by Inez Kelley
A sweet breath tinged with wild honey bathed his damp cheeks. “Destiny cannot be halted. You were meant to save your daughter and not your wife. I can tell you no reason except that is how it was meant to play out.”
Through the crusting of his unshed tears, she swam in golden firelight. She was too pure to be with him, too good. “I can’t see Katina’s face. All I see are her eyes, so scared, begging me to help her.”
“Let go of your guilt. The memories are there, locked forever in your heart. Remember I told you the heart is a gateway. Unlock it, let the good memories come back, let the bad leave. Let peace guide you.”
“I loved her. I want to remember her, Salome. I can’t let myself forget.”
Salome smiled. Her eyes tilted with the rise of her apple-round cheeks, and a twinkle in her eyes borrowed starlight from the sky. A gentle hand caressed down his face. “Peace is not forgetting, Bryton. It is accepting that you are not to blame. Had Katina been in your place, do you think she would change one action? Would she have chosen you or her daughter? Would she have wished you to sacrifice her child for her life?”
Kat would have picked Jana over anything, him or herself or a pot of jewels. Mothers would fight to the death for their children. Hadn’t that been one of the first hunting lessons he learned? No animal is as dangerous as a mother with young. The she-wolf. She’d come too close to him, drawn by the lure of feeding her young. She disregarded her safety for her pups, the chance to feed them, to ensure their lives.
A flash of Kat’s frantic cries echoed in his head. She’d pointed to the wagon, then turned to face the Skullmen, flaming torch and weakened magic as her shield. She’d entrusted the baby to him, drawing attention to herself so he could chase after their daughter. Kat had wanted him to go.
His stomach fell to his knees and a vicious quake rumbled in his muscles. It knocked him off balance and he sat hard on the rock, mind whirling like a toy. Kat had sacrificed herself. Maybe she thought she could summon enough magic. Maybe she thought they were all going to die. He didn’t know. She’d stood so tall, so brave, facing the Skullmen like a warrior and daring them to come closer. The rabid fervor in her eyes wasn’t pure magic. It glimmered with protective malice and feral intensity. Maternal rage. She was protecting her cub. The cub she trusted him to save.
Fever-hot blood coursed along ice-cold bones. The hand he pressed to his mouth shook hard and a shuddered breath scalded his lips. Grit stung his eyes, blown from the wind, that was why his vision went wet and water leaked from his eyes. It could not be tears. Those had refused to come when expected, a long time ago. Still, he could not look at Salome until the fire no longer blurred.
Graceful serenity colored her dusky eyes with a hint of violet. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His body trembled so violently he clung to her like a rope cast to a drowning man. Sweet murmurs whispered in his ear but all he could hear was a lullaby in the wind. He felt her smile against his cheek.
“Now the healing begins.”
Her gently crooned song swept the cavern of tension. Bryton’s emotions spiked and fell, twisted and knotted, until his soul was raw. Salome stroked his hair and absorbed as much of his torment as she could, easing him into a sheltered cocoon. Tomorrow his mind would clear and he could sort through the various discoveries and realizations. For now, she simply held him.
The hand on her back stroked with a slow touch. Her chiton grew warm from his heat, melting until his caress felt like skin on skin. It traced up her spine then down again, each inch winding a cord tight inside her. His chin rubbed along her shoulder. Moist breath danced across her neck. Soft lips and a softer tongue traveled up her throat. Tranquility turned to temptation with a single kiss.
The sharp tang of liquor flooded her mouth, stinging her tongue, burning her lips. The fire grew and sank lower. Salt edged the whiskey taste with sadness, heightening the loss, intensifying the sweetness. Never before had his kiss held such timidness, the silent plea for aid as this trembling touch of lips on lips. Salome ached to comfort him, to reassure him. As with her gift of feathers, she had nothing to offer him except the love in her heart, the song in her soul and the willingness of her body. She gave it all to him without question.
