Chuckling, he let his fingers wander lower to the mark on her neck. When she woke, she’d expected it to be bruised and painful. Instead, the bite had healed over night. She couldn’t see it herself, but he’d described it to her as glowing red and black with his dragon’s power. Is that what her brother had sensed?
Lightly, Zahak stroked his mark through the material of her clothing. Flames roared through her, straight to her core. She sucked in a deep breath, stunned at how quickly her body responded to him. Tight, aching, she was tempted to take him by the hand and drag him back inside the tent.
“I dreamed I was a dragon last night, and I knew you needed my help, but I couldn’t reach you.” Zahak’s face turned to grim, cold stone. “Next time he torments your dreams, I will find a way to you, somehow.”
She blinked back tears of gratitude and fear. The thought of him chained for her brother’s foul deeds twisted claws in her heart. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I will find a way,” he repeated, his voice vibrating with fury. “He shall not touch you again. Your brother is an abomination.”
She couldn’t argue, but doubt remained. Darius was her brother. They shared the same blood and now that blood was in Zahak. She’d given access to him—and thus to all of Keldar—to her brother. Above all, she must refuse to mark him as Darius ordered. If her brother wanted a thing, she must resist as long as possible, even if she never slept again.
Shaking her head, she laughed half-heartedly, trying not to cry instead. Zahak pulled her into his arms and held her a moment, his body strong and warm against hers, his arms powerful, his hands tender. He was such a man, such a warrior. She had to find a way to protect him.
“It is I who will protect you, azharana. Now step up on your mare, and let us ride.”
The mare’s ears pricked forward, her manner less intimidating than the day before. “Good morning, Harry. Are you ready for a long ride today?”
Snorting, the mare shook her head and stretched out her ugly nose to sniff at Eleni. Calm and still, she let the mare smell her, hoping the animal wouldn’t sense her underlying dread of hours in the saddle again. The mare went straight to the bite mark on her throat, smelled it, and snorted again. Then she turned her head away and stood expectantly, ready for her rider to mount.
Zahak tossed her up onto the horse’s back. “See? She smells me on you. She accepts you as Keldari.”
“Will your people accept me that way?”
“You bear my mark. None will refuse you, now.”
Staring down into his dark eyes, she forced herself to ask the lingering question. “What about your brother?”
Zahak smiled, but his eyes didn’t match the curve of his lips. No, the look in his eyes was grimmer than ever. “I’ll speak to him when we reach the Wall.”
Somehow, she thought “speaking” was a little more involved than he admitted, if the tightening about his eyes and mouth was any indication.
At that same hard, ground-eating trot, the riders headed out into the dunes following some path only they could see. Everything looked the same to her, with no visible path or marking to designate the direction. Sometimes they rode straight up a dune; other times, they rode around. She really wasn’t sure at all what direction they were going until the sun started to rise at their back. West.
“You said we were riding to the Wall? Is that where your people live?”
He shook his head. “Our Wells are northeast of the Wall. We have no villages, not like you know. Our people roam from Well to Well, if the tribe is lucky enough to possess more than one. We war with other tribes to keep our Wells. Some of the tribes are nearly decimated, and even the Cobras are fewer than ever. Dra’gwar will be extinct in another generation or so. Fire doesn’t always pass to the child—as with my brother—or simply no children are born. Keldar is a hard life for even our women.”
“That is all very interesting,” she said politely, “But why are you avoiding my question?”
A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I am avoiding the subject, I suppose. Speaking of the Wall is difficult for Keldari, because it’s tied to the Last Days. Agni Comes from the west to Burn Keldar, the final payment of our devalki.”
“What does that mean?”
“Our unforgiveable sin,” Zahak replied solemnly. “Only our deaths will satisfy Agni. We built the Wall at the edge of the sea, as high and wide as man can build. He will Come. We will die. And the first sign of the beginning of the Last Days will be when He sets the Wall ablaze. Our priests foretell He is Coming, and so the tribes gather at the Wall. We gather to die.”
