“And now?”
He swept his gaze over the thing, from head to foot, and stepped forward. Quinn moved away as he pressed his palms against Kelsharn’s legs and pushed.
For a moment, the monument resisted, and then the ancient anchors that had held it in place groaned and gave way. The statue toppled forward into the pit. The sound of it breaking against the walls echoed loudly — it was an old, familiar noise, that of rockslides in the mountains of Orishok’s youth.
It was almost the sound that first led him to Quinn.
“Now, Bahmet belongs to you,” he said.
Quinn stepped closer and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “Bahmet belongs to us. You are its protector.”
Kelsharn’s rule had ended countless years before, but on now — with Quinn here — did the city have new masters. It was a more satisfying realization than he could have imagined, second only, perhaps, to casting Kelsharn himself into the pit.
This was enough.
“Are you ready to go inside, Quinn?”
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Yes. And if there are any more statues, we’ll tear them down, too.”
Together, they turned toward the palace and walked. Though wind wailed through the canyon below, the columns to either side somehow shielded them as they crossed the span. Quinn didn’t stray from the center of the bridge. Orishok remained near her.
They both angled their heads back to look up at the palace’s face. It was crafted of the same dark stone as the rest of Bahmet, but had been inlaid with subtle patterns in metals the color of the sun and moons. The extra adornment made it no less imposing; the structure loomed high and jagged, its spires like the fangs of a beast protruding from the surrounding rock.
Ignoring the building heat in his heartstone — what reason did he have to be anxious? — Orishok went to the button beside the doors and pressed his hand to it.
Nothing happened.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn came up alongside him.
Orishok pushed the button again. The entry did not open. He clenched his jaw and stepped back. The doors were heavy-looking, their panels decorated with carvings depicting Kelsharn’s people at a variety of leisurely tasks.
“This place was not meant for the likes of me,” he said, curling his fists.
“Screw that.” She marched past him and slapped the button.
With the sound of stone grinding against stone, the doors swung inward. Orishok offered her a smile. She truly was the queen of Bahmet.
“We’ll make new doors.”
“Did you craft doors on urth?”
Quinn shook her head. “No, but we won’t have these doors keeping you out.”
“We will see if this place is worth such trouble. I have never been inside.”
She turned toward the open doors, and her lips parted. “I think it might be.”
Orishok followed her gaze. A wide hallway with a curved ceiling and glittering support columns stretched forward twenty or thirty paces. Beyond was daylight again. They entered side-by-side, eyes straying from the intricate paintings between the supports to the flecks of gently glowing gold on the columns, to the complex patterns on the floor.
They emerged in an outdoor area with a large fountain at its center, where the sound of flowing water overpowered the wind’s sighing. Beyond the fountain, a pair of staircases led to an upper level, which appeared to have an open-air hallway that encircled the space. There was a door between the stairs, and more to either side.
Something drew Orishok to the central door; perhaps it was the ornate border around it, or the patterns adorning its face, or the way the floor tiles led to it around the fountain. Though her attention was flitting all around, sliding over every arch and column and piece of stone, Quinn followed close behind him.
The opened into a huge chamber. Its ceiling was a collection of intersecting arches, broken only by windows through which beams of light shone to the floor. More decorated columns and arches ran along the sides of the room in two distinct rows, one atop the other. A series of couches, chairs, and pedestals with heat stones were arranged throughout, gathered in symmetrical clusters.
The far end of the room was dominated by a wide staircase. Midway up, two more sets of steps branched to either side, leading to the second level. The main stairs continued beyond that point, narrowing as they neared a large alcove. Broad swathes of patterned cloth hung at the edges, and a single, imposing chair was positioned at the top of the steps, overlooking the entire room.
Quinn moved up the steps to stand beside the chair. She ran her fingers only the intricate carvings, as she usually did with new objects — as though seeing were not enough to convince her it was real. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned before throwing herself upon the seat; she achieved this with near-comical grace, considering the chair was built for a being at least three heads taller than her.
Sitting with her back straight and shoulders squared, she settled her arms on the armrests.
“I could get used to this,” she said. Her smile vanished and she cleared her throat, focusing on Orishok.
He stared up at her from the base of the stairs, head tilted to one side. Though he did not understand the purpose of this room — not that he understood the need for most of the structures in Bahmet — he knew the seat atop the steps had belonged to Kelsharn. It had been the place of honor. The place of power. A seat by which one being would place himself above and apart from all others. To look down upon them.
But with her bright eyes and pale hair, Quinn gave the room a different feeling. Orishok had expected to confront the ghost of Kelsharn, to have his hatred rekindled, to loathe this place like he did the towering statues. He couldn’t; Quinn had come in, alive and vibrant, and made the place her own.
“Come forth, Orishok,” Quinn commanded, making her voice deeper, filling it with mock authority.
She was so strange, and he loved her for it.
Orishok climbed the stairs, halting on the small landing just below the chair.
“Come closer.”
He obeyed, stopping halfway up the second set of steps; he was nearly at eye level with her.
Quinn arched a brow, and the corners of her lips twitched. “Closer.”