She deepened the kiss, boldly gripping his chin and tilting his head back. A low sound of acceptance girded her courage. A whisper of silk and a sigh of leather and she was naked in his embrace. The worn hemp of his tunic balled beneath her hands as she tugged it up, pushing it higher until he leaned back long enough to jerk it over his head. His mouth descended, seeking, and hers was there to answer. He let her guide the depth and speed of their connection.
Tongue danced with tongue until their breaths panted, frayed and jagged. His heart pounded with a bass drum’s strength. The rapid beat fluttered in his neck under her kiss. It increased as she stroked down his stomach, over his waistband. Bryton jerked to a stand, kicking away his boots and reaching for his breeches. Salome gripped his hands, removed them from the material and locked her gaze with his. Only a thin line of blue rimmed his irises, the black wide and simmering with need.
She knelt in front of him, letting her palms glide down his chest, over his stomach, skim his thighs. Bryton gaped with lust-clouded eyes as her tongue slicked across her lips. The taut muscles tightened when she lowered her mouth to his abdomen. His breeches clung fiercely for one moment then slid down his hips. A groaned exhale encouraged her.
Last night he had restrained his need, tempered his desire to take her. Now she wanted to take care of him. Inexperience sank beneath her love. She would return every touch, every kiss, caress and stroke he’d given. He had shown her how to love. She would give that love back to him tenfold.
Bryton was hard, heated silk over iron that grew warmer and firmer with her touch. Her fingers wrapped around him and stroked, gently, tentatively. Hips driving into her palm, he curled his hand around hers, tightened her grip, increased her speed. She learned his rhythm and he grew harder. His hand fell away, his eyes slid closed and his head fell back, surrendering to her touch.
Pure feminine power rushed into her blood. He was at his most vulnerable, emotionally and physically, yet trusted her. He could have stopped her, removed her hands, taken over and bedded her. Instead, he submitted to her efforts until she gained confidence.
“Salome.” Her name was a whispered moan.
Her lips circled his tip and he hissed. A song of sensual pleasure vibrated in his blood, throbbed through his veins and pulsed against her tongue. She mimicked his intimate kisses, using her lips and hands. Men were very different and she had to improvise and experiment. Her discovery empowered her. His swift breathing thrilled her.
A quivering ache coiled inside her. It deepened as she took more of his length. The course of trial and play proved enlightening. Swirling her tongue made him pant. Sliding her mouth to the pulsating vein beneath tightened his jaw. Her hand stroking to meet her lips rocked his hips. Brave from his reactions, she took him into her mouth and swallowed.
Slick liquid grew between her thighs, his pleasure heightening hers. The tie in her hair released at his tug, spilling her hair around her shoulders. He fisted her curls and thrust his hips. The pounding of his heart increased, and his guttural purr enthralled her.
Bryton jerked away, tugging his breeches off and pulling her to a crushing embrace. The frantic flick of his tongue across hers stole her breath. Her gasp raked tight, aching nipples across his chest. Caught between them, firm heat dug into her belly as he feasted on her mouth. He stepped back, drawing her to the pallet. Alcohol still pumped through his veins, the inebriation sped by desire and cathartic release. He stumbled and landed ass-first on the ticking. Salome crashed on top of him.
The unfamiliar position jolted her with possibilities. Aggressively crawling up his body, she leaned over him, her hair spilling onto his shoulder. He rose to capture her kiss. He allowed her to push him back to the pallet, to rub against him in sensual friction, to nip and nuzzle whe
re she liked. She felt every silken tether that bound his yearning and set to unknot each one.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the line of his brow, down his cheekbone, up his nose, down the other cheek to his lips. His tongue flicked out to taste her, but she moved to his neck with its thick cords. Bryton watched her explore with a sultry fire in his gaze. The perusal twanged through her with delicious tension, like running a finger over a too-tightly drawn harp string. She traced over his Adam’s apple, his collarbone, down his chest, around his flat nipples, into his navel, with feather-light caresses. Hot, damp skin slid under her palms. His hands fisted and a muscle twitched beneath his eye. Her fingers delved to his inner thigh and his body shuddered.
