Salome at Sunrise

by Inez Kelley

  Why did he find the curve of her breast so alluring? Her skin pinked beneath his nips and licks, beckoned to him. He sucked one tip deep, delighting in the rasp against his tongue. She bowed higher, her nails biting into his shoulders. He took the crest between his lips, swathing his tongue along the tip, and she moaned. He nibbled and his name hissed with pleading.

  Inside him, between them, within the stone walls of this sheltered cavern, the storm let loose. White-hot light flashed, and rumbled thunder shook his soul, but all Bryton heard was his name on her tongue. Her fingers threaded through his hair, down his neck, smoothing along his spine as she arched to his mouth. The gentle swell of her abdomen, the dip of her navel and the lush contours of her hip trembled as he worshipped each precious inch.

  “Turn over.”

  One arched brow quirked in question and the slender lines of her throat bobbed with a swallow but she did as he asked. Pine rasped against cedar as she rolled to lie on her belly, hands folded under her cheek. Long golden-brown strands covered her back and she made no move to rearrange them. The scent of wild honey burst into the air as he fisted a length of hair. For one brief second, he simply let the silken locks trail through his fingers, basking in the feel, the scent, the freedom to touch her. Then he pushed the hair away from her back.

  The slender slope of her neck called to his mouth. The velvet of her flesh under his lips intoxicated him with one sip. He had no plan but let his mouth go where it wanted, sliding along her spine, slipping over her ribs. From the curve of her shoulder, along her spine, the crest of her bottom, he learned the secret taste of her skin. Every lick, kiss and nibble marked her as his. He claimed her for himself, the feel of her on his tongue an unbreakable bond. He allowed no part of his body to touch her but his mouth. The act was so simple, so pure, and so private it became a pledge not unlike a marriage vow.

  A shiver racked her when his hands curved down her back, across her buttocks, along her thighs to her fragile ankles. Beginning at her heels, he forged a trail up her leg, swirling his tongue with slow, teasing abandon. The rounded mound of her bottom quivered beneath his kiss. She mewed and groaned into the pallet as he nuzzled the small of her back, her shoulder blades, and traced her spine back to the nape of her neck.

  “Bryton.” His name was a sigh and he smiled against her skin. Every muscle and tendon in her body was loose and languid. He wanted her relaxed, comfortable with his touch, his intimate kiss. Easing his full length down to her back, he accustomed her to his weight, the sensation of his body pressed tight to hers. Rounded and soft, the cleft of her buttocks cradled his rigidness and she purred. He rocked and her purr turned to a moan. Her hips rose to meet his and the ache in his balls scourged though him. Too tempting. His teeth snapped down with an audible click.

  The heady scent of passion clung thick in the air, burrowing into his subconscious, marking him. His skin vibrated with need. He pulled back, smoothing his hands along her ribs, fingers tracing the swells of her breast, down her sides. He gripped her hips firmly, rolling her to her back with deliberate strength. She needed to feel at ease with more than gentle touches.

  Her contented smile greeted his gaze. Wide shining eyes the color of mist simmered with sunlit flame and Bryton stoked the blaze between them. They didn’t need the campfire’s warmth. The heat came from inside, the friction of her against him, him against her.

  A light sheen of perspiration coated his skin and Bryton struggled for control. Trailing a hand up her thigh, he eased her knees apart, settling between them. The coarse blanket scratched his belly but he barely felt it. Wet heat pooled between her thighs and the pulse in his breeches thrummed harder. He traced a line of kisses and licks between her breasts, down her rib cage, across her stomach. The dip of her navel beneath his mouth gave way to the firm arc of her hip bone, the soft valley leading downward.

  Salome moaned and opened herself wider. His fingertips grazed moist, glistening skin and her hips thrust up. So responsive, she trusted him in every way. It was a gift he cherished and vowed to never let her regret. He didn’t want to devour her, to frantically push her to the peak. He wanted to coax her, draw her closer to the edge with gentleness and care. He wanted to gorge on every experience, every discovery, learn each nuance of her response. Slick with her liquid silk, his fingers skimmed her hardened bud, teasing her.

