He refused to consider the delightful softness of her body, the silk of her hair, her tender flesh and the rich, sweet blood beneath.
He tried to draw back, but her delicate fingers clung to him, forcing him to meet her gaze. And then, Somma help him, he was lost. Eleni’s glorious eyes blazed brighter than ever, filled with his Fire.
Many a Keldari woman had died wreathed in flames, screaming at the touch of a dra’gwar’s blood. But her eyes merely glowed. His blood was in her, a bond she would never be able to break. No matter whether his brother treasured her or not, she would always have access to Zahak’s heart and soul.
Unfortunately, he liked that thought a great deal. His dragon stretched its wings inside him, rumbling with pleasure and growing hunger.
Her eyes darkened, burning hotter. “Just don’t let me fall asleep.”
“Your brother?”
She nodded jerkily, some of the flame dying in her eyes. “I defied him, and he’ll kill me as he promised. He’ll hunt me in my dreams, no matter where I go.”
Despising the fear in her eyes, he retrieved a small flask of oil and uncorked it. A distinctive musk of dragon and sweet jasmine filled the tent. “You can’t deny your body sleep forever.”
“I can’t sleep until I find a way to stop him.” Taking a deep breath, she tilted her head, a smile curving her lips. “I smell sweet flowers, surely an unusual scent for such a fearsome warrior.”
“None will challenge me for fear I’ll make them wear my jasmine oil.” He laughed with her, but the smile did not ease his heart. The warriors of Cobra feared him and rightfully so. “My brother is very wise, consulting often with our priests to lead the tribe, but we Keldari are not known for following our tal for love. They need a warrior they fear, harsh and strong enough to kill.”
“That is you.” Instead of horror or recrimination in her eyes, he saw sympathy. His heart stuttered, aching. “My poor Zahak.”
The sound of his name on her lips made his hands shake. He poured oil into his palm and gently dabbed her dry, cracked lips and face. “In a land of burning sands and thirst, this oil will help soften your skin and protect you on the morrow from the sun, at a price.”
He paused, waiting for her to feel the effects. A tremor shook her body and her eyes widened, flaring with rising flames. “It burns.”
Nodding slowly, he allowed his mouth to quirk with amusement. “Everything burns in the desert. Tell me if it becomes too painful.”
Gently, he rubbed the oil into her skin, easing away traces of the punishing ride, her suffering in the heat. Her skin glistened, softening, and a moan escaped her lips. He trailed oil down her neck, massaging the slender column, the curves of her shoulders beneath the shirt he’d given her. Arching her head back, she offered her throat, and it was all he could do to keep from planting his teeth in her skin.
Then he noticed the bruises on her shoulder. Fingerprints. Flames boiled to life in him, crisping his heart and skin. “Who did this?”
“My brother. I told you, he can hurt me in dreams. He can kill me. That’s why I must not sleep.”
He closed his eyes, breathing hard and noisily as he concentrated on calming his rage. Volatile emotions stirred the dragon to life, he knew, but this was very bad. The beast raged to protect its mate.
His heart stuttered, his chest banding with flames. The dragon was closer than ever to escaping his control after all these years. “He hurt you before this dream.”
“Yes,” she whispered, averting her face with shame. “Many times.”
Wings beat furiously, drumming against his ribs until he feared the beast truly would slip from his skin. Breathing hard, he tried to remember she belonged to another.
If his eyes had not been squeezed shut so tightly, perhaps he could have prevented her from doing the unthinkable.
* * *
He was so close, his face hard, teeth clenched, nostrils flaring with each breath. He was magnificent and fierce, so strong and protective. Eleni couldn’t help her herself.
Leaning up, she pressed her mouth to his.
His lips softened with surprise, allowing her the barest taste of dusky spice. She dipped her tongue deeper, hungry for a taste of him.
Flames boiled up in his mouth and slammed into her.
Blessed Lady above, she couldn’t breathe. Burned to ash, bones exploding in agony, she swallowed convulsively. Fire blazed down her throat, swelling her heart, sliding through her veins like molten lava.
