She waited until he had fussed with the bedding longer than needed and then cleared her throat. “I’m finished and the water will be getting cold if you don’t use it soon.”
Shadowdancer didn’t respond, though he was fluffing one poor pillow with particular violence. And she didn’t miss how he glanced out of the corner of his eye from time to time. A smile tugged at her lips.
“Could you hand me a towel. I don’t want to drip all over the carpets.”
Unashamed, she stood with her arms relaxed at her sides. Shadowdancer looked up at last. While his expression held a hint of appreciation for several moments, in the end his eyes brightened with humor.
Then he chuckled and did as she asked, carrying over two towels. One he tossed over her head and the other he wrapped around her shoulders. “I love you, but you’re the most trying female I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a few.”
“You love a good challenge.”
“Indeed I do. And I always win.” He lifted her out of the tub and spun her around, laughing along with her. He deposited her on the ground and proceeded to rub her down with a towel. Sorsha basked in the pampering. When she was dry, he swatted the towel across her rump. “Go get dressed, little temptress. There’s a robe and nightdress next to your sleeping area.”
Wordlessly, Sorsha did as told. After she dressed, she watched him strip out of his own clothes. He hadn’t ordered her not to look, after all. The whole time Shadowdancer bathed, he never once looked in her direction or struck up conversation.
Sitting wrapped in her bedding, she wished it was Shadowdancer’s arms around her and not the impersonal warmth of a blanket.
“Hmmm, I think I’ve lost my cloth, could you bring me another?”
Sorsha jumped at the sound of his voice, still not used to Shadowdancer voicing his thoughts aloud. Then she started to laugh. “Try something more creative next time and I might offer you some aid.”
Shadowdancer’s eyes held a merry light at her words. With a supreme act of will, she broke eye contact and stared at the small central fire. It flickered in a slow dance and she imagined what the light would look like contrasting his body in its warm glow. Her fingers tingled. She fisted them and told her mind to stop conjuring sinful images.
Water sloshing against the tub captured her attention and she instinctively looked in the direction of the sound. A soft, breathy sigh escaped her. Gods, he was gorgeous, a satisfying balance of toned muscle and masculine grace.
Naked and still dripping water, he stalked across the carpet to the neat pile of towels at the foot of his sleeping area. He turned his lean flanks toward her as he bent to retrieve the first towel. He dried himself with no show of modesty. So close, she could reach out and touch him—and earlier he’d rejected her advances. Now this. What game did he play?
Never mind, she told herself. I’m not playing.
Sorsha picked up the damp towel she’d been using on her hair. She balled it up and flung it at Shadowdancer’s naked ass. He made a most satisfying grunt of surprise. She didn’t look up at him, even though she could feel his intent stare like a caress against her skin—she knew he was studying her expression by the intense feel of his scrutiny. Sorsha smoothed the bedding and crawled under, feeling for the first time the soft, tight-knit weave against her skin.
The sound of soft footfalls against the carpet reached her ears. Still, she jerked in surprised reaction when he gathered the corner of her coverlet and tugged it up around her neck. His hands settled on either side of her shoulders as he leaned closer. Her stomach fluttered with nervous energy as possibilities played out in her mind. Warm lips, bordering on fire, pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Sleep well, Herd Mistress. Dream of me.”
With that, he returned to his own bed and burrowed under the blankets without a backward glance at her. He tugged and pulled at the coverings until he had it the way he wanted. After a moment, his breathing eased into sleep.
“Seriously?”
He’d gone to elaborate lengths to keep her off-balance; she couldn’t believe it was over that easily. Then it came to her. He’d said it himself. He loved a good challenge. And he always won.
Sorsha huffed out another curse, but admitted he’d won that round.
* * * *
Shadowdancer galloped as fast as his hooves could carry him and he still couldn’t out run the baying of the Wardlen hunting him. Sorsha was lost, somewhere out there. Hidden in the mists. He could sense her, taste her fear in his mind. He needed to get to her, but the Wardlen were in front of him as well, closing in on all sides. They were going to reach her first.
