheese in his pouch. “I’m going to scout, get a feel of the land. The man I questioned said the campground trail began between two boulders forming an arch so I need to look for that. And the men who’ve been killed around here whil
e searching all died from arrows from higher up. To me that says a lookout perch in the cliffs. I’ll hunt on the way back before dark. What will you do today?”

  Salome shrugged, picking up the cup, rolling it between her palms. She had the strangest urge to press her lips to the rim, where his had been, taste him along with the drink. Her gaze lifted to his mouth and the drum in her chest struck a low reverberating note.

  She’d held him most of the night, threading her fingers through his hair, over his cheekbones, down his neck. The whiskey had let him sleep deeply and she’d relished in the freedom. His head pillowed on her lap, his breath warming her thigh, she’d sung the healing melodies of peace, hopeful they reached his slumbering soul. At one point in the night, he’d moved, wrapped his hand around her thigh and rubbed his cheek on her leg. Her song had faltered as tingles and crackles soared through her flesh.

  “There are berries in abundance. I may pick some today if you would like them.”

  Bryton nodded. “Be careful, though. There are more dangers than just nature in the forest.”

  Lying with him in the night strengthened her bravery and she stepped close, stroking her hand down his cheek. She did not miss the twitch under his jaw or his slight stiffening. His eyes dilated and never left her face. Daring grew, swelling like a wave on the shore, washing over her with crashing power. Salome rose to her toes and kissed him, her arms twining around his neck. Last night’s hunger erupted in a volcanic rush.

  For one breath, he didn’t move, then his arm circled her waist, hauling her higher, closer to his mouth. Like a shiver at midnight, his tongue slipped between her lips, the rich taste of his drink flooding her. She drowned in his kisses and guzzled the hot, slick liquid of lust. Callused hands stroked down her back, over her hips, and tugged her closer. Softness molded to hard strength with a frictioned warmth that pushed back the cool cavern air. Breath ragging and harsh, Bryton nipped her lower lip and she nipped back. A soft growl vibrated his chest and she nipped again. The growl grew hungrier with each taste.