by Lara Adrian
And only then did he release her. Only when she was melting against his mouth, sated and breathless, did he relent and let her go, easing her back down onto the blankets.
With a fevered snarl, he covered Ariana and sheathed himself in one swift thrust. She cried out with heightened pleasure as he filled her, the glove of her womb gripping him in the final throes of her climax. He settled there for a moment, both of them relishing in the sweet undulations of her flesh against his rigid sex. "God's love," he whispered roughly, "I cannot last now, not when you have me this close to madness."
Withdrawing in a slow, measured stroke, he brought her legs around him and filled her again, marveling aloud at the way she accommodated him, so small and tight, yet yielding, pliant. He thrust again, and Ariana felt the quickening begin to swell inside him. Faster, harder, he gave her all of him, as much as she could take. She watched, riveted, as he took her, seemingly mindless with passion, animal in his claiming of her. Panting, straining, he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her up off the ground to take him more fully. The sensation was exquisite, so raw and primal. When she began to gasp with the coming of another release, he was all but lost. He plunged in frenzy then, holding her gaze as the tremors of her orgasm racked her.
And then he was spending, too. He cursed, low and savage under his breath as the hot rush of his climax flooded her womb. Ariana cried out with the glory of it, her soft shout of bliss carrying into the darkened night. She held him to her, kissing his slackened mouth as they both quaked and trembled in the ebbing of shared pleasure.
Their bodies still intimately joined, Braedon rolled onto his shoulder, bringing her with him so that she now rested atop him. Ariana smiled down at him, feeling sly and disheveled, every bit the wanton. She shifted only slightly, her mound grinding against his, and the movement stirred him. He gave a deliberate thrust of his hips, grinning wickedly as his sex leaped, evidently eager for more. Pulling one of the furs over them, he settled Ariana beside him and traced the gentle slope of her cheek.
"What have you done to me, Ariana of Clairmont?" He gazed at her in quiet contemplation, his turning mind unreadable to her, even after all they had shared. "Sweet lady," he whispered. "How I wish I could promise you...God, promise you anything beyond this, what we share right now. I have nothing to offer...no future--not one you deserve."
She hushed him softly, laying her fingers over his lips. "I won't ask you for anything you cannot give. We're here now, and that is enough for me."
"No," he replied, "it is not enough. You deserve so much more than...this. You deserve much more than I can ever hope to give you, Ariana."
It pained her to hear him talk of all he was not, or could not allow himself be. She loved him as he was, no matter what he could promise her, and that was all she needed of him as well. But as much as the words ached to be freed, she could not bear to speak them. Not when he might still reject her love.
"This, what we have now, is enough for me," she told him, mustering a brave front as she held him a little tighter. She nestled against his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her deeper into his embrace. But he offered nothing more. Only the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, his hands tracing a soothing pattern on her shoulder as she drifted toward a sated doze.
It was enough, Ariana told herself, willing her heart to accept it.
If he could give her nothing more, then this fleeting pleasure would have to be enough.
Chapter 16
Sometime close to dawn, once Braedon finally allowed his eyes to close, he dreamed of the white wolf. He was sitting guard outside the narrow mouth of a rocky cleft, in a nameless forest west of a nameless town, when she came to him. Silver-furred and elegant, the she-wolf approached on silent feet, emerging like a wraith from out of the snowy thicket. No blood marred her glorious pelt, not a trace of the horrific, protruding arrows, let loose from his father's bow all those years past. She was as he liked to remember her: bold, inquisitive, and enigmatic. She loped right up to him like a favored hound and sat on her haunches, tilting her head at him as he slept. Her leathery black nose was cold and wet on his hand, her long tapered snout insistent as she burrowed it under his arm and nudged him awake.
Come, the compelling gray eyes seemed to say. You have been asleep too long. Come with me....
And then he was following her, on his feet and jogging to keep pace with her as she led him soundlessly through one web of frosted branches and another, traversing the frozen forest as though on winged feet. The wolf cleared a fallen bough and paused to look back at him. It was the briefest hesitation, a glance to make certain he still followed, before she was suddenly gone, vanished in a sparkling fall of crystalline snow that filtered down from the treetops.
