The Dark Priestess licked her rough tongue over Tranorva's clit, demanding response. Tranorva's world shook as she shattered. Her sworn enemy had brought her to climax, and would do it again. The same enemy she'd tried to kill–last night? This morning? Tranorva had lost track of time.
The greedy mouth sucked her juices as she shattered yet again, feeling as if the focus of the universe had narrowed to the burning need centered between her thighs. The Priestess kneaded her fingers into Tranorva's breasts in rhythm to the male's long measured strokes into her own greedy body.
The male. Her benefactor? Her rescuer? Or yet another pawn in the Dark One's game of seduction? He knew too much about her. Lies. All lies. She wanted to believe them lies, but his words held the ring of truth, making too much sense in her ever shifting view of the world of politics.
Tranorva could see the strain in the male's face as he forced himself to maintain control. His hands grasped Tranorva's thighs for leverage as he drove into the Dark One time and again. She was sure there would be bruises from his grip come the morrow. But for now all she felt was her universe shattering as she discovered within herself a need unlike anything she'd ever known before. The Dark Priestess shuddered against Tranorva's waiting clit once, twice, and yet again, and still Tranorva felt herself hurtled toward that final oblivion.
They would be done soon, she could tell. The male's speed increased to a frenzied urgency. The Priestess's tongue drove into Tranorva in an equally frantic pace. Tranorva tested her restraints once again, but the broken manacle had been replaced with a sturdier model. If she could have broken free, would she have tried to escape? Now?
Later. She would deal with escape later. Now she wanted–she needed. Tranorva tried desperately to find something to hold, to touch, some way to urge them on as the final climax built within her, but she was utterly and completely helpless–to protest or to join. The Priestess understood, however, and changed her focus, licking and sucking at her clit until Tranorva shattered with a roar she could not contain.
The Dark Priestess screeched, her body freezing for a moment before she collapsed on top of Tranorva, her hands still gripping Tranorva's breasts as the final shudder shook her. The male, too, added his cry to chorus. He did not, however, collapse on top of the Priestess. Instead, his eyes met Tranorva's as he calmly fastened his hands around the limp, satiated body before him and ended her life. Tranorva watched in perplexed fascination as the Dark One became momentarily aware, and then the understanding in her eyes went dim as she slumped to the floor.
Chapter Five
The Dark Male stood silently before Tranorva, the Priestess forgotten as his fingers brushed over her skin. For a moment Tranorva thought he intended to rape her. Though perhaps it would not be rape. She felt her body respond to his nearness as if all of the other events that had gone on in this room had no meaning.
This was so much like the dream.
He was the enemy.
He had killed for her.
She had to escape.
She was so tired….
His hands trembled against her skin now as he reached for the straps holding her ankles. How odd. Tranorva sensed that his sudden vulnerability had nothing to do with the dead woman at his feet. The broken Priestess was of no consequence to him. He'd already forgotten her.
Well, the Priestess was of consequence to Tranorva. The dead woman meant everything to her. The Dark Male leaned close as he unstrapped her left arm. His hair tumbled down around his face and he shook it over his shoulder, annoyed. Tranorva fisted her hand in his hair and dragged him backwards across the altar with her as she rolled to her feet. Her elbow came down hard against his windpipe as she unfastened the last buckle with her teeth.
She kept her voice low, knowing the guards were listening outside the door. "Tell me one reason why I should not kill you, little man."
She let the pressure off slightly, but still he chose not to defend himself. He seemed to be concentrating heavily on some point just behind her head. A fine line of sweat beaded his brow as her fingers tightened around his throat. Then he shifted, his image blurring around the edges, until Tranorva wiped a hand over her eyes to restore her sight. When her vision cleared, her mother's pet Mage, Shammall, lay passively under her hand.
"By the seven gods," she whispered. "Impossible."
She stared at the Elf's beautiful, naked body. Her grip went slack. She was so tired… she needed to think. Nothing was as it seemed. Politics and illusions. Mother. Mother had sent Shammall to rescue her.
One man, alone, into a fortress no army could penetrate?