Feminine command rolled through her, thunder through a summer sky, shaking her bones with power and force. Her body grew lush and heavy with desire as she kissed a line of hot wet kisses down his face. Her lips traced from his dagger mark to his stomach down his hip. A quick loud breath scored the air. The glistening path from her tongue trailed below his navel and his hands buried in her hair. She lapped at his tip before circling her lips around silken iron. A strangled cry sprung from his mouth.
“No more, please, Salome, I need you…now.”
The raspy plea stirred a deep longing. Salome needed Bryton. She straddled his waist, dragging her damp, empty center over him. He growled beneath her kiss. She pressed her chest against his, thousands of new sensations flooding her at once: the heat of his body, the texture of his skin so different from hers, the scent of his hair, the scratch of his shadowed cheek.
He clasped her hips, lifted, moved, then lowered her. Softness yielded willingly to hardness in a long, slow glide. The entry took both of their breaths and the connection stunned them into immobility. Their eyes locked and their hearts began to drum as one. His hips meeting hers tore a satisfied moan from her throat and he stilled. Every line of his body shifted. Low and deep, his voice quavered with harnessed control.
“Hurt?”
She shook her head. “Heaven.”
Bryton grasped her hips, pulling her even closer, forcing a sigh from her lips, echoed by his own. Deep within her, his pulse raged, echoing through her blood.
A lightning flash of passion scorched liquid fire throughout her body, clamping her muscles around him. Nothing could ever compare to the sensation of being both stretched and filled at the same time, to the magic of man within woman. She rocked back and forth and up and down, squeezing and caressing him. His head jammed back with a gasp.
Both his hands stroked down her spine, the slow glide of roughened skin ratcheting sensations to a new level. His touch wasn’t gentle, wasn’t pawing, but somewhere in between, the perfect balance of a coarse caress. Those battle-hewn hands cradled her breasts, peaked crests digging into his palms. With each breath she drew him further into her soul, sucking in the scent of masculine surrender and famished need. Each movement tweaked her swollen nub and she fought against the rising need to yield.
Bryton launched a counterattack. Fingers spread wide, he stroked from her collarbone to her stomach and lower. His thumb sank deep into her melting flesh, circling over the bundled knot until her hips twitched. Flight beckoned and she had no power to resist.
A whirlwind spun hard inside her, the tight funnel of energy drawing her muscles taut and quivering. One tweaked brush of his thumb and the cyclone exploded. Force ricocheted through her in bursts of lights. Pitches sang, each full-bodied and in perfect clarity, along an undulating scale. Her head snapped back and her cry of release vaulted toward the rock ceiling.
Her thighs gripped hard along his hips. Wet flesh pulsed in rhythmic clenches around him. His grunt clamped his hands around her ass, grounding her through the turbulent flight. He steadied her as the whirlwind swirled, peaked and ebbed. Bliss wafted in the aftermath. She gasped, greedily sucking air flavored with the rich fragrance of love and nature.
He rolled her beneath him, levered himself high between her thighs and plunged deep in one move. It was not without ache, that fine thread between pleasure and pain stretched to the finest, and Salome whimpered.
Bryton froze. The muscles in his back twitched with his restraint. A maelstrom vibrated in his essence, tingeing his spirit with flashes of gold. He needed her hard and without tenderness but his honor demanded he be gentle, go slow. Salome didn’t want his honor, spit-polished and pageant-ready. She wanted him—scars, rough spots and armor chinks. She wanted all of him, the pretty and the harsh.
Blazing blue eyes locked with hers and a fissure in his guarded heart widened. Her heart swelled, calling to his. A hushed mystic whisper brushed her essence, his soul to hers with a desperate plea.
Save me.
Let me, she begged.
Alcohol and poignant understanding stripped his fragile shields away. Every ounce of her devotion, every drop of her serenity, every morsel of her love she gave to him in a single kiss. Lips on lips, tongue on tongue, breath with breath, Salome loved Bryton. A sigh slipped from her lips to his.
She smoothed her hands along his shoulders and rocked, urging him to take. He took, moving cautiously, a line of sweat blooming on his lip. Not enough, it wasn’t enough. Refinement could not ease her. Instinct raged. She surged beneath him, thrusting up. Her teeth sank into the flesh above his shoulder and her nails stabbed into his sides. Bryton snapped.