Tears burned her eyes. He spoke so matter-of-factly, yet sorrow tightened his face. She couldn’t comprehend the guilt this whole nation carried, their hopelessness and despair. “Will no one be saved?”
“Once the tribes have gathered, warriors who want to lead the united tribes will fight hand-to-hand until one is left standing, the azi. It will be his duty to ensure the survival of as many of us as possible, but in the end, only a remnant will be saved.”
A remnant. She watched the punishing sun begin its climb from the horizon, dreading the heat, the thirst. She tried to comprehend how these people lived day after day in such harsh conditions, while their end loomed closer every day.
A question nagged her tangled thoughts as she struggled to understand this culture. “You said warriors would fight to win the position of azi.” He nodded. “You expect your brother to be azi.” His jaw clenched but he nodded again. “Is he very good at hand-to-hand combat, then?”
“Not exactly.”
An awful dread gnawed at the pit of her stomach. “You. You plan to battle for him, don’t you? Until the very end.”
Zahak stared straight ahead, his face devoid of any emotion. “I planned to ensure his victory no matter the cost.”
“And now?” Her throat ached, her hands tightly clenched on the mare’s mane. How had she grown so dependent on him so quickly, so emotionally attached? The thought of him dying for his brother made her want to scream and weep.
“Now, I have a reason to survive that final battle.”
She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut. He’d planned to fight until the very end, and then would let his own brother kill him to win azi. The senselessness of it made her head ache. Then the reality of his words struck her like a gong. Her head jerked up and she searched his face, guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders. “You are going to fight—”
She couldn’t bring herself to say kill, not when she was the cause.
Zahak turned his head, his dark eyes shining like polished obsidian. “Now I fight for you, and I will not lose that fight.”
* * *
“You may let go, now, azharana.”
Someone pried at her cramped fingers. Eleni tried to cooperate, but she couldn’t feel her fingers any longer. She couldn’t feel much at all, which was a blessing.
She tried to raise her head, but it simply weighed too much for her neck to support. Sagging, she slid off into his waiting arms.
She cracked an eye, saw only black. It was night. She’d made it.
He laid her down on the tent floor, his voice low as he spoke to one of his men. Cradling her head in his palm, he raised her up and pressed something to her lips.
“No, please, not the Piss again.”
Zahak laughed so hard he actually spilled some on her mouth. The blazing heat and fumes of fiery spice told her what fluid he offered. “Not Dragon Piss, azharana, just Fire Tea. Malum said you liked it enough to drink a whole cup at dawn. It’ll get you back on your feet.”
She took several sips, welcoming the blazing path of warmth down her throat into her stomach. Flames spread through her body until her toes and fingers tingled with life again.
Clothing rustled, and she realized he was stripping his shirt off, his trousers. Then his fingers settled on her sweat-stained garb. In moments, they were both nude.
Blessed Lady above, she stunk like a sweaty smithy. She h
adn’t enjoyed a decent bath in days, and she certainly couldn’t count the few dabs of oil yesterday as a “bath.” Besides, she was so weary she couldn’t move. Surely, he didn’t plan...
“May Somma forgive us of our devalki.” He quickly gave himself a cursory bath, using perhaps a small cup of water and a few drops of oil all together as she watched. A cup! Yet when he leaned over her, he didn’t reek of body odor, far from it.
Her mouth actually watered. He smelled like his oil, fragrant flowers and musky spices. He smelled good enough to sink her teeth into.
Rumbling a low growl, he cleansed her face. “I certainly hope so, azharana. I want you to mark me.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she deliberately imagined the terrible image of her brother enslaving Zahak through her mark. Whatever happened, she couldn’t bite him, no matter how much she wanted to mark him as hers.
“I want your brother to try me. He’ll find a dragon waiting for him in my sleep, azharana. Let him come.”
“You don’t understand,” she whispered painfully, her throat a dry rasp.