  The hollow where her leg met her center called to him and he sucked with a nibble. In his hair, her fingers twisted and yanked. He pressed his cheek to her thigh, the velvet contrasting vividly with the roughness of his jaw. The rich feminine bouquet tempted him and he had no desire to fight it. One slow breath blown across her center made her gasp. A leisurely glide of his tongue along her outer folds brought a whimper. Passion-soft flesh slid along his tongue, and his lips nipped until she quivered.

  Pure melted woman flowed when he suckled her deep, drawing as much of her into his mouth as he could. Her heels dug into the pallet and she whispered his name, begged him, pleaded for something she never voiced. Buried in succulence, a tiny knot hardened between his lips. A panting moan rippled above him and he looked up.

  Beyond the slight swell of her stomach, her breasts heaved, the bottom curves lush from his attentions. Tight dusky nipples still shimmering from his kisses crested high. Her knuckles went white as they fisted above her head. Her mouth fell open, full lips parted wide with her panting.

  Bryton cupped his hands under her ass, lifted her closer to his mouth and used his thumbs to open her. The flavor enthralled him, spiced honey with a hint of salt. He used his teeth, not sharply, not enough to push her over, just enough to pinch the pulsating nub to a heightened intensity. One finger slid deep inside her.

  Tight cords in her neck shone white as she jammed her head back. Her hair snaked along the pine as she thrashed on his pallet. A fine sprinkling of gooseflesh formed on her stomach. Fluttering his tongue made her sob and shudder. He added a second finger, gently stretching, diving deeply and stroking softly.

  His tongue became a dagger parrying the nub hidden in swollen silk. Instinctively arching, she drove herself closer to his probing. He let her juices flow across his lips and lapped each dewy drop, purring against her flesh. He draped her twitching legs about his shoulders. The tiny knot grew hard and he lavished his attention there.

  She chanted his name in a low murmur. Power rushed him. Dominance screeched through his veins like a diving hawk. She was completely in his control. She belonged to him. He belonged to her.

  “Bryton!” His name, drawn long and high-pitched, echoed off the cavern walls. Every line in her frame snapped taut then shuddered with quaking force. The sound reached inside him, gripped his heart and squeezed. Fading to harsh gulping breaths, her cry lingered in his ears, a drumbeat in his blood that throbbed with need. He didn’t slow his mouth until the last tremor passed.

  Passion-sweat gleamed on her skin, the dewy kiss of release. Giving her time to recover, he trailed a moist line of gentle kisses up her belly and across her collar. Shaky arms wound around his shoulders. A purely masculine satisfaction curved his mouth. He kissed her nose, smoothing the errant curl from her damp cheek.

  “That’s how humans fly, Salome.”

  Salome smiled, a breathless chirp of laughter brushing his chin. “What a wonderful and glorious flight.” Trembling fingers traced his cheek, glided over his mouth and dropped to his chest. Her fingers slipped lower. “Fly with me.”

  The mere suggestion clenched his stomach and jerked his balls. He’d done all he could to ease her and now he needed to claim her. He shoved away long enough to strip off his breeches. She opened her arms and he went readily into them. Want roared in his veins and he fought it, striving for patience, kissing her until her mouth grew more intense, hungrier. Hungry fingers kneaded his back. She was ready.

  Bryton spread her legs with his thigh. He hooked one hand under her knee, bending it, and her leg slid around his hips. He guided himself to nudge the heated folds and closed his eyes. A hast
y prayer echoed in his mind then all thought ceased. Swallowing the acid taste of dread, he sank inside her.

  Her body tightened almost excruciatingly around him and she gasped, the sound wrenching his soul. Cursing himself as four times a bastard, he moaned at the grip of molten satin. His pleasure at her pain scratched another black mark into his honor. Exquisite torture battered through him and he stayed still, feeling her stretch around him. Sweat trickled down his spine as he gritted his teeth.

  “Salome, please…tell me when I can move…when the pain’s gone.”

  She brushed her lips along his dagger mark. The actual scar felt nothing but the flesh around it quivered with hot pleasure. Her whisper danced across his skin. “There was never pain. This, between us, this is magic. This is love.”