Acidic emotion had scourged him raw, and the whiskey left him with no restraint. Hunger growled through him, took hold, and he had no resolve left to temper it. An animalistic snarl reverberated off the stone walls as he drove fast and hard. The feral shade in his aura crashed into her, driving to the center of her essence in a spiked lance of vibrant glowing red.
Civility tore away, leaving only him, her and the bloodlust. Rearing back, he slammed his forearms under her legs, raising her knees to her shoulders, curving her hips into his deepest thrusts. With her thighs spread wide, he claimed every inch that clung tightly around him. His hard, punishing strokes creaked the pine boughs but she welcomed every twinge.
This was love at its most basic, most primal level. His soul was laid bare and he shared it with her, trusted her to accept him at his most vulnerable, as if she could do any less. The gift was precious. It twined through her bones, burrowed into her marrow. For this moment in time, Bryton loved her. She clung to it. The tiny bit of offered love took root, flickered then exploded. A rolling high C sang through her as she flew in his embrace. The timbre echoed, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper.
“Salome!” His breath hissed through his gritted teeth. Wet heat filled her on a groan. Feral red flashed to scorching violet. Slowly it dimmed to rosy pink then sank to paleness. He released her legs and she crossed her feet behind his thighs, drawing him closer. Tattered breath heated her skin as he collapsed in her arms.
A sob shuddered through him. Release had drained his strength and he wept in finally freed grief. His tears singed the curve of her neck. Sorrow bled to heartache to loneliness then to loss. Normal progressions of mourning his guilt had never allowed swept through the chamber. It cleansed him, purged his soul, stripped the bitterness away.
Empathetic salt stung her eyes. This he must face but she would not let him face it alone. Her embrace was his comfort. She gave him her strength when his was weakest. She soothed with wordless touch. Kissing his temple and fingering his hair, Salome cradled him until his thundering heartbeat slowed and his sobs faded.
A jerk straightened his spine and he propped on one elbow, searching her face, a concerned fright wrinkling his brow. Salome smiled and stroked his damp cheek, silently answering his unspoken question. He had not hurt her. He had trusted her. He had shown her his soul, raw and bleeding. He had loved her and begun to heal. She loved him and would forevermore.
Their lips did not steal a kiss, did not take one or claim one. They shared one, as two halves of a whole. Words were useless, powerless, nonexistent for the union that formed. Not made of iron or silk, rope or vine, it
joined their souls with an awesome force. It came from the strength of a man and the softness of a woman. It had no match. Love bonded them beyond magic. It bonded them as mates for the little time granted them.
Chapter Twelve
“You idiot!” Karok cracked him across the face then thrust the man away, not caring or noticing when he stumbled over the bare feet of his tied pet. She whimpered and pulled her legs tighter to her rounded belly, pressing closer to the table she was tethered to, tried to crawl under it.
Chakor caught himself on the chipped stone edge and stood, righting the black patch over his missing eye. “There was no one there! Four men watched the woods. Druka and myself went inside and nothing! I swear it.”
Karok growled and kicked the loose piles of kindling. Shards and splinters scattered across the ancient sanctuary. What kind of man sends word he wants a meeting then does not have the balls to show up and get caught in his own web? This country and its ways made no sense. Maybe he should torch the entire fucking place and be done with it.
He rubbed his head, the tender places where part of his braid had been stinging. No, Twylea was testing him, judging his worthiness. He would not fail her. The depiction of her wings on his chest spread wide as he drew a deep cleansing breath. “The goldsmith, the one who talks to you, what’s his name?”
“Zenor.”
“Find him,” Karok snapped. “Get more information on this friend of mine.”
“He has none. I tried.”
Karok’s smile inched coldly along his lips. “Then kill him. Maybe my friend will get the message and come to me himself.”
“Can I have his heart?”
A careless wave deepened the lines into the burn scars around Chakor’s one visible eye and he bounded out of the room like an eager puppy. Of all his men, Chakor was his most trusted. Still, Karok would gut him like a fish if he failed.