Not a man, no. Not a man at all. No man could command such magic. Nor any Elf, to her knowledge. She had to swallow hard to find her voice. "How did ye manage that?"
He shrugged, his eyes still wary. "It's a gift I was born with, M'Lady. I thought this form would at least be more familiar to you, if not exactly welcome."
Tranorva ran her eyes over the body of the stranger she'd known all her life. By the gods he was gorgeous. She'd always resisted picturing him naked, knowing his loyalties lay elsewhere. And indeed, this body was an illusion, created for her benefit.
He was either an Elemental, not a man at all, or he was Fey –a Changeling or Faerie shape shifter–one of the magical creatures that slipped between this world and the next. In either case neither this nor the Dark Elf he'd entered the room as were his true form. How many other identities had she known him as through the years? How many other secrets had her mother kept from her?
He was also far more powerful and possibly even less trustworthy than she had ever imagined. And yet this ancient creature stood before her as if waiting for her to pass judgment on him. Tranorva removed her hand from his neck.
"Be ye my pet cat, as well? He has been a little too friendly, of late."
He flushed as he rolled to his feet. "No, M'Lady. My talents are limited. I can but change my appearance, not what I am. Only your people posses the talent to transform to your totem animal. I envy your family their familiarity with the form of the wolf."
Tranorva snorted softly. "Ye just killed for me, Mage. Why should ye worry that I might find any of thy forms unpleasant?"
He stared at the cold stone floor. "I am not unaware of your feelings toward me, M'Lady."
Tranorva shook her head. She must have had her brain addled by that blow to the back of her skull. She could have sworn that the Mage not only cared what she thought of him, but that, at the very moment, her opinion mattered more than anything else in the universe. Well, she hadn't even been aware that the ever stoic Mage had feelings, let alone that her opinion of him had any bearing on his life. She stifled a sigh. It didn't matter the race. Males made absolutely no sense.
"Mage, it is true there be no love between us. I am no' certain just why the Dark Priestess took such interest in me, but if I had no' eventually agreed to join her she would have killed me. I owe ye my life. 'Tis not a debt that will easily be repaid."
Shammall kept his eyes cast on the floor. "Please forgive my harsh words about your lineage earlier, M'Lady. The Dark One could read my thoughts. I meant only to disguise my true feelings from her."
By the gods, he was blushing! The man–or whatever he was–was embarrassed. Tranorva slowly paced the room, gathering up the High Priestess's clothing. Though Shammall stood eyes down cast, he was watching her. He was trying not to stare at her body, but when ever she moved, his eyes still followed her.
The corpse was naked, except for a necklace, several gold and platinum keys on a fine Mithral chain. She removed the necklace from the corpse and placed it over her own neck. She took her time digesting that information as she dressed in the dead woman's garb. There was power in this. Circling closer, Tranorva raised her fingertips to trace over his golden skin. "If the words ye spoke were the truth, then ye have given me the greatest gift of my life, Mage. You have given me my freedom. If I return to House Lochinvar now, I come of my own free will, not as a slave bound by my birt
h. I am doubly in your debt."
He swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at her. "I spoke only the truth, M'Lady. To do otherwise would have meant death to us both. Géndalaine was very powerful. I had not the strength to kill her except at the moment when she was most vulnerable."
"Look at me," Tranorva commanded. "And tell me the truth." His eyes met hers, dark with desire. "I am a jealous mistress. I would not share your loyalties with any other. Are you bound to my mother, or House Lochinvar?"
"I am my own, M'Lady, bound to no one accept by my own choosing."
"Then choose, Shammall. My Lady Mother or myself. Ye cannot serve us both."
His eyes never wavered. "I made that choice thirty years ago, M'Lady. As I have served Lady Ayailla and Lady Evalayna, so I shall now serve you. I am yours to command."
Great. Now she had her own pet Mage. The ache in her head must have addled her. Hysterical laughter threatened to overwhelm her.
Perhaps she was simply too tired…
She leaned forward to whisper in the Mage's ear. "Doest thou trust me?"