Zahakgrowled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine even while she burned up with his Fire. Clamping one hand on her shoulder, his other in her hair, he hauled her against him. Mouth wide and slanted over hers, he twined his tongue around hers and poured into her: fire, hunger, heartache, loneliness so acute she cried out for him. And he poured tenderness, the heart-rending softness he denied himself as the grim enforcer for his tribe.
:Bright eyes:.
His voice echoed in her mind, and flames licked inside her.
Without losing his mouth, she climbed into his lap and cupped his chiseled face between her palms. Sweat dripped in her eyes and her skin felt blackened and tight from his Fire, but she kissed him eagerly, trying to tell him without words what his tenderness meant to her. His gentle touch despite the grim reality of his life and duty showed how he treasured her. No one had ever cared for her like this before.
Gasping for breath, he pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. They sat together, sweaty and panting in the silence of the tent. She knew his thoughts, could almost hear his turmoil in her mind. She was supposed to go to his brother. His brother needed her to win the position of azi. The end of the world was coming. Zahak believed all these things with every beat of his heart.
“My Fire should have killed you.” His voice was hushed and shaken. Carefully, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her bottom lip, sending wildfire through her body. “I never should have given you blood, let alone Fire. I can’t—"
“I need you,” she whispered, trembling, against his mouth. “Please, Zahak, just for tonight.”
His fingers tightened in her hair, clutching her to his chest even while he shook his head jerkily. “I cannot, azharana. There is no ‘just tonight’ for me. I’m dra’gwar. You carry my blood, my Fire. If I give you my body as well, I won’t be able to stop. I’ll bind you to me heart and soul. And once you’re mine...”
She felt a wave of overwhelming fury from him that he couldn’t have his heart’s desire, that he had to choose between his heart and duty, his brother.
“If I take you like a dra’gwar mate, I’ll kill anybody who tries to take you from me.” He thrust her away so hard she fell back on the rugs of the tent. “Even Amin.”
Pacing back and forth, Zahak ran his hands through his hair. Full of intense agony, he emanated so much energy the air sparked about him. The taamid tangled about his legs, so he jerked it off and threw it to the ground.
Sweat dripped down his cheeks, rivulets running down his neck and chest. Heat billowed in the confines of the tent, shadows unfurling like wings.
Her heart felt swollen and bruised. She might have known him only a short time, but she already knew his heart, his duty, his strong beliefs in his Gods. She respected such loyalty and honor. The last thing she wanted to do was destroy him.
She was tainted, would always be stained with Shadowed blood. Her family destroyed everything they touched. Even while she yearned for him, she could see how she tore his heart in half. Swallowing hard, she forced the tears and pain inside. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. It won’t happen again.”
Zahak nodded, refusing to meet her gaze. He stood at the exit, his hand stretched out to the leather, his back to her. Yet he didn’t leave. Silence stretched in the tent. Her throat ached with the need to cry her sorrow in solitude, yet still, he waited. Shoulders tense, straining, he fought his body. He started to turn, his face twisted with grief and rage.
“Go,” she retorted, forcing sharpness to her voi
ce. “Go before I ruin your life. Lady damn you, go!”
Without another glance, he ducked beneath the flap. Shaking with the effort to control her sobs, Eleni picked up his discarded cloak. His scent rolled from the material, smoky spice with hints of jasmine oil. She wrapped it around her shoulders and curled into a ball on the floor of his tent.
* * *
The moon mocked him, gleaming in the barren sky like a false promise of hope. Somma never forgot their devalki. While Agni blasted Keldar with heat, She punished them by withholding all water.
Keldar died, while the Gods watched silent and unmoving in retribution.
His punishment continued as the only bright spot of hope in his entire life came to his tent, and kissed him, and begged...
Clenching his jaw to keep from roaring with fury, Zahak threw his head back and concentrated on breathing, not an easy feat when a dragon paced inside him, hissing and clawing his stomach, demanding his mate.
Sands of time, the Gods knew exactly how to punish him. Even now, he felt her temptation, the torment of her scent, the warmth of his Fire flowing in her veins. With every beat of his heart, he yearned to claim her.
