VirtualHeaven

by Ann Lawrence

  Nilrem. Furtively, she pinched her arm. Still awake.

  Dream? Game? Real life? The here and now were Kered and his quest. Should she have stayed on the mountain? No. Kered could protect her and Nilrem could not. There were no guarantees that another storm would send her home. Whoever this Samoht was, he sounded vicious and likely to return, for he, too, sought Nilrem’s wisdom. Too many unknown dangers lurked about this world. She faced the glaring need for warriors.

  The decision to go felt right. A peace descended and her stomach knots eased. The warrior’s obvious strength was like a magnet, and she was the iron filings. She intended to stick to him. She didn’t know why, only that it seemed right to do so.

  Kered watched Maggie for several moments before entering the chamber. Besides taking care of his personal needs, he had dragged a supply of brush across the entranceway, a supply he had stored in a side chamber on his journey out to Nilrem. His breath caught in his throat as Maggie’s hair fell down her back. The bandage had concealed its beauty. His hands itched to gather it up and hold it against his cheek. Soft it would be, he was sure, and clean—and scented with flowers, strange flowers with an erotic scent he did not recognize. A pleasure slave’s scent. Only pleasure slaves danced. And only for their master’s enjoyment.

  Maggie’s shoes were fashioned for dancing.

  Carrying her on his back to the cave had been a torture with her warm legs about his waist and her sleek arms encircling his neck. Carrying her had proved his inadequate attainment of sensual control. Granted, warriors had no need to temper their lusts, but some discipline was necessary so one did not approach battle with important equipment unsheathed. He laughed at the thought and Maggie spun around, her hair swirling about her shoulders. His loins tightened. So much for sheathing one’s sword, he thought, and sank to the ground before her.

  “Food?” he asked.

  “Sure. Any pizza in there?” she quipped as he rummaged in his pack.

  “Pizza? What is pizza?” Kered handed her a thick wedge of brown bread.

  “Pizza is a food from…my place.” Maggie sniffed the bread, then gnawed on the chewy crust. “Hm, good, kind of a nutty taste,” she said between bites.

  “Water?” He held out a gourd stoppered with a wooden plug.

  She nodded. When he pulled the plug she drank sparingly, wiping her chin on the back of her hand. “Thank you, Ker.”

  The flames leapt to consume the small sticks he fed them. His face remained impassive, but his words betrayed his curiosity. “What is a…cur, a mutt?”

  Maggie sighed. “A mutt is a four-legged animal, a dog, from my place. It is a tamed animal, furry, a pet.”

  He smiled warmly. “We have dogs and pets in Tolemac. Not such a bad thing to be.”

  Maggie snorted in an exasperated manner.

  “In what way am I mean-spirited? Mangy?” He continued to pursue the subject, poking at the fire with a stick in studied nonchalance.

  She considered his smile. “I guess the truth should be okay for someone who’s reached the seventh level of awareness. You treat me with contempt, without knowing if I am worthy of that contempt. It so happens I’m a well-respected metalsmith in…my place.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Only men work metal.”

  What was the point? But she tried again. “I assume you hold all manner of people without your beloved arm rings to be less than you. Where I come from, all men and women are created equal. In practice, many are not treated so, but still, we try.”

  “Men and women are not equal in Tolemac.”

  “No kidding,” she muttered, picking at a ragged nail and wishing for a manicure.

  “It is not possible for men and women to be equal. You could not best me in a fight. Want to try?”

  Maggie looked up. He grinned, exposing his strong white teeth, and Maggie found herself grinning, too. “No, I don’t want to try. And I’m not referring to physical equality. I’m talking about equality of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.”

  “Happiness?” Kered shook his head. “I am no philosopher. That, thank the wise men, is reserved for the twelfth level of awareness.”

  They sat in silence. Warmth from the fire began to creep outward to envelop them. Maggie rubbed her arms, realizing how cold she’d become. The stone floor chilled her bottom. She could see Kered’s breath on the air.

  “How am I mangy?” he persisted.

  Maggie studied him. “Your hair. When was the last time you brushed it?”

  “Brushing my hair is last on my list of priorities!”

  “Fine.” Maggie drew up her knees and settled her skirt down around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. “Tend to your own mangy locks.”

  Kered rummaged in his pack and withdrew a brush. It was like the one Maggie’s father had on his dresser. It had no handle, but would nestle in one’s palm. Kered