by C A Nicks
He raised his head. “You enjoy my attention and yet you cry?”
“Enjoying it too much,” she said, trying to inject a little flippancy in her tone.
“You were thinking about a time when we would no longer be able to do this?”
“I know you have to leave, Fabian.” She touched two fingers to his lips. “I’m cool with it, really I am.”
“I think not.”
“Well the hell, why did you start this, then?” Anger sat too close to the intense longing she’d kept locked inside. Twisting herself, she wriggled out from under him and scooted up the bed, her back flat against the wooden headboard, knees drawn up defensively.
“Don’t run from me, Tig.”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t? Break my heart?” She slapped her forehead. “What was I thinking? I should have left you in the desert for the Frey to pick clean. Would have been a heck of a lot simpler.”
The few inches between them might have been a yawning chasm wider than the largest ocean. Did she blame the tears, the sheer hopelessness of wanting a man who was so unattainable? Or had she just come to her senses, at last? Here she was, attempting to play happy families with his man when, outside, her world was about to implode into the usual frenzy of blood and violence that followed a leadership coup.
This man was determined to add to it.
And that terrified her.
He still hadn’t moved after her sudden withdrawal. Chest heaving, eyes lowered, he stared at the space between them as if knowing that whatever decision he made would hurt her beyond bearing.
She slumped back, the fury draining from her as suddenly as it had arrived. The dam couldn’t break, not now. Her grief and fear, the feeling she had for this man, were all safely contained. One breach and the whole lot would break out and overwhelm her.
Not about to happen.
Lifting her eyes to his, she found him staring at her, intently. Respect? Admiration? Pity? She couldn’t fathom his expression Shoulders shaking, everything on alert, yet he remained in place waiting for her decision.
An immortal from another realm? Or just a silver-tongued drifter passing through?
It no longer mattered.
“Better now?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m not angry at you, Fabian. Just life in general.”
He touched her, then. A light grazing of his thumb on her cheek. Even in the throes of passion he gave little away.
Catching his hand, she held it there and willed herself not to cry. She wanted him to remember her strength, not her weakness.
“I would like to gift you a child.”
“Not possible.”
“I know.” He picked up the protective sheath. “Then put this on me and let me honour you with my body.”
His cock was heavy and full. Her passionate outburst had done nothing to cool his ardour. She pressed a kiss to the tip before rolling on the condom with shaking fingers. Later, she would kiss her way over his body, explore every inch of his flesh. Right now she needed him inside of her, filling her, making good on his promise.
Pushing him gently back to rest on his heels, she held onto his shoulders and straddled his lap. The iron band of his arm steadied her as she guided him in. He was big, but she was more than ready for him. Some day, with some man, she would have a child. Everyone did, eventually. But not with this man.
Every lift of her hips, every thrust brought them closer. She tried to mirror his intense focus, the way he locked his gaze with hers, the slow undulating rhythm. Difficult when at the same time the hand jammed between them was covering her breast, squeezing lightly in time to their moving hips.
The room tipped wildly, then the mattress was at her back and Fabian was pounding into her with an intensity that hurt. Leaving her a memory that would never fade. When she tightened around him, he let go with a deep groan that set her nerve endings on fire.
She felt bereft when he rolled away to lie panting beside her. Elated when he gathered her up and tucked her into his side. The heat of him warded off the chill of the evening and she no longer felt like crying. This time with him had been a gift. One she would treasure for a long time to come.
* * * *
His mind had planned a sexual marathon, starting with the seduction and ending in the first light of dawn with both of them sated and exhausted. His previous brevity he’d put down to the broken arm. How alarming that the spirit urged him on, yet the body wanted to do nothing more than wrap Tig in his arms and go to sleep.
Fabian threw the condom into the chamber pot in disgust then returned to sit on the edge of the bed.
“How do humans tolerate such a puny sex drive? I’m glad my brother is not here to see this.”
“Well I’m glad he’s not here, either. Never been into the kinky stuff myself. I’ve no complaints about your performance. None at all.”
“I satisfied you?”
“Stop fishing for compliments. You know you did. Now come back to bed. I’m cold, so come warm me up.”
Stretched out beside her, he groped for the quilt which had fallen onto the floor and pulled it over the both of them. “I will take you again shortly. Give me a few moments to recover.”
“I’m more than satisfied, Fabian. Stop worrying.”
“Then I will hold you. That will please you?”
Tig wriggled closer, a bent knee draped over his thigh, fingers playing idly with the hair on his chest. To his great relief, his cock registered an immediate interest.
“See,” she said, the familiar mischief in her voice. “Not as bad as you feared.”
“You wish me to take you now?”
“No energy left.”
“Then you wish to sleep?”
“Eventually.” Her voice dropped to a low murmur. “Tell me about your world. The Dark Fall. Is it real or metaphorical?”
“It’s very real, unfortunately. A rift in time and space forged by the gods themselves.”
She lifted her head, a dark shape in the gloom. “Why have I never heard of it, then?”
