“You have never been one for malice. Has that changed or was I mistaken about your nature all along?”
Melane took a deep breath and curved her arms about her waist to still her sudden shaking. “Please accept my apology for the kick.”
It was all he’d get from her.
Saran gripped her upper arms in a rough grasp and yanked her close. His familiar scent, the closeness of his body to hers, desire swelled like an uncontrollable force threatening to take her under. “I care not for that. Tell me if you have accepted his invitation.”
It would have been easy to blurt out the truth. To tell him that she and Casin had not become intimate but then Melane reminded herself that she owed him nothing. With lips pursed, she snapped, “Again, none of your affair.”
He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur. Puffs of air caressed her cheek and Melane forced herself to meet his gaze. The brown orbs pierced her veneer of bravery. “Days. It took you days to move beyond me.”
Pain glinted briefly or was she seeing what she wanted? She would not let it affect her. “And how long did it take you, Warlord Saran? One sentence. With one sentence you ended things between us. You no longer have the right to question me. No rights to touch me.”
He flinched and Melane couldn’t contain her pleasure. He should hurt. As much as he’d hurt her. She carefully peeled his fingers away. He stared. First at her arm and then her face. Something there must have proven she meant what she said. He broke eye contact and backed off. Despite their circumstances, she immediately missed the slight warmth of him.
“You speak truth.” His head dipped low but he jerked it back up. “You owe me nothing.”
The last words were uttered in a raspy growl, misery in their inflection. Heart pounding, Melane swallowed and turned away from him. “I do not like the games you play. Perhaps you best seek this bride of yours.”
“Melane, I was wrong to say that. Can you not give me this one thing?”
She spun around and glared. How dare he? “It is never one thing with you.”
“Why will you not give me the truth?” he yelled, leaning forward, anger in very line of his body.
Finally. She’d cracked the veneer he wore. Tough Warlord needing no one. Expecting Melane to accept him. To forgive him with an eager smile and welcoming arms.
“Because you do not deserve the truth.” She answered him calmly, keeping her voice as unemotional as she could in this moment. Inside a part of her curled up and died.
Saran flinched again. Twice she’d hurt him with her words. “Melane, ever have you been fair to me.”
“But you have not given me the same,” she snapped, angry that he’d throw her gullible feelings in her face. Betrayal dug deep and his lack of care stung.
Yes, she usually forgave his abrupt nature. Her heart was his. But she would not accept less any more. She was better. She was deserving. Giving him her back, Melane fought to regain control of her wild emotions.
***
Melane had never spoken to him thus. Until now Saran couldn’t recall her ever using a loud tone. He spoke from behind her, his voice thick and raw. “Tell me. Please.”
He knew the moment she decided to answer and felt a moment of triumph. She whipped around to face him. It was there in her gaze. Her soft heart always won out. “Casin and I...have not shared bed play.”
Blessed One. Overwhelming relief flooded him. Instead of thinking her weak for answering his undeserved question, Saran realized the strength it took for a woman in her station to confess with such honesty. He’d forced her to tell him a most private matter and overstepped.
“Melane—”
“You are a blind fool, Saran.” She talked over him and her back straightened, arms falling to the side as she stepped forward, pushing at his chest. “I love you. I would have given anything to be your bride but it took recent events to show me you do not return the sentiment.”
The words shook him. Love? Never did he imagine her feelings for him to be this strong. A Kabanian woman capable of loving? She boldly stared back awaiting his reaction. The fearful and wary way she regarded him sent a flare of shame through Saran. He wanted to return the sentiment. Wanted to give her the same pleasure he received in the sharing of her emotions.
But he didn’t love her. Did he? Warriors didn’t express such emotions. Except his brother. But Vaan was different. Always had been. Saran cared for Melane but pride kept even that admission from his lips.
At his silence, her bitter laugh pierced his ears and shamed him further. “Your quiet on the subject makes me a fool as well.”