“Saif...”
“Spar with me,” he ordered his friend in a voice raw and graveled to his own ears.
Without argument, Malum shrugged off his taamid and pulled his shirt over his head. “Scimitar, short, or whip?”
“All. None. Bare hands.” Zahak jerked his shirt off and drew the wicked curved blade, the weapon he’d come to hate over the years. How many had he killed for Amin? “I care not.”
“Very well.”
His friend’s voice was entirely too cheerful for Zahak’s foul mood. Grimly, he determined to wipe that amusement off his face. As soon as his friend drew blade, he swung at Malum’s head. Malum countered easily and steel rang in the night. For a few blessed moments, Zahak was able to lose himself in battle, in the smooth flow of strike and parry, duck and slide, lunge and whirl.
“Why don’t you take her?”
“You know why!” Wincing, Zahak lowered his voice. Shouting did no good. Weeping wouldn’t help either. The long line of blood trailing down his friend’s chest did help a little, though. “She’s not mine to take.”
“She could be.” Malum caught his scimitar on the shorter blade and whirled aside, twisting the curved blade so high Zahak almost lost his grip. “You blame yourself needlessly.”
Gritting his teeth, Zahak growled. “You know nothing.” Each word rang with another blow of his blade.
“I know you blame yourself for failing to protect your mother. I know you hold yourself as less than your brother, as less than a warrior. You cut your hair because of the dragon blood burning in you, when you’re the finest leader on the dunes. I know your father...”
“Don’t speak of him!” In that moment, Zahak would have taken his friend’s head if he could have touched him with steel. But they’d sparred together ever since they were old enough to wrap their hands about a weapon and by now they knew each other's moves by heart.
Blocking each blow, Malum finally signaled a pause.
Panting, they stood in silence beneath the moon, and Zahak was struck by the awful finality, the sheer futility of their lives. None of the few remaining dra’gwar had any expectation of ever bestowing the kiss of Fire on a mate. They lived as long as they could, praying the Last Days would come and end their centuries of punishment.
In the meantime, all they had was killing, and living another day.
Zahak had a chance to end that cycle, if he paid the cost.
“No one’s spoken of your father for years, and we should have.” Malum sheathed his scimitar. “You can’t blame yourself for his actions. You are not your father.”
“He was dra’gwar like us,” Zahak replied flatly. Guilt and grief swamped him. “He killed my mother and would have killed my brother. But me, oh, no, he recognized me.”
He still remembered the red-eyed beast glaring at him, sniffing his chest. Freshly transformed in a moment of weakness, his father, a red mottled dragon, had practically winked at him. It had known him. It had sniffed the fledgling dragon in his heart. And then the damned beast had turned away and torn into his mother instead.
“Ouch!” He yelped, jarred from the dark memory by a streak of fire across his cheek. The crack of a whip echoed in the night.
Malum calmly coiled the leather back into his hands, smoothing it lovingly with his fingers. He could take a fly off a horse’s ear at twenty paces or more without causing the animal to flinch. Zahak knew very well the sting and blood were deliberate.
“Your mother refused to embrace his Fire. She refused to accept his blood, let alone his dragon. She never allowed him to mark her as his mate. The blame was not only his, my friend. You know how our beasts suffer and burn for the one true mate who can balance us. She never gave him the chance. She denied him her love, and thus, all hope.”
“He still had no right to kill her. I saw him do it. I couldn’t...” Breathing hard, Zahak hung his head. Did he cut his hair in grief? Or in shame because he hadn’t been able to save his own mother? “I won’t do the same. I won’t risk her.”
“You won’t do the same because you’re twice the man your father was.” Malum retorted. “That munakura in your tent doesn’t know to be afraid of what you are. You’ve spent all these years learning control and keeping your brother shielded from the ugliness of our lives. How can one who’s never felt the Fire within truly lead all the tribes?”
Zahak paced, kicking the shapeless pile of cloth out of his way. “Don’t start this argument again.”