“Because to you, it doesn’t exist.”
She lay back down, her small body fitting perfectly to his. “But if our worlds are somehow connected, surely the scientists and mages would know?”
“Perhaps they do. I know only that the rift originates on my home world and that it is the mother of infinite possibilities. We know where the journey begins but never where it will end.”
“So your brother landed somewhere else on this world?”
“A slim chance but even if he did, he would most probably land somewhere else in the time-line.”
“Fabian, I’m sorry.”
She’d noticed the bleakness in his voice. Even if he did know where Marcellus ended up, how would he reach him? Mortals could not cross the chasm of time.”
Yet, even knowing that, he could not give up hope.
“Perhaps he will manage to find you? Maybe he landed in some more technologically advanced world? Or if what you say about the time-line is true, then maybe he got lucky and landed here before the wars destroyed a thousand years of civilisation.”
She kissed his shoulder when he tensed at her words. As leader he’d naturally assumed it would be he who would reunite them. Even then, he did not want to entertain the possibility that Marcellus might be feeling as trapped and impotent as he was.
“Tell me of these wars.”
“Do you know what an arms race is?”
“What we would call weapon superiority?”
“That’s it. A whole lot of political leaders start having a dick measuring contest, only instead of body parts they use weapons of mass destruction. When they started shooting them off they managed to lay waste to two whole continents. Millions of people dead and those who were left, pushed to the edge to fight over the few remaining resources and eke out whatever existence they could.”
The perfect breeding ground for power-hungry warlords. That at least he understood.
“You sa
id Carson had a mage?”
“He had several, but they usually choose to die with their lord. Warrington will have one, maybe two. To get to them you’ll have to go through him.”
“Which is what I mean to do.”
“They won’t get you home, Fabian.”
“You would say that to keep me here.”
“I would say that to keep you safe.”
She moved away before he could stop her, rolling from the bed to reach for her clothes with short, jerky movements. Foolish to think they could while away the hours with sex when so much hung between them. He understood her anger, but had no solution for her.
He extended an arm. “Come back to bed. My words were too hasty.”
She stilled and then continued buttoning up her shirt. He was well used to the silent treatment. One of his wives had sulked for three moons before he’d presented her with the largest rubelline ever found and then promptly divorced her for daring to defy him. Tig’s sigh told him she wasn’t a sulker, merely a desperate woman grasping vainly at too many threads. Something had to give.
“When I’m frustrated I find it helps to punch something.”
Her laugh carried more than a hint of hysteria. “Are you offering?”
“I doubt I would feel a fist as small as yours.”
“Is that right?” she stalked towards the bed, arms folded in challenge. “And you wouldn’t get within two steps of me, big lump that you are.”
For once, her defiance pleased him. He would leave her strong, not broken. That he vowed.
And she was right. When he lunged from the bed, intending to have her flat on her back before she could respond, he grasped only the tail of her shirt. Too small and too fast, she ducked and weaved, even managing to land a punch to his biceps. A punch that hardly registered but a hit nevertheless.
He allowed her to land another to his chest. Deliberately missed her when he could have had her about the waist and down on the bed before she could protest. She was fighting back and winning, pumped and laughing with glee. And when he did finally decide to catch her, the sex would be nothing short of phenomenal.
“Call yourself a warrior?” she said, bouncing on her toes. “You can’t even catch a girl, let alone take on Warrington. He’ll eat you for breakfast.”
“You are a cheeky wench.” He stalked towards her. “And this time you will not get away.”
“You think? Hey!”
She wriggled in his grasp like a slippery marsh-fish. To no avail. Hoisting her up, he pressed his mouth to hers and stilled her protest with a kiss. Immediately she softened, wrapping her legs about his waist, her arms creeping around his neck. Tell me you have more protection.” He would burst if he didn’t have her right now. By the gods, this waif was the most exciting woman he’d ever encountered.
“Back of the drawer. New packet. What was that?”
“The dogs barking.” He allowed her to slide to the ground. Tig’s dogs did not bark without reason. Another staccato bark followed by a long howl. Even in the dark shade he could see the terror on Tig’s face.
“Get away from the window,” she whispered. “And get some clothes on.”
The thud of hooves on soft earth. Five, maybe six beasts. Pressing himself against the edge of the frame, he risked a quick look that confirmed his suspicions. Still on the high ridge, fast approaching the house. A raiding party, he’d seen enough of them to know their intent. The way they waved their weapons, urged on their horses with ear-splitting whoops and cries designed to unnerve their victims.
When he looked around, Tig was gone. He heard her footsteps clattering down the wooden steps. Stopping only to grab his pants and boots and step quickly into them, he raced through the door calling after her.
“The bullets,” she said. “I’ll get them. Rifle’s in the closet, under the fifth floor-board. Fetch it, grab the rest of the weapons and then follow me to the barn. Go the back way and remember to lock up the house. Don’t let them see you.”