“Sorsha!” he screamed along their mental link as terror filled his soul.
“Shadowdancer, I’m here.”
Someone was shaking him, one hand upon his shoulder as another was caressing his cheek in soft, soothing strokes. A warm body was tucked up against his. Her scent teased his senses: rich, welcoming, fertile. The dream Wardlen fell away as the nightmare loosened its hold. He was among his herd. Sorsha was safe. They were no longer trapped in the grey mists of the Wild Path.
“Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
He blinked up at her. Her lips were so close, her warm breath washed across his face. She smoothed his sweat-dampened hair off his forehead and behind one ear. Sorsha was alive, unharmed. Relief and joy welled up within him, desire close on their heels. He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and dragged her closer.
He’d intended for the kiss to be gentle, but need broke free of the restraints he’d placed upon his emotions. Against his better judgment, the kiss turned possessive. He couldn’t get enough of her taste, the feel of her soft body against him, the silky heat of her skin against his.
Her night robe blocked him so he simply pushed it aside, exposing her body to his eyes. He’d seen her before, but now he wanted to touch. All his noble reasons why he shouldn’t paled as he ran his hands over her curves, touching, caressing, learning what stoked the fire in her blood. She welcomed his touch, sighing her pleasure one moment and laughing the next. They were meant for each other. He no longer cared if he was the right choice. She was his. He shifted them until he was above her.
And by the Mother of the Prairie, how Sorsha responded. Her fingers trailed over his shoulder blades, then explored down the slope to the small of his back. She continued to caress him, finding what he liked as her power welled up, cascading over him. It was too much—he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t caress her enough, couldn’t pull her close enough. His fingers bit into her shoulders. Goddess, he was going to break her. Panting, he rolled off her onto his side. Another wave of her power rolled across him and he forgot why he’d broken away.
“Shadowdancer?” Sorsha’s question came out sounding breathy and confused. Even a little uncertain. “I’m sorry my magic escaped my control. Did it hurt you?”
“No. Never.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead to soothe her. Nothing so simple could reassure him. “Your power overwhelms my senses. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
She smiled up at him. “I’m not that much smaller than you now, and I’m rather tough—far from breakable.”
“I…” He sighed, but it didn’t do anything to ease the new tension building in his body. “This form is very new.”
Sorsha started to laugh. “And I’m in too much of a hurry. Not very ladylike of me.”
“No. It’s not that. Your Herd Mistress power, it steals every last scrap of restraint I possess.” He started to get to his knees, but Sorsha persuaded him back down and caressed his back in a slow motion he found soothing.
“We have candlemarks until dawn. There’s no rush.” Her fingers tracked down along the length of his spine.
“Good.” He closed his eyes, but a smile curved his mouth. “It will take at least that long for me to get my fill of you.”
She chuckled in delight at his tone and placed gentle kisses along the underside of his jaw.
* *
* *
The first fingers of pink stole across the sky and Shadowdancer was still awake, still watching his beautiful Herd Mistress as she slept. With her body curled against him, he could feel her sleeping mind; feel the power coiled below her skin. His Larnkin was somewhat stronger from their lovemaking. Perhaps, if given enough time, he could be healed?
Sorsha mumbled something in her sleep. He leaned down and kissed her awake. After a moment, she blinked sleepy eyes at him.
He gave her a half-hearted smile. “I see my resolve to do what was right lasted about as long as I feared it would.” When Sorsha would have said something, he placed his fingers over her lips. “I won’t return to my high noble ways, and I promise I’ll want to do this again, as often as you’ll allow. I know I can’t be your Stallion Mage, but we’ll figure something out in the long term. For now, sleep.”
“Hmm... I can think of an activity more interesting than sleep.” She proceeded to show him what was on her mind.
He chuckled, more than willing to play along. “And I believe it’s my sacred duty to keep the Herd Mistress happy.”