Swallowing his remorse, Saran offered what he could. “You hold more bravery than me, Melane.”
Her shoulders curved inward, the twist on her lips a crude parody of her sunny smile. “But not enough to be your bride.”
Saran winced. He would ever regret saying that. Melane wore her heart on her sleeve, her love for him easy to see now that he knew what to look for. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Why did he hesitate?
“It would seem there is no more to be said.”
Letting the matter stand with no further talk between them did not sit right with Saran. He moved to her side and cupped her jaw. Defiance glared back. “Know that I enjoyed our time together. Seeing you with Casin reminded me of the satisfaction we took in one another’s arms.”
“Satisfaction and lust mean nothing.” The ugly words dripped from her lips.
He didn’t like the way she spoke of their time together. Not when he remembered it different. “It was more than that.”
“Then take a chance, Warlord Saran. Do you not see, I can be what you seek?” Hope replaced the defiance.
She made him want the impossible. Her eyes blazed with devotion and sincerity. Could he risk reaching for what he dreamed? Saran took a deep breath, prepared to extend the invitation to welcome her back into his bed but something held him back. Was Casin right? Did he only want Melane because he could not let her go to another? Would it be fair to tease with a promise of more when he wasn’t sure she was the bride for him?
The questions bombarded and Saran still had no answer. He felt torn in two. The Warlord everyone expected him to be and the warrior who desired more from his chosen bride. It was his brother’s fault. Vaan’s union enticed him and created this draw.
Melane’s expression fell. Saran had waited too long to give a response. She didn’t have to feign her disappointment and he felt like a warrior bested in a battle he hadn’t prepared for.
“Melane.” Guilt weighed him and his heart twisted in his chest. He wanted to give in to what she sought.
“Stop!” She yelled, yanking her face away. “Enough games. With Casin, I can have something. With you lies pain. No more, Warlord Sa...”
He kissed her. Saran wasn’t sure if he had the way of it but he pressed his mouth to Melane’s, cutting off her words. She struggled, fingers latching to his chest harness. He held firm, aligning their bodies inch by inch. Her ire dissolved into a muffled moan. The sky continued to shift with hints of a storm, lightening crackled followed by a thunderous boom.
All of it added to the passion flaring between them. Her taste filled his mouth, soft lips cushioning his own. Hardened nipples poked his chest and his shaft twitched in his leathers. When she moaned again, Saran eased back, taking his time separating from her. His heart pounded and he wasn’t sure how he felt about the odd joining of their mouths.
Dazed, Melane touched her puffy lips. “What madness are you about?”
He had no explanation but the idea of her with Casin wasn’t one he could tolerate. Ever. What he wanted was right in front of him. He knew he’d broken the fragile trust between them but he’d fix that.
Taking a risk, Saran gave Melane what she wanted. Perhaps what they both wanted. “I would offer you invitation. To try again.”
Hope rekindled in her gaze, reinforcing what he knew in his gut was the right thing. “Warlord Saran, you must know...”
The rustling of leav
es behind them distracted and she broke off whatever she was saying. Claws raked the ground along with a stench Saran could not ignore. He pushed her back and unsheathed his sword as he yelled, “Durvish! Run, Melane.”
Thankfully, she responded to his warning and took off running, no questions asked. Saran risked a glance over his shoulder. Melane held the hem of her skirts in hand as she fled. Turning back, he faced the danger approaching.
What happened next was a nightmare. Rain ripped from the sky in a torrential downfall at the same time as four wild animals rushed from the trees directly toward him. Their loud voices must have startled the durvish.
Stout heads lowered in a typical threatening stance. Large tusks curved up from their crinkled mouths and their short legs kicked up dirt as they ran. The litter they’d disturbed split in separate directions, grunting and growling. Saran raced forward with his sword at the ready.
His battle cry didn’t stop them. Saran swiped at his face to clear the water running into his eyes. His blade cut through the neck of the first as it squealed, front legs collapsing. The animal unaware of the mortal wound struggled to regain its footing, snarling and attempting to slash at Saran with its tusks. Rain soaked the ground turning the grass into a muddy terrain.