If possible, he turned even paler. "With my life, M'Lady."
His deep voice contrasted nicely with his small, sculptured pretty-boy Elvin looks. Tranorva found herself picturing him as a Northland Warrior. No, that would not work, for the first image than came to her mind belonged now to her cousin. Tranorva sighed as her fantasies ended. Another hopeful possibility that would never come to fruition.
* * * * *
"Guards!"
Élandine froze, his clothing gripped tightly in his hands. She meant to kill him. To have him killed. Once the guards saw Géndalaine's broken body his life would be over. There was no place here to run. He thought of shifting. A Troll perhaps. That might give him the power…
Doest thou trust me?
With my life, M'Lady.
His trust seemed to be a short-lived thing. Élandine swallowed hard as the doors burst open. Five guards rushed in, the Priestess Maelyn close on their heals.
"Halt!" Tranorva raised her hand palm out. "Ye will show me proper respect! I have defeated Priestess Géndalaine in combat. Behold her remains. By thy own laws I claim what was hers. Know me! I am Tranorva, High Priestess of Élahandara! Put down thy weapons and kneel at my feet!"
Could this be the same woman who had trembled with fatigue moments before? Élandine marveled at her strength of will. Her voice echoed with power, filling the chamber with her presence. The fear in the room was a tangible thing. The guards dropped to their knees, their swords offered up across their arms.
The Priestess alone remained standing at the back of the room.
Tranorva turned her attention first to him. "Attend me!"
"M'Lady." He dropped to one knee before her, still clutching his clothes before him.
"What is thy name?"
"Élandine, M'Lady."
"What belonged to Géndalaine is now mine."
By the gods, she was brilliant. Or out of her mind. "Aye, M'La–- Mistress."
"There are no other witnesses to what happened here today. How long do ye think ye would live if I sent ye into these halls alone?"
She said this before witnesses, who would surely repeat all that they heard? "I am grateful for your protection, Mistress." If you don't get me killed. 'Twas a pity she couldn't read minds…
"That is as it should be. See that ye remember thy place." Dismissing him, she turned to face the still standing Priestess. "Who are ye, and how dare ye defy my divine right to thy fealty?"
The Priestess approached, circling warily, her knuckles grown white as she grasped her staff of office. "I am Maelyn, First Priestess of Élahandara, and it is my right to succeed Géndalaine as High Priestess. You are not Élandra! You have not the right to the wear the sacred keys! You have no right to our throne. Why should I lay down my staff before you, when you are nothing to me. For all I know, Géndalaine died of her own excess. She was old, and the strain of your discipline may have been too much for her. I name you Charlatan, and claim the high seat for my own!"
Tranorva threw back her head with a roar of laughter. "You? You would challenge me, little woman? You would challenge a Northland Warrior?" She stood before the First Priestess unarmed, raising her hands in beckoning. "Come to me sister. Let us test thy strength against mine. I needed no weapon to drop Géndalaine at my feet. Rest assured that a dozen priestesses of lesser houses stand ready to take thy place, and all will swear fealty to me for a tenth of thy price. I accept thy challenge!"
Maelyn raised her twisted rune staff and brought it down hard against the stone floor. Remember our lessons! Élandine ached to scream. Lightning arched through the room, bouncing off floor and ceiling as it converged on Tranorva's head. Élandine barely dared to breathe as the energy cracked through the air. Tranorva shimmered for an instant, surrounded in flames, before her laughter echoed against the walls once again.
"Know ye not that I am the daughter of a great Shaman? I am not ignorant of thy arts!"
Tranorva raised one hand, palm out, and the lingering fire coalesced on the tips of her fingers, spinning there as if in slow motion. Capturing the lightning in her fist, she drew back her arm as if to hurl a discus.
Maelyn screamed in outrage as she charged, brandishing her staff as a weapon. Tranorva opened her fist as she completed the arc, sending the lightning ball hurtling back against Maelyn's attack. The First Priestess staggered as her own blow hit her, dropping to one knee from the impact.