Chapter Eighteen
Spring arrived in the high prairies with the fury of blustering storm winds, driving rains, and swollen rivers. The winds shredded tents, the rains drenched the travelers to the skin, and the bloated waterways made fording all but impossible. Of the three, it was the last which annoyed Trensler the most—his acolytes were above bodily comforts, but even the magic-fed horses found the rivers too swift. He’d already lost three priests, their mounts unable to keep their footing during the first attempted crossing.
At some unforeseen point downriver, both drowned horses and riders would emerge from the swift waters and make their way back to him. Even in death they were unable to break their oaths. Trensler frowned as his annoyance grew; the beasts would likely be of more use than his drowned priests. It did not take any great intelligence to carry a rider and follow simple commands. But Trensler would need every one of his remaining acolytes in the coming days. Sharp wit, or at the very least a living mind, would be needed to carry on in his absence. Even his Master, Trensler mused a touch sacrilegiously, was limited in what He could heal or restore. And Death wasn’t something easily healed, not even with near-limitless, godlike power.
“Keldar,” Trensler called as he reined his mount around a storm-shattered tree where it partially blocked the path. This day, the tree was just one of many obstacles, another reason to curse the rains and wind and their endless attempts to slow his progress. But neither his, nor his Master’s plans, would be defeated by something as capricious as the elements.
His most-reliable acolyte halted his mount alongside Trensler’s and allowed the gelding its head. The beast sniffed at the young green grass, then an old reflex kicked in and it snatched a mouthful. It chewed for a moment then stopped. Hunger didn’t entice it to swallow and bits of green debris rained back down, uneaten and forgotten. Not so much as a hint of expression flickered across the horse’s face, its eyes the milky-white of the recent dead.
Several of the acolytes’ beasts hadn’t survived the necessary pace. Even reanimated, Keldar’s beast and the others’ horses would only be of use for a limited time, days at most. It shouldn’t matter; they’d soon have what they sought. Once they possessed that ancient power for his Master, Trensler would have enough power to enslave an entire herd of santhyrians, and they’d make far superior mounts. A touch of humor sparked to life within Trensler and he chuckled. Perhaps he need not wait that long.
Keldar glanced over at him. “My Lord?”
Trensler guided his horse into a small clearing and dismounted before answering his subordinate. “I was just thinking we could use new mounts.”
Keldar’s eyebrows arched together with confusion.
“Oh, Keldar, never get so cynical that you fail to appreciate the gifts life drops in your path.”
At Trensler’s words, Keldar glanced around the forest-bound glade once more, then his gaze turned inward as he awaited an explanation with his customary politely cold silence.
“Trailing behind, less than half a day at best, you will find two of our enemy’s scouts advancing on our back trail. Take five of the acolytes and deal with the problem, and this time feed from a distance and avoid their arrows. As for their santhyrian mounts, capture and enslave them.”
“As my lord commands.” Keldar bowed from the saddle, and then turned his mount, calling out to the other acolytes.
Trensler watched as Keldar, and those brothers he’d selected to go with him, guided their mounts back into the trees.
* * * *
The sun had started its descent toward the western horizon by the time Trensler heard the distant sound of rapid hoof-beats echoing through the forest. A short time later, Keldar burst into the clearing astride a great beast of a santhyrian. Massive hindquarters propelled the dappled grey stallion toward Trensler’s location. A bright chestnut mare followed close behind the stallion. With a quiet word from Keldar, both beasts skidded to a stop an arm’s length away from Trensler.
From his closer proximity, Trensler couldn’t help but notice the stallion’s lifeless eyes, even now clouding over into milky, lifeless orbs.
“Was it necessary to kill them?” Trensler allowed some of his displeasure to leech into his voice.
Keldar dismounted, dropped to his knees and bowed so deeply his forehead brushed the ground. “Forgive me, High Lord Trensler.”
“Rise and explain.” Though, there is likely nothing to forgive, Trensler admitted to himself. Keldar was never guilty of rash decisions.