He danced out of reach and with a violent sweep pierced the rough hide protecting its flesh colored side. Another attempt to take him down resulted in the creature getting too close to his sword once more. It died with a muffled groan.
The other two circled around him, more wary. They pawed at the ground, grunting in warning. The animals didn’t hold his full attention though, it was the fourth which darted away, causing Saran concern.
In battle he reached for calm and settled himself with thoughts of impending victory. Today, his heart pounded and worry for Melane splintered his thoughts in several directions. Had she gotten close enough to the compound to outrun the durvish? Was she safe among warriors?
Sensing his distraction, the two animals charged, one going high and one going low. He gripped his sword before him and slashed and whirled about. Pain ripped into his lower leg, a tusk slicing through the leather of his right boot. Saran stumbled forward. The position allowed one of the durvish to leap for him. Off balance, Saran gritted his teeth as claws dragged down his back. Skin tore beneath the sharp talons.
Once he regained his footing, Saran slashed out with his sword. The durvish on the right squealed and backed off but the one on the left rushed at him again. He fought with precision, leaving bleeding slices in their skin. He suffered for his defense, taking on more wounds of his own.
Maddened, the animals continued their attack, one after the other rushing him and darting away then repeated their charge. Timing their strategy, Saran managed to gut the second, skewering it through the middle. One more to go. He began to hope, to believe this would end well.
Then Melane screamed.
Chapter 10
Melane ran a few feet before slowing to a stop. Squeals rang out behind her. She couldn’t leave Saran to fight the durvish alone. The animals were brutal when they cornered their prey. She came to a halt and pressed a hand to her chest. What to do? What to do?
Saran roared, making the decision for her. Melane turned and raced back. The ground, slick from rain, tripped her up and she fell, coming face to face with the snarling jaws of a durvish. Heart in her throat, Melane screamed and scrambled backward. The animal cornered her with a quick rush, its short legs pounding the ground and leaping for her.
With only seconds to spare, she kept her wits about her and ducked. The animal sailed over her head and slammed into a tree trunk behind her. Dazed, it shook its squat head and jerked around with a snarling growl. Melane bit her lips on her next scream and grabbed up a broken tree branch. Rain continued to pound the ground and rain fell in sheets. Seconds ticked by as she and the durvish faced one another.
She was close to calling for Saran when he burst through the clearing and shifted to the side. Blood dripped from his back and thin lines marred his chest. Rivers of red pooled quickly about the boot of his right leg when he came to a standstill. His frantic gaze searched her from head to toe, his stance easing only marginally.
Relief loosened her fear and Melane took an eager step in his direction, forgetting about the durvish.
“Don’t move, Melane!”
The warning came too late. The waiting durvish aimed for the weaker target. Her. The realization she was about to be gored froze Melane to the spot. Something with the weight of a full grown hapfe rammed into her side and her feet flew up from her. She hit the ground hard, breath knocked from her chest. Mud splattered in a showering cascade, covering her in clumps from chest to waist. Saran squeezed her shoulder then shoved to his feet but his sword flew from his grip to land behind them.
The durvish had no mercy. It was on him in an instant, sharp tusks and hooved paws doing the most damage. Saran fell to the ground beneath the onslaught. Snarls, rough growls and short yips filled the air. On his back, Saran grabbed the short muzzle, keeping it from tearing his throat out. Blood sprayed and Melane cried out as she rolled to her front and crawled toward his fallen sword.
“Saran!” Every inch shook as she tried to lift the weighty weapon.
Heels digging into the ground, Saran fought desperately from his position on his back but managed to still give her orders. “Stay away, Melane. Come no closer!”
Not once did he face her. Not once did he pull his gaze from the threat in front of him. But the small warning cost him. The durvish on his chest lunged and Saran raised his right arm to prevent his throat from taking the brunt of the assault.