She would make a formidable battle commander. No hesitation, decision made and executed in the time it took her to draw breath. Good battle strategy depended on everyone doing what was required of them so he turned without question and raced back to the bedroom. The raiders were cheering as one, now, working themselves up for the kill. Ripping up the board, he growled and then groped for the weapon. The only deaths this night would be theirs.
He found only a handful of bolts for the crossbow. Stuffed them in his pants pocket. The short and long sword were gleaming and honed to razor sharpness; he’d seen to that. Shoving them through his belt, he checked the window again, waiting for the raiders to temporarily disappear from view as they rode into the small valley leading to the farm-lane. Before he left the house, he found the metal box in which Tig kept her hard earned cash. That he threw into her leather shoulder bag, along with a knife, a box of matches and a bottle of the spirit oil she used to fuel the lamps.
Then, keeping low, he let himself out of the house, locked the door behind him and made his way silently to the barn.
* * * *
The dogs shuffled excitedly around her as she unearthed the second metal container. Each box held a mere dozen bullets, but they would have to do.
“Silent, Margo. Silent, Drake. On guard.” Both dogs immediately fell back, rigid and tense, awaiting further orders. What a pitifully small army they were. She hadn’t seen the number of raiders. You didn’t stop to count them when they came. Just got the hell out and to a vantage point where you might at least be able to pick them off before they saw you.
Cafino whickered in his stall, bending to nuzzle her pocket when she approached him and threw a blanket over his back. Saddled and ready, they might at least be able to ride their way out of this if it came to that.
The thought of abandoning her farm after all her efforts to hold onto it made her want to punch the wall in anger. Scumbags thought they could just ride in here and take what was hers? Not while she was alive to stop them.
“Tig?”
She jumped when she heard Fabian’s voice. “Over here. And stay down. They’ll be expecting me but not you. If you do have to show yourself, let’s make it a surprise. Give me the rifle and watch how I load the bullets.”
He handed it over, then followed her to the window and watched her load the projectiles one by one, each time pushing the metal bar backwards and forwards so the projectile moved into a chamber and made way for the next.
“When all six are fired, you have to stop and reload. I have two dozen bullets, which is four loads. Do you understand?”
He nodded and unslung the crossbow from his back. His bare chest gleamed in the slice of moonlight pooling by the window, everything tense and hard. Face set like granite.
“You wish me to wield the rifle?”
“No, you use the crossbow. You’re more familiar with it, but if anything happens to me, pick it up and keep firing.”
“Nothing will happen to you.”
He spoke with such a grim certainty that she reached up on tiptoe and pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, Fabian. Between us we might be able to hang on to the farm. Long as they don’t burn it.”
“Nothing will happen to you,” he repeated. “They, on the other hand, will suffer death at my hand for this insult. I will personally rip off each of their heads.”
For once, she didn’t argue with him. “Go for it,” she said and picked up the saddle. “And don’t let the dogs out. They’ll kill them first.”
The click of the crossbow bolts being dropped into the bolt-channel sounded very loud in the silence of the barn. He loaded it swiftly and efficiently, focussing on his task, allowing her to focus on hers. Between them they made a good team.
“Who are they?”
“Jura. Do you hear their war-cries? They’re invoking Crolos, their hierarchy of gods. Looks like my protection died with Carson.”
“Another reason for me to kill Warrington. Where is the best
vantage point?”
“Up there, in the hayloft. With a bit of luck they’ll try the house first, but it won’t take them long to work out I might be in here.”
“Go then. I will take this window.”
“Don’t let them see you, Fabian. Not if you don’t have to. If it’s a small party, we should be able to pick them off one by one. If not, we can only run.”
“No more than ten, I saw them riding the ridge. I have single-handedly fought more, and won.”
“I can well imagine. But this time it’s different.”
“How so?”
Outside it had gone eerily silent. Like the brief pause between lighting a fuse and hearing the explosion. Outcasts the Jura might be, but not lacking in cunning. Fabian turned toward the window, listening with her for sounds of their approach.
“They like to play games. Let you know they’re coming, then sneak up on you like ghosts in the night.”
“There was a time when I would have heard their foot-fall from that high ridge.”
“Then you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” She placed a flat palm over his heart, curling her fingers as if by doing so she could cradle it and keep it safe. “This is what’s different.”
He covered her hand with his. She felt him waver. Heard the hitch in his breath as reality dawned on him. His was a steep learning-curve, but learn it he must or tonight, he would die.
“Be scared, Fabian. With odds like these, fear is a good thing.”
“It will keep me alive? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“You’ve got it, big man. Brace yourself. They’ll be pouring through that gate any moment now. And don’t do anything stupid. If you want to go home, you have to stay alive. Hold that thought, and I’ll see you when it’s all over.”
Chapter 8
Old habits would not rest. Fabian fought the urge to charge into the yard, to confront the raiders head on as befitting the most high lord of Anxur. Never had he hidden from his enemies like some snivelling coward. The only thing he’d ever had to fear was capture and it had taken a thousand warriors to bring him in. The silent handful now circling the yard would not have given him pause.