Immediately, he paused the bath and lifted a flask of water to her lips, only allowing her a few swallows. “Not too much at once, not on the Fire Tea. You don’t want to douse the Fire, merely water the flesh. Tell me more of your brother so I might know my enemy.”
“He’s—we’re—tainted.”
“I already know of your Shadowed blood, azharana, and it truly doesn’t matter. I, too, am tainted. All Keldari are tainted.”
“But it means more in the Green Lands, or rather, less, much less. We’re cursed, doomed.”
“Think you I do not understand curses and doom when I have a dragon ready to tear its way out of my chest and kill everyone I hold dear?”
“My brother kills people. He kills not for justice, or even revenge, but because he likes it. He likes their pain.” Closing her eyes, she forced down the memory of how Darius had taken the High Throne. “He enjoys hurting people.”
Tenderly, Zahak wiped her face, her neck, stroking away the dust of travel. He made it a caress, a massage, and a bath, all at the same time. “He has hurt you.”
Drooping with pleasure and relief at his sure touch, she nodded. “Many times. I bore the brunt of his anger when we were children. Before his death, Father was as bad. He once beat Darius and me both with a horse whip until our backs and legs bled. That was the first time Darius tasted my blood.”
Zahak’s hand froze a moment and she felt a wash of cold fury from him. When he continued the bath, though, his hands were still gentle. “That’s why he can come to you in dreams, azharana. You have a blood bond with him above and beyond your family ties. What did he want with you this last time?”
“He wants access to the Keldari to make you all his army. Trouble is coming, a challenger to take his High Throne.” His hands slid down her arms, rubbing in oil, easing the tension in her muscles. It felt so good she wanted to cry. “He wants me back as soon as possible.”
Hands and cloth, water and oil, caressed her breasts and stomach. “You will never go back to him, azharana. I swear it.”
“He’s a monster: a murderer, a liar. He manipulated me into coming here. He let me think I would find a way to escape him, when he planned to use me all along.” Zahak took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling, and she lost her train of thought. The miserable hours of riding and torture in the desert heat dwindled away—fast—before his passionate care. “I have to find a way to break this bond he has on me.”
“The only way to break a blood bond is death.” Moving lower on her body, he kissed her stomach, each hip bone, the crease of her thigh. “I intend it to be his.”
Instead of settling his mouth for pleasure, he sat up and turned his attention to her legs. She groaned with disappointment, until those strong, sure hands began working on her thighs. Saddle sore and exhausted, every muscle tight and achy, she struggled not to cry out. It hurt, in a good way. She bit her lip, blinking back tears.
“I know it hurts, but if we don’t get these kinks out now, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, let alone ride.” He glanced up at her face and winked. “And I want you fit for more riding.”
His hands worked magic, massaging the fiery oil deep into her skin. Heat coursed through her thighs and calves, burning away the soreness. The Fire he’d kissed into her crackled higher in response, fed by the oil and the stroke of his hands. Even the mark on her throat burned to life, casting more heat on the rising flames. Sitting back on his heels, he surveyed his handiwork. “How does that feel?”
She hadn’t thought she’d feel up to doing anything more than sleeping for a year.
Stretching her legs, twisting her foot, she tested her muscles. Not an ounce of soreness remained. Spreading her legs in invitation, she replied, “I think I’m ready to ride.”
“Roll over.”
He watched her with a heavy-lidded gaze that only deepened her desire. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply as she rolled over. His hands closed around her calves, his grip firm and sure, his fingers kneading deep.
There was a seductive magic in the slow powerful glide of his hands. She knew he meant to loosen sore muscles, but she felt possessed and treasured in a way she’d never felt before. His hands moved higher, massaging up her hamstrings, and she moaned softly. Heat pooled in her abdomen. Spices soaked into her nose, stirring the Fire sparking in her veins.