His hand paid the price. Jaws clamped tight and never would Melane forget the sound of the painful roar Saran released. Her hip hurt from where he’d knocked her down as she scrambled to her feet and limped with each step but nothing would stop her from going to his aid. The durvish focused on Saran completely and missed her approach.
With the muscles in her arms trembling, Melane raised the sword. It took every bit of her remaining energy and tears blinded but she swung with all her might.
The blade slid home. Pungent odors filled the air as she gutted the animal. The durvish released Saran on a yelp. Melane swung again and again, staggering from each attempt.
“No! No! No!” Her cries and screams must have echoed across the land.
Warriors and Warlords alike rushed forward. They came. The men of Kaban. But much too late. Melane dropped to her knees, the sword falling from her limp fingers.
“Melane, be at ease.” The whispered words feathered her cheeks.
It took a while to clear her mind enough to focus. In a daze, Melane tilted her head to the side to see Casin on one knee beside her. Concern glinted in his eyes, terrorizing her more. Chest panting, she choked. “S-saran. Saran...the durvish.”
Fear and adrenaline left her unable to repeat the horror. Casin helped her to her feet and Melane forged up in spite of her wobbly knees. She leaned her weight into him but she wanted only one man’s touch. Her neck craned about. Large muscled backs blocked her view.
“Saran,” Melane mumbled from numb lips.
She stepped in the direction of the growing crowd. Fear leeched the color from her face when she saw four warriors gather a limp Saran in their arms. His head lolled to the side, black hair obscuring his face.
“No!” She pushed away from Casin and stumbled, trying to reach them.
Rain shifted becoming a heaving wind that blew and howled. Casin caught her again, pulling her to his damp chest. “Be at ease.”
There was no ease for her. The warriors shuffled past with brisk steps, the pace warning of the severity of Saran’s injuries. When they reached the house, stares turned their way. Melane ignored them all and stayed close as the group raced to Saran’s bedroom.
“Summon the healer!” Casin yelled, cupping her elbow and guiding her up the stairs.
Her clothing left a trail of water behind them. Each warrior dripped as
well, soaked head to toe from coming to their aid. The storm raging outside matched the storm brewing inside Melane. Nothing made sense. Why had this happened? In a turmoil, she glanced about the upper level confusion making her stumble.
The Healer arrived, forcing everyone out save the warriors who carried Saran inside and shut the door to a familiar bedroom. She caught a glimpse of them placing him on the bed. Against her wishes, Melane found herself out of the room as well. Casin and Bran cornered her in the hall. She leaned against the wall as shivers coursed through her entire body.
“What happened?”
Teeth chattering, she retold as much as her mind recalled in the midst of the attack. Casin nodded grimly and entered the room. The door snapped behind him causing Melane to jump.
Bran reached for her hand but she snatched it back and tucked both under her arms and rocked side to side. His eyes darkened but his tone remained low.
“What can I do for you? Does the healer need check you as well?”
The questions brought more tears forth. Melane took a deep breath and exhaled. Calm gradually settled. “I am well. It is Warlord Saran in need.”
She jerked when the door opened again. Warlord Casin’s deep frown shook her hard won control. Bran stepped forward. “How is Saran?”
Did she read a hint of glee in his inquiry?
“He will not settle without seeing Melane.” Casin’s announcement took her by surprise. Then Melane lurched forward.
Bran stayed close behind as they walked into the room and Melane wanted to shove him far from her.
The healer’s outlook was not positive. His face downcast, he glanced from her to the warriors who’d stayed inside. “It does not look good.”
Someone had notified the Council and several members squeezed into the room next.
Ignoring everyone except the groaning man on the massive bed, Melane made her way to the side of the bed. The sight that met her gaze had her reeling. Blood spatter on the linen, Saran’s bruised body lined with claw marks and pain etched on his face. Worst was the blood soaked cloths wrapped tight around his right hand and forearm.
Unexpected Bride (Warlord Series Book 6) Page 8