Tranorva pressed her advantage, moving in to rip the staff from the stunned Priestess's grasp. Her left hand crushed the First Priestess's throat as her right brought the staff crashing to bear as a cudgel. She halted her blow inches from the quivering Priestess's head. "Think not that I will not kill ye. Swear to me now and live. Stand in my way again and thy life is forfeit. I will no tolerate any less than thy full obeisance."
Maelyn's rigid body went slack in Tranorva's grasp. A strangled gasp broke from her throat.
"What? I could not make out they words."
Maelyn raised her arms, palm up, as Tranorva allowed her enough freedom to speak. "I swear."
Tranorva loosed her grip on Maelyn's fragile windpipe. "Swear by your gods."
Maelyn ran her fingers over her bruised throat, waves of enmity shining from her eyes. "By all that is holy, by the Lords of Chaos and Destruction, I pledge my fealty to Lady Tranorva, High Priestess of Élahandara."
Tranorva let her eyes settle on the five cowering male guards. "Should I hear my Priestess's name dishonored in any way, thy lives will be forfeit."
All five guards bowed their heads in agreement as they backed closer to the door.
Tranorva placed the staff of office back into the hands of her the Priestess. "I accept thy oath, Lady Maelyn, and name ye the First of my Council. Thy first duty is to inform thy sisters of my new office."
Maelyn made an obvious effort not to gape at Tranorva. "You are most gracious, M'Lady. I shall be honored to accept First Chair at your table."
Tranorva gestured to the guards who knelt before her. "Go! Spread the news to thy mistresses on the eight points of the Star. I have defeated Géndalaine in combat and claimed right of succession." She turned back to Maelyn. "Have Géndalaine laid out and prepared for her rights. I will receive the oaths of fealty from each of thy Sister Priestesses at the ceremony for her passage as the sun sets tomorrow."
Tranorva gestured again to the guards. "Away with thee."
As a unit the guards turned to fell her presence. Maelyn trailed in their wake, not far behind. Tranorva closed her eyes, looking suddenly older, and tired. And … Human. Élandine repressed the urge to gather her into his arms and comfort her. Instead he teased her as he pulled on his clothes. "You are a fine actress, M'Lady. You should have taken up touring with a traveling minstrel show."
She sighed, pulling herself back together with a visible effort. "Take me to Géndalaine's quarters, please Élandine. I must sleep. If no one kills me while I die that l
ittle death, tomorrow will be a busy day."
A new respect overwhelmed him. "No one will bother you while you sleep, M'Lady. I swear it."
She leaned on him as they made their way down the long, cold stone corridors. Élandine marveled again at the strength of Tranorva's will that kept her on her feet. He bolted the door to Géndalaine's room behind them. Somehow he doubted Tranorva would even notice the splendid opulence of the chamber. She collapsed half-off the ancient carved bed, her face buried in a pile of silk brocade pillows, asleep before she managed to crawl under the coverlets. He hated to disturb her enough to move her, though she seemed to take no notice as he arranged her more comfortable and pulled the bed curtains shut to seal in her warmth. But as he moved to stand guard, her hand captured his.
"I am so cold," she whispered. "Do not leave me."
His hands trembled as he lifted the covers, but she was fast asleep as he wrapped his warmth around her. Her deep, even breathing assured him that at last he was safe. "I can never leave you, M'Lady," he whispered. "I love you."
Chapter Six
Magic.
She knew it was magic. She'd escaped. There was no reason for her to be back here, strapped to the stone altar again. It had to be magic. The Élandra Priestesses commanded talents far greater than she had ever suspected. To have captured her and held her immobilized right under the eyes of her entire army bespoke of a magic as powerful as her mother's.
Perhaps as powerful as Ayailla herself.
Now they had taken her again in her sleep, and she was once again laid out on that same stone altar. Shammall had promised to guard her while she slept. He had given her his word… where was he?
She shook her head angrily. She didn't need Shammall. She didn't need anyone. She had escaped once, and by the gods she would do it again! Tranorva fought the restrains this time, even as she heard the booted feet approaching down the long echoing corridor.
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 21