Braedon ran to the place where the wolf had been standing and abruptly drew back, unsteady on his feet. The toe of his boot perched at the very precipice of a deep ravine. Loose pebbles shifted underfoot and fell, noiselessly, over the steep ledge. He looked down and down...to the rocky, ice-slicked basin of the wide, jagged cleft. He searched for some trace of the wolf below, balancing himself at the edge of the chasm to look into it, his eyes anxiously scanning the crags for a glimpse of silver fur.
The wolf wasn't there. But he felt her keen gaze watching him from across the bottomless expanse of the ravine, where she sat, waiting for him in the roiling mist that gathered around her on the other side.
Leap, said the unblinking gray stare, beckoning to him, soliciting his trust. You have the means. Accept, and leap. It is safer for you over here.
Braedon considered the advice with a reflexive stirring of doubt. He felt safe where he was, with his feet on solid, if immediately finite, ground. Below him loomed the open maw of death itself: black and cold, with hundreds of serrated teeth, eager to tear into him should he venture off the ledge. His fate was certain down there. But across the way, where the white wolf waited, there were only questions. Only mist where he would have to leap and hope to find firm footing.
Deep down, he trusted the wolf--she had always been his friend, a quiet protector to the boy he once was--but he knew that if he went to her now, there would be no turning back. He didn't know if he was ready. He didn't know if he was strong enough to accept...
"Braedon."
Tender, entreating, he heard the voice call to him. He paused at the chasm's edge, balanced but a heartbeat away from leaping. Then he heard it again: Ariana's voice, whisper-soft beside his ear.
"Braedon...are you all right?"
He came awake with a start, eyes focusing on the slightly down-turned bow of Ariana's mouth. She was frowning, leaned over him in concern, her hand resting gently on his chest.
"I didn't mean to wake you, but you were breathing so strangely--as if you were running and couldn't catch your breath. Were you having a nightmare?"
"No," he said, mentally shaking off the vestiges of the queer dream. "It was nothing. I shouldn't have been sleeping so long."
"You hardly sleep at all, from what I know of you."
Ariana was cocooned with him in the tangle of blankets and furs that padded their improvised bed near the fire. The muted pink shades of dawn played over her skin as she reached out to caress his jaw. As pleasing as it was to feel her touch, Braedon turned out of her embrace and sat up, marshaling his thoughts around what lay ahead of them. "We shouldn't tarry. There is much to do this morning. Instructions for Kenrick's release must be delivered to de Mortaine, and we must make preparations for the meeting."
"Of course," Ariana agreed. "Should we go to them, do you think?"
Braedon gave a slight shake of his head, considering. "Nay. Here would be to our better advantage. After dark. We will need the cover of night to aid us in making the exchange."
"You have a plan for rescuing Kenrick?"
"A risky one," he admitted, "but I've thought it out, and I don't see any other way." He brushed his fingers over her brow, a warm caress that was both tender and fleeting. "Com
e. Let us get started. We'll send another message to de Mortaine, telling him how he is expected to proceed tonight. In the meantime, I will need you to help me gather as much kindling as we can find."
* * *
Bright light exploded in the darkness--blinding white, piercing--flooding in as the heavy cell door groaned open on its hinges. Kenrick of Clairmont instinctively looked away from the brilliant blast of illumination and shut his eyes. His arm went up to shield his face, but was jerked back down with an abrupt metallic jangle. Ah, yes. His restraints, he realized with a dull sense of irony.
When he'd first been shackled with them, the iron cuffs and chains that hung from each of his limbs, they were a constant abrasion. A continuing source of fury. He had rebelled against them like a unbroken stallion fighting his first bit. Now, some untold time later--easily months, he had to believe--he often forgot they were there. Until he made the mistake of attempting to move within his cell and felt the steely bite of his bonds. His wrist burned with the new cut he'd just taken. Blood trickled along the muscle of his forearm, another laceration where he already bore many festering chafe marks.