Clouds hid the moon from view, shadows stretching across the sands. The wounds on his shoulder from the battle and the cut on his cheek burned, but nothing like the promise of the woman in his tent. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get more than dozen paces away before he found himself turning back to her. “I don’t want to be azi. I don’t even want to be tal.”
Malum slugged him in the shoulder, forcing a laugh from him. “I don’t want to be your best friend, but I am anyway. More, though, I don’t want to see every last Keldari drowning in Fire, lost in Agni’s punishment, because our leader has no true understanding of the very curse that made us. Use the woman, shield her as you shield Amin, and none…”
Shaking his head, Zahak met his friend’s gaze. “I wouldn’t have to shield her. She took my blood and survived. Moments ago, she—” He took a deep breath, another, and stopped himself when he finally realized he was trying to catch her scent on the air. “She kissed me, took my Fire, and she still lives. In fact, she…she would take more if I dared.”
Malum’s mouth fell open. “And you stand out here with me bemoaning your misery? Are you a bloody damned fool? What’s wrong with you?”
“She belongs to Amin,” Zahak muttered, running his hands through his hair. “She’s not mine.”
“Sands swallow him, and sands swallow you too. Do you honestly believe Amin would make such a sacrifice for you? If you refuse such a gift, then you deserve every moment of hell you suffer.”
“What do you mean?”
Whirling back toward camp, Malum jerked to a halt. Following his gaze, Zahak saw Eleni on the ridge of dune, barefoot and wrapped in his taamid with her hair blowing loose about her shoulders. Her wan face tugged on his heart, even while his dragon surged for freedom, clawing and screaming in fury at the cage of flesh imprisoning it.
“I felt your injury.”
She had come to make sure he was all right. Alone, unarmed, weak from exhaustion and exposure, she came to his aid. Stunned, Zahak touched the wound on his cheek. “It was nothing.”
She flinched and dropped her gaze. He wanted to rush to her, fall on his knees before her in the sand, and bury his head against her. It wasn’t pride that rooted him to the spot. It was fear that he would love her more than honor or duty or blood.
Raising her chin, she opened her arms, revealing the discarded ta
amid he’d left in the tent. Holding his gaze, she stretched out her hands and let the cloth flutter to the ground. Without another word, she turned back to camp.
In turmoil, Zahak climbed the dune, slowly, so as not to run after her.
Muttering fiercely, Malum stomped back toward camp. “Open your eyes, saif, before it’s too late for us all.”
Hurrying after him, Zahak grabbed his arm, turning his friend around. “If I take her, you know what I’ll have to do.”
“Iyeh,” Malum replied steadily, his eyes glinting with challenge. “You’ll kill your brother to keep her.”
Sighing, Zahak picked up the taamid she’d brought and noticed a damp spot. Curious, he raised the cloth to his face and inhaled her sweet jasmine scent. She must have held it quite a while to give so much scent to it.
Suddenly, it dawned on him. The cloth was damp with her tears.
Moisture, so rare in this blasted cursed land, and she wept. For him.
FIVE
Blinking away useless tears, Eleni ran back to camp. She refused to remember the image of Zahak stripped to the waist, battling in the moonlight. Nor would she acknowledge the heavy ache deep in her stomach, the overwhelming urge to lick that trail of blood off his cheek and press her body against his.
No, it was better this way, for both of them. Nobody deserved Darius’s wrath. It would be better to unleash her brother on someone she didn’t even know, someone she didn’t love.
Laughing at her own stupidity, she stumbled to a halt and wiped her tears away. Which tent was Zahak’s? Did she even care? Any of the Keldari would do, as long as she didn’t sleep.
A hand closed on her arm above her elbow. Immediately, she recognized his touch, gentle, yet firm as always. Silently, he led her through the maze of tents back to his. She never would have been able to distinguish it from the others.
Hesitating at the flap, she glanced up at the moon, so far away, cold and perfect like newly-fallen snow. Our Blessed Lady could never forgive a stained, half-Shadowed daughter. It was too late for her, too late for love or hope.
The Fire Within Page 4