  Softness ached in his chest and though he could not say it, he nodded, taking her lips with his. Vibrant sensations, lightning bolts of pulsating hunger, coursed along his bones, settled in his marrow. He rocked and Salome hooked her feet behind his hips, arching when he delved deep and retreating as he pulled back. Scents of pine and cedar blended with lust and wafted thickly in the cavern. Her nails raked his back and clutched at his waist.

  Water, her kisses were water to his parched soul, and he drank with a ravished thirst. Only the taste of her could quench his longing. The storm’s cadence never ran dry.

  She matched his pace and intensity until, at the end of his fragile grip on control, he drove deep with a thunderous roar. His lip curled over tightly clenched teeth, his grunted growl resonating in the small room. Salome vaulted and trembled violently, crying his name. He thrust. She sheathed. He rocked. She arched. He pounded. She cradled. And then they flew.

  A half circle of light surrounded the carving. Torches snapped and crackled in the deepest night, costly wax candles shimmering beneath them. Karok knelt in frenzied prayer before his goddess, his lips spilling unceasing prayers. Impassioned sweat trickled into his eyes, but he dared not stop to wipe it away. Twylea had come, in all her menacing glory. She was angry and she had right.

  Karok swayed with the rhythm of her song, his thighs aching with cramps, his feet long gone numb. The veil between the worlds grew thinner by the minute and he would not risk missing his chance to appease his benefactor. Twylea was the goddess of victory and war, bloodshed and vengeance. She’d honored him with her presence and, in his foolish arrogance, he’d touched her. His spine shuddered at the memory of her feel, the power vibrating from her stare, the brush of her wings, the strength in her call.

  A whimper before him did not interrupt his prayer. The sacrifice waited, gagged and bound with the toughest leather. He’d chosen the youngest of his bounty. Though she had been well used, she still had all the ethereal beauty that had drawn Chakor to her. He liked them young and tender. Twylea would be appeased with his gift. She would come to him again, praise his devotion, reward his loyalty.

  Silence descended on the last echo of prayer. Karok opened his eyes, drunk with the zeal of belief. Behind him, his men began the ritual chant. He fixed his gaze on the stone beak and reached for the dagger. The sacrifice screamed behind the wad of cotton but he didn’t pause. He held the blade high, his native tongue pouring from a dry mouth.

  “O Great One, Twylea of the Skies, Warrior of Wind and Goddess of Glory, receive my gift of blood and breath. Your humble servant praises your beauty, your courage and your might. Bestow to me your blessings. Grant me the wisdom and strength to triumph in your name.”

  A deadly song hummed as the knife plunged. The muffled screams grew louder as he sliced first one way and then another. Copper, iron and the foul stench of refuse grew thick, mixing with the wax on the air. The stone slab slicked with oily crimson blood. The chant rang louder but the screams stopped.

  Karok laid his warm red gifts around the stone base. Each offering held meaning—the heart for valor, the stomach for bravery, the liver for purity, the tongue for wisdom and the spleen for clarity. The perfect ruby, its color the same hue as the spleen, he nestled in the belly of a gold goblet. Blood, beauty and brilliance would satisfy the winged deity.

  He dipped his hands in the cooling sacrifice and touched a smeared palm to each man’s forehead, sharing his worship with them. Returning to the eviscerated remains, he lifted the small glossy womb. He cupped his treasure, stroking it with reverent fingers and offered it first to Chakor. He took a single bite to renew his bond with the giver of life, to request rebirth through Twylea. The womb passed from man to man until Karok hefted the small bit left in praise before stuffing it in his mouth.

  Both arms toward the iced-blue moon, he begged for the spirit of his goddess to return. The inky bones on his stained hands shone beneath the sticky red smears as if his very frame were reaching toward the obsidian sky. He would be blessed and prevail. He would bring Twylea’s customs to this vile new land. The Great One would rejoice when he ruled, crushing the weak beneath his boot like insects and laying their organs at her altar.