He had been dreaming bizarre, nonsensical things in the moments before the door burst open. Not the usual assailing nightmares he had endured during his captivity, but dreaming instead of giant gape-mouthed sea creatures feasting on scrawny, mewling cats--strange musings from a mind that was likely going a little bit mad for his confinement. He shook off the daze of his fitful sleep and squinted into the halo of torchlight that filled the cramped stone cell.
A tall, bulky shape lurked behind the flame. Kenrick recognized the air of menace radiating off the man's presence. After a seemingly endless solitary existence, interrupted only by frequent bouts of torture and an occasional bowl of runny gruel, his captor appeared to have taken a sudden interest in him again. It could have only been an hour or two since the last time he'd been there, tossing him a loaf of bread with some murmurings that he would need to muster his strength. Kenrick had feigned disinterest, but only until the door had closed on his captor's heels. Then he'd leapt on the bread like a ravenous beggar, wolfing the mealy loaf down so fast his starving stomach could not hold it.
He'd vomited all of it up a moment later, miserable to have lost the meager meal but refusing to degrade himself with the thought of trying it again, no matter how starved he was. God only knew what this latest visit would bring. There was a measured clip of boot heels on the flagstones, the swish of silk robes as his captor came farther into the dank space.
"Back already, de Mortaine?" he drawled from the corner of his cell. "You should at least give me the proper chance to miss you. Have a care, or people will think we're in love."
Something crashed into the side of his head in reply--a fist, a boot? He couldn't be sure. Sparks danced behind his eyelids as his head snapped to the side and his neck absorbed the blow. He gave a low laugh, knowing it was his lack of fear--his carefully schooled show of apathy--that had kept him alive this long.
That, and the fact that his captors would be loath to kill him before he surrendered his secrets of the Dragon Chalice. Something he never intended to do, even if it did kill him one day.
"I see the food was not to your liking," mused the man who had hunted Kenrick down all those months ago and taken him captive. "No taste for maggots, eh, Clairmont?"
His eyes adjusting now to the light, Kenrick threw a glance at the rejected loaf of bread. His stomach heaved anew when he saw in the flickering torchlight that de Mortaine's taunt was in earnest. He steeled himself to the revolting notion, baring his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Perhaps I merely tired of them, after eating so much of the stuff in your gruel."
"So cocksure, aren't you? So damned unbreakable."
Kenrick grinned into the harsh glare of the torch, no mean feat when his jaw still ached from a recent beating. "Sorry to disappoint."
"You'll prove amusing enough, I wager, when you watch me slit your sister's throat tonight." Kenrick's gaze jerked to attention, and de Mortaine chuckled. "Oh, did I neglect to mention it before? She's here in Rouen. Your dear devoted sister, Ariana."
Now Kenrick laughed, suspecting a feint, some new ploy to get him to talk. "My sister is naught but a child. She's never ventured outside of Cornwall, much less France. Clairmont is guarded by no fewer than one hundred knights, so unless you mean to have me think you rallied an army behind you to go and get her--"
"There was no need for such heavy-handed tactics. I merely invited her to come to me...and she did."
Suspicion melded into dread, an ice cold prickle on the back of Kenrick's neck. "Invited her?"
"In a manner of speaking," de Mortaine purred. "Did you really think I would wait patiently for you to come around and tell me what I need to know about the Chalice? Surely you didn't expect your tiresome defiance to amuse me indefinitely. Steps had to be taken. Plans had to be made--certain precautions, if you will."
"What have you done to her?" Kenrick snarled. "If you've harmed her in any way--"
"My interest lies not in the chit herself, but in what she carries. You see, dear Ariana has brought me what you have refused to surrender all this time: your knowledge pertaining to the Dragon Chalice."
Kenrick swore an oath, glaring up at de Mortaine. "She doesn't know anything about it. I sheltered my family from knowing what I had found."