His hands left and she wanted to weep. But then he touched her again, the smooth glide of oil slicking her thighs. Oh, what burning, luxurious heat, soaking into those aching muscles. His hands moved higher, working her inner thighs. She was torn between pain from riding the horse, and need. Easing her thighs further apart, he stroked the delicate skin. Arching her back, she lifted her buttocks slightly, silently begging him to slide those tormenting fingers higher.
He came up over her, leaning over her back. His hands lingered on her buttocks, kneading any trace of soreness away, while he kissed her back, her shoulder. Soft and light, lingering over every ridge of bone and hollowed curve, he traced patterns through the valley of her back, tickling across her spine.
She moved restlessly, need coiling tighter and tighter. She should be exhausted, unconscious, and miserably sore. Instead, she moaned, her breathing coming quicker.
Finally, he shifted enough to slide his fingers deeper between her thighs. Leaning down, he breathed heavily in her ear, his voice thickened by desire. “Ah, what an oasis I have found.”
She arched higher, driving her hips up and back as much as his weight against her upper body allowed. Moving, swaying, she did the work, sliding her flesh against his hand. Fire built inside her. Her hair clung to her damp skin. Zahak’s scent changed, thickening with musk, turning feral. Smoking spices filled her nose, feeding the Fire until she shuddered beneath his hands, pleasure stealing her breath.
He moved on top of her, his body so hot she cried out. Controlling her with his weight, he didn’t let her rise to her knees. Taking her hands in his, he stretched her arms out over her head and pinned her wrists to the tent floor.
Her breathing quickened, a trickle of anticipation sparking through her. There was no fear, though. She’d been chained and beaten before, abused, ridiculed and humiliated by her own brother, but this man didn’t frighten her.
“Not even with my dragon nigh bursting out of my flesh?”
His voice rumbled, gravelly and low, harsh with strain. Now she knew why he waited; he was trying to regain some control. He was afraid of hurting her, afraid he would scare or repel her. In answer, she arched her back and rubbed against him as much as she could.
Releasing her hands, he lifted his weight just enough for her to get her knees under her. He thrust deeply, shuddering, heavy against her back, so hot and hard and wild, every muscle straining. He enclosed her with his body, dominant and aggressive but still so tender and careful of her. Slowly, he pulled back, drawing a ragged groan from his lips.
His dragon raged within him, struggling for its freedom, feral with its need to claim her, forcefully, exultantly.
“I’m not going to break, Zahak.”
A sound that might have been laughter shook him against her. Or curses, she couldn’t be sure. “Don’t you feel how close the beast is? I’m fighting it with every breath I take.”
She pushed her head back, rubbing into his shoulder and neck. “Then don’t fight it.”
Growling, he gripped her shoulder in his mouth, setting his teeth hard enough that she moaned. Her body tightened around him, though, loving the feel of his teeth, his aggression. Then a wave of agony flooded her through the bond, burning her eyes with tears, guilt and a terrible fear he would kill her. She caught an image of a massive dragon tearing a woman apart, two little boys standing by frozen in horror.
:I trust you, Zahak. I love you.:
His control shattered. Gripping her shoulder in his teeth, he thrust hard and fast, his body driving hers back to that summit relentlessly until they both exploded in a wash of flames. Panting, he drew her down to the floor, curling around her protectively.
:My Bright Eyes, how I love you.:
He fell asleep almost immediately, but Eleni remained awake, forcing her mind to stay alert. She had more at stake than ever. If Darius hurt her lover, it would kill her heart, her spirit, in a way he’d never been able to before. She couldn’t bear it if he hurt Zahak.
I have to find a way to protect him.
SEVEN
A mountain range stretched across the horizon, north and south as far as she could see in the dying sunlight. She started to ask Zahak to name them, but hesitated. They were too regular, too measured, clearly man made.
Without inflection in his voice, he whispered, “The Wall.”
Up close, the Wall was even more impressive, easily as high as the tallest tower of Shanhasson. Wondering what material they’d used to build it, she reached out to touch it.
Then she was even more stunned. In a land of endless sand and drought, she hadn’t seen a single tree. “Blessed Lady above, where did you get so much wood?”
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