The acolyte held his bow two heartbeats more, and then with more grace than many his height could manage, he rose in one swift, elegant move. “Both santhyrians possessed strong wills, too strong to overcome in a timely fashion. Now that we know the secret to capturing a santhyrian, acquiring others shouldn’t prove too difficult a task. If we’d had more time, we could have captured these ones alive, but I feared dallying too long might endanger our greater plans. While I fed from this one’s rider,” Keldar patted the dappled grey stallion almost affectionately, “I discovered our enemies have sent a host of their most skilled warriors on our trail.”
“You have done well. Now, I must part with you and the other brothers to complete our Master’s next command. Are you prepared to complete your mission, even unto death?”
“May I be so blessed!” Keldar bowed again. “I will not fail our Master. I will follow your instructions to the letter.”
“I have every confidence in you, my son.” And truthfully he did. However, he wondered if his Master was slightly less confident, and if the second quest, the one Trensler would undertake alone, was a way for the Divine Speaker to guarantee his long-term plans.
Keldar bowed and continued. “Thank you, Lord-Master. I shall find the broken Talisman.”
“Go with my blessing and may it lend speed to your quest.” Trensler approached the dappled grey stallion and mounted while his acolytes lashed supplies onto the other santhyrian. When all was ready, Trensler glanced at each of his acolytes in turn, weighting their skills and individual strengths. Yes, this group should be successful in their quest. Fear swirled in his heart as he wondered if he would be so fortunate in his own. He had been warned of the dangers in breaching an Oracle’s defenses.
Chapter Nineteen
Sorsha rummaged through the discarded bedding as she searched for her vest. Stooped over, the leather of her breeches shaped to her bottom in a way Shadowdancer found strangely pleasing. When he’d still been a santhyrian, he hadn’t been particularly moved even by her total nudity when they had bathed together in a pond or river. But now, such a simple sight had him smiling in appreciation.
She whirled around on him, her vest clinched in one hand. “Have you heard one word I’ve said?”
Try as he might, he couldn’t keep a lazy smile from tugging at the corners of his lips. “No. Your back was turned; the words muffled. My hearing isn�
�t as good as it used to be.”
Sorsha snorted. “Sure, and I’m a sheep.”
Shadowdancer tilted his head to the side. “I don’t see the resemblance. Maybe if you bent over again?”
Her chin tilted up and she bestowed him with a particularly dark frown. “Can you get your mind focused on things of greater importance than bedsport? We need to find out Trensler’s location and what his next plans are.”
“I know how we might find out.”
Sorsha pulled her vest over her loose white shirt. “How?”
“Did Ashayna ever mention her ordeal with the Oracle Stone?”
“No. Ordeal? That doesn’t sound good.” She paused lacing her vest and looked him in the eyes. “But since you’ve mentioned it, this must be something that might help us. Go on.”
“Help or harm. No one is truly sure of the Oracle Stone’s purpose, but they do have vast knowledge at their disposal. And right now we need as much knowledge as we can get. The Oracle might know what Trensler is and how to stop him. It might even be able to tell us how we might heal our Larnkins.”
“You haven’t learned to mask your expressions yet, and it just said ‘omission’ in startling fashion.”
“I’ll try harder in the future.”
“So, what didn’t you mention?” she pressed.
“The Oracle may help us—if we pass its tests.”
“By the way you say that, I assume those tests are not easily won.”
“No. The knowledge an Oracle imparts is never easily gained, or free.”
“But we’re going to go milk it for what we need to get our families back, aren’t we?”
Shadowdancer laughed. “Yes.”
“There’s just one problem.”
“Only one? Our luck must be changing for the better.” Shadowdancer shook his head, but only cleared his throat and continued. “I don’t think we’ll be able to return to Grey Spires and use that Oracle Stone. I doubt my father has shared his thoughts and musings with the rest of the Elemental Council. If the Phoenix Queen came to suspect we are of the Twelve, it’s logical to assume she will think we are as corrupted as Sorntar. And since he was able to hide his darkness…”
In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3 Page 43