This time he did not stop until he stood at the top. He held her gaze as he lowered himself to a knee directly before of her. “Am I near enough, my queen?”
“Not quite. If I am to be your queen, I demand that you...kiss me.”
Orishok leaned forward. His fingers brushed hers as he braced himself on the arm of her chair and kissed her. He did so slowly, tenderly, deeply, loving her mouth as he longed to love her body.
She settled her hand atop his when he pulled away.
“Was it worthy of you?” he asked.
“Hmm, I might have you do it again later.” She reached forward, running her fingertip over his lower lip. “Just to be sure.”
The spark in his chest burst into flames at the gleam of passion and promise in her eyes. Turning his hand over to clasp hers, he stood up.
“There is more to see.” He helped her down from the chair. “Come, Quinn.”
“Oh, I will be,” she said with a grin.
He tilted his head, regarding her with confusion — her tone seemed to imply some alternate meaning to her words — but shrugged it off when something in his periphery caught his attention. He led her behind the chair. Another door was set far back in the wall, nearly hidden between two dangling strips of cloth.
They exchanged a brief glance — her grin had not diminished — and went through the door, Quinn trailing slightly behind. A short hallway brought them to a narrow set of steps. The climbed in silence. The heat stones in the alcoves to both sides activated at their approach, filling the staircase with golden light. These were not like the stones in the rest of the city; they were shaped in the likenesses of Kelsharn’s people, males and females alike, some clad like warriors, some in flowing robes, and some fully unclothed.
The top of the stairs opened directly into another large room, its ceiling, like the one below, a series of peaked arches arranged in various sections. Though the walls and furniture were all dark in color, light flooded the chamber through the many windows lining the walls, all of which overlooked the surrounding mountains.
Quinn gasped, stepping past him. “This was his bedroom!”
Orishok followed her, turning his head from side to side to take in his surroundings. Dark veins ran through the pale gray stone of the floor, which was covered in many places by rugs with elaborate patterns. The shelves built into the walls between the windows were filled with a variety of items Orishok couldn’t begin to name. Interspersed amidst the unknown were more familiar objects — skulls and bones, knives, raw gemstones, and exotic weapons.
Quinn approached a tall stone block with strange patterns carved in relief upon its face. She found the button and opened it, revealing the clothing hung within. Orishok recognized some of it immediately; he’d seen Kelsharn wear a few of those garments with his own eyes.
“Wonder why he left all this. Did he intend to return?”
“I cannot pretend to know,” Orishok replied. He walked to one of the long, low couches and ran his palm over the top cushion. Everything appeared to be in perfect condition, untouched by time. As though Kelsharn might enter at any moment.
He shifted his attention to the largest piece of furniture in the room — a huge bed with a column at each of its four corners and a roof-like structure over the top. Thin, black, see-through fabrics hung at the sides, some of it draped loosely between the posts.
“That is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.” Quinn walked to it, running her hand up along one of the columns.
“Ten of my people could lay side-by-side and still have room to spare.”
Quinn kicked off her footwear, climbed atop the bed, and crawled to its center. Turning, she sat to face him. “You know, Orishok,” she bunched the fabric of her skirt in her hands and slid the hem up until her slightly parted thighs were exposed, “a queen also needs a king.”
Orishok crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. He trailed his gaze over her, starting at her toes, lingering on her bare thighs — he craved the heat between them — and eventually met her eyes.
“And what must a king do for his queen?” he asked.
She bit her lip as her cheeks flushed, but she smiled and raised the skirt higher, spreading her knees. Orishok’s gaze dipped to her naked sex.
“He must conquer her.”
Quinn’s words spread fire through him. She had already welcomed the joining of their bodies, had reveled in it along with him, but this was something far more powerful. This wasn’t her surrendering to him, it was a challenge — Orishok had to prove himself worthy of having her, and she would be his. She would be his queen.
He moved his hands to his waist, unraveling his loincloth with deliberate slowness. It fell to the floor. Quinn’s gaze dipped. Her lips parted, and she clenched the fabric of her skirt. She scooted back as he climbed atop the bed and approached on hands and knees. There was no fear in her eyes, only hunger and anticipation.
She stopped when she bumped the headboard, caught her lip once again between her teeth, and stared up at him. Orishok braced himself over her on an arm, moving his free hand to her waist. He slowly untied the knotted cord around her dress. She trembled, her warm breath tickling his skin as he tugged down her sleeves, exposing first her pale shoulders and then her supple breasts. The backs of his fingers brushed over her soft flesh as he drew the garment lower and lower. She inhaled sharply.
Reaching up, she settled her palm over his chest and trailed it toward his abdomen. Orishok caught her wrist and guided her arm back to the bed. When his hand returned to the dress, he lifted her backside up and tugged the garment over her thighs. She wriggled her hips, sliding it off completely.
He dragged his gaze over her body when she was bared.
Conquer her.
Their eyes met for a moment; the black circles in the center of hers were expanded, filled with boundless emotion. Her chest rose and fell with her ragged, anticipatory breaths. Orishok placed his hand on her thigh, sliding it to her calf. She shivered under his touch.