  Salome stretched, muscles waking and warming beneath the wool blanket. Her sensitive nipples brushed the fabric with a pleasant reminder of his mouth. The pallet smelled of Bryton and their loving, the sweet sensual fragrance stirring her blood. She’d slept, deep human sleep with soothing blackness, while cradled in his arms. The rest had revitalized her body, his love had enlivened her soul. With her eyes still closed, she stroked one palm down her bare stomach, dipping her fingers into the moist flesh between her thighs. Remembered sensations flooded her mind and a low hum rekindled in her blood.

  Loving with Bryton surpassed flying, surpassed the call of magic, surpassed all she had imagined. She rolled to her side, pillowed her head on her arm and opened her eyes. He sat just outside the cave, staring into the pale predawn. Clad in only his breeches, dark brown mantle across his shoulders, Bryton toyed with his pipes. Leaf pawed at his cloak but a shadow caught her eye and she whirled, pouncing on nothing and falling on her tail.

  The pine boughs made no sound as Salome rose to her feet. She tucked the blanket around her chest and padded silently to him. His head snapped up at her approach.

  “It’s chilly this morning. Come here before you catch co—Well, maybe you can’t catch a cold but come here, anyway.” He laid the pipes aside, opening his arms. She settled between his widespread knees, leaning on his bare chest. He wrapped the mantle around them both. Warmth cocooned her.

  A melody of emotional dissonance resonated from his aura, the harsh turmoil of varying pitches and notes jarring her essence. He rested his jaw on her crown and slowly his fugue-laced soul-song quieted. His heartbeat measured time with hers. Under the cover of his cloak, he brought her hand to his, straightening her fingers until they lay flat, palm to palm. The size difference was clear, his dwarfing hers by a quarter, but the tenderness of those sword-hardened fingers stroking her hand screamed with more significance.

  “Are you all right?” His gentle question brought her smile.

  “You worry when there is no cause.”

  His arms tightened and she burrowed closer. His chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. “Humor me. I’ve never taken a virgin but have heard tales that…I was afraid of hurting you.”

  Her brow dipped. “You said you hated virgins.”

  “When did I say that?”

  Salome nibbled her lip and ducked her face, avoiding his eye. “When you argued with your horse while shaving.”

  “You eavesdropped.” He laughed and her blush scorched hotly. “I may have said that but it was more frustration talking than sense. You made me feel, Salome. I wasn’t prepared for that.”

  “Katina was not a vir—?”

  “Kat was promised to another man. He died in battle before they could marry.” There was no anger or disappointment in his tone, just simple acceptance.

  The blanket edge slipped and she tugged it higher to her chest, the move hiding her spinning thoughts. “Did it bother you she had a lover before you?”

  “It would’ve bothered me a hell of
lot more if she’d had a lover after me.” His indignation pushed against the damp air with swift heat. She stiffened and his hands gripped tighter. “Sorry. No, it didn’t bother me. How could I judge her when I was no innocent myself? We were a good match, she and I. We understood each other. We loved each other.”

  Cottony fog clung to the ground, swirled around the trees and wrapped the last breaths of night in softness. Salome let her gaze drift to the shifting skies. The sun rose beyond the mountain ridge, spilling pale gold light into the fading gray. Streaks of red lined the sky, birthing blood of a new day. She drew the cool air deep into her lungs and relished the crisp tingle. Every muscle in her temporal human body cramped from her position but her heart rejoiced holding him, being held.

  Her joy was tainted by his wife’s memory. Katina was everything she could never be to him. Mother to his child, companion for his life, music for his heart. Human. Salt swam across her vision and blurred the sunrise. The day was born beneath the shimmer of her tears.

  “I need to get moving,” he murmured, brushing her temple but making no move to rise. “I want to plot out where you saw the Skullmen’s camp on the map and do some scouting.” Panic shrilled through her. Salome stiffened but he wouldn’t release her. “I’m just going to be nosy and look. Relax.”

  “Relax?” Salome backed away, using her hands to push at his chest. Brisk morning air shivered over her shoulders. Her damp eyes fixed furiously on him. “You have a death wish, you know the location of your enemy’s lair, and you say relax? I may have no training, Bryton, but I am not a fool. Do not lie to me.”