"Ah, but all those records you kept--all those journals you filled while you served the Order. They had to be kept somewhere, if you did not have them on your person. Your sister proved quite resourceful on that score."
God's blood. Ariana had found his satchel of papers. He had hidden it away when he departed for France, knowing it would be dangerous to carry the information with him. Once he realized what he'd discovered, he took measures to make sure his findings remained secure, but the bulk of it had been secreted at Clairmont, in a satchel kept behind a false shelf in his chambers. He should have known he could hide nothing from Ariana, if his determined little sister had a mind to uncover it. Clearly, de Mortaine had given her fair reason to do so. "And so you ransomed me to my family."
"Of course. Your life in exchange for your findings regarding the Chalice treasure. I told you I would have it one way or another. It is inevitable; the Dragon Chalice belongs to me. It is my destiny to possess it."
Ariana, Kenrick thought blackly. She had no idea what she had done in bringing that information to Silas de Mortaine. She was in grave danger simply for being in contact with the man, but more than that, if Kenrick's ideas about the treasure proved true--if the legend of the Dragon Chalice was at all based in fact--then in aiding de Mortaine's quest, Ariana was poised to unleash an evil like none the world had ever seen.
"I presumed this news would be of interest to you, Clairmont. I'm glad to see something has the power to deflate your overblown confidence." His eyes gleamed with malicious enjoyment. "Think on it while you wait here for me to summon you."
"Summon me for what?"
"Why, your death, of course. Your sister thinks she has the upper hand, but she'll learn otherwise as well. Evidently she has come to understand the value of what she possesses, and so she's begun making demands. Like her requirement for proof that you were yet alive. I did not appreciate being roused from my bed last eve to make you answer her cryptic query. You didn't appreciate it either, once we finished with you. Perhaps you don't recall; you were beaten quite senseless."
Oh, Jesu, Kenrick thought as realization dawned. His inexplicable dreams of whales and cats...
Jonah.
Now he remembered. It was the silly name he'd given Ariana's kitten the last time he was at Clairmont. He remembered being forced to write it on a sheaf of parchment the night before, scratching out the name by candlelight, scarcely able to hang onto the quill. De Mortaine had knocked him into the stone wall an instant later, then more blows, until his head was ringing, until he could no longer think, and the cell went black once more.
De Mortaine was sp
eaking again. "She's set a meeting for tonight, somewhere outside the city, where I am to deliver you in exchange for your journals and papers. I think I shall find it quite amusing to watch a heartfelt reunion of siblings...though not nearly as much as I will enjoy seeing your face as darling Ariana chokes on her last breath."
Kenrick knew he was being baited, and he ordered himself to stay calm. He believed de Mortaine was serious, but he would gain nothing by using the scant reserve of his strength to lash out in futile rage. The chains would bar him from reaching the whoreson, but once he was out of the cell he would have a fighting chance. He had to bide his time for now, and wait.
So long as he was breathing, de Mortaine would never get those papers.
"Well. We have much to look forward to. I won't keep you any longer, Clairmont."
De Mortaine lowered his torch and turned to depart the cell. Then, as if in afterthought, he whirled on Kenrick and landed his boot in his gut. Kenrick slumped over, clutching his stomach and tasting blood in his mouth. He spat it on the flagstones of the floor, letting his anger breed as the light in the cell was doused and the door closed tight with a bang.
* * *
Night was full upon the land, moonless black and still. The sky above Ariana's head was a deep, endless blanket of ebony, perforated by the pinprick whiteness of a thousand far-off stars. She shivered beneath the dwarfing vastness of it, pulling her mantle a bit tighter around her shoulders. Before her, in the roofless hollow of the ruined abbey's courtyard, a huge bonfire raged. Every twig and branch that could be scrounged from the area had since gone in to feed the giant conflagration, forming a wall of flame to serve as barrier to Ariana and the small company of riders who now approached the abbey. Over the steady rumble of the horses' hooves on the frozen earth could be heard the metallic jingle and bounce of saddle gear and weapons. Ariana's shiver became a sudden, bone-deep tremble.