He dragged her down to lay beneath him, and she released a startled breath. She parted her knees when he slid a hand to the inside of her thigh, wordlessly begging for his caress. Though his heartstone pulsed with need, though his body felt as though it would come undone if he did not take her in that moment, he denied himself.
She shifted her hips, whimpering as he trailed the back of a finger over her sex. His hand continued on, over the flat of her stomach, between the valley of her breasts, over the dip at her collarbone to wrap his fingers around the slender column of her throat. Pressing up lightly on her jaw, he tilted her head back and leaned down, locking his eyes with hers.
“You are mine. My Quinn, my queen, my life.”
She dipped her chin into his hand lightly; a nod.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Orishok released her neck and reared back, moving his hands to her waist. He flipped her onto her stomach and raised her hips off the bed. His hand smoothed over her rounded backside to dip between her cleft. She was wet with desire, ready to receive him.
Quinn raised herself up on her hands and peered over her shoulder. He took his cock into his fist — its ache only faintly dulled by the pressure — and nudged the head into her slick, tight channel.
“You are mine,” he growled, slamming into her.
Quinn cried out, squeezing her eyes shut as she clenched the blanket.
He bowed his head and held her tight, pushing in as deep as he could go. Her heat surrounded him, permeated him, fueled his heartstone and thrummed through his limbs. With her, he was more alive than he ever had been. Every tiny motion of her inner walls was a tremor of sensation to Orishok. And her body reacted to his presence; she drew him somehow deeper, her hunger as insatiable as his.
Leaning over her, he nuzzled her neck, brushing his lips over her skin as he inhaled her scent. He cupped her breast, taking her nipple between forefinger and thumb. She moaned and strained back against him, her sex clenching.
“Orishok...”
“Quinn,” he rasped.
Straightening, he returned his hands to her hips and pulled back. He thrust his hips forward and pulled her toward him, forcing her to take all of him. The friction between them was nearly too much to bear. Heartstone thrumming, Orishok relinquished his restraint. He pounded into her, and her keening cries were soon muffled as she dropped her face into the bedding.
She writhed in his hold, but he didn’t let go. He gritted his teeth against the pleasure jolting through his body; it converged in his heartstone, building toward something beyond his comprehension.
“I’m...oh god,” she gasped. “It’s too much. I need...I need...”
Orishok quickened his pace. “I am all you need, Quinn.”
Her body was at once limp and tense, as malleable as the clay he’d brought her but as solid as the stones of Bahmet. She’d spoken true; it was too much. Heat, and energy, and life gathered and grew inside him, pushing against the bounds of what his body could handle, terrible in their beauty and bliss.
Quinn stiffened, her inner walls clamping around his cock. Her scream filled the room with his name, the sound lapsing into a series of desperate, panting moans.
Her climax shoved him over the edge; the built-up energy swelled and burst, shattering his insides into countless tiny pieces and sending pulses of fiery-hot pleasure to the tips of his fingers and toes. The light from his chest bathed her back and shimmered in her hair. Thrusting into her a final time, he sagged forward, catching himself on a hand and wrapping his other arm around her middle. He held her close as his body cooled.
She hummed her satisfaction before laughing. The sound reverberated into him through their connected bodies. His heartstone pulsed again, this time wit
h a different sort of pleasure.
“I have been well and truly conquered,” Quinn murmured.
Orishok smiled and, reluctantly, pulled out of her, helping her onto her back to face him. Her hair was tousled, cheeks flushed, and eyes bright. Beautiful was not strong enough a word for her. She was life in a place of death, the most precious of all things.
The most precious thing to him.
QUINN WASN’T SURE SHE could move. Her limbs were languid, and her body thrummed with the aftermath of what they’d shared. She’d never experienced anything like it. Despite their frenzied lovemaking, regardless of the heights to which he’d taken her, she craved more of him. She wanted his hands and mouth upon her; wanted him inside her again. She wanted to listen to his voice as he spoke, to see his eyes brighten with emotion.
She wanted all of him.
It didn’t matter that he was an alien, or that he’d been made into something else. She didn’t care that she was on a strange planet and would never return to Earth. There was nothing there for her, not anymore. Even if the threat of a life in prison wasn’t hanging over her head, she still wouldn’t go back. Her life — her future —was here, with Orishok. He made her happy.
He held himself over her, large and powerful, and gazed down at Quinn, eyes glowing and expression unreadable.
Quinn tilted her head and brushed her fingers over the ridges on his cheek. “What is it?”
“I do not have blood,” he said, covering her hand with his own. “I have no lungs to fill with air, and I cannot eat or drink. All the things that made me were taken but one...and even if I cannot bind you by my blood, or share in a meal with you, or taste the same mountain air, I would give you all that remains of me.”
Orishok lowered his hand and placed it over the center of her chest. “My people would cut their hands and press them to one another’s hearts, and so would be joined as mates.”
Quinn’s brows rose as she realized what he was saying. Her heart thumped beneath his palm.
Undying (Valos of Sonhadra Book 7) Page 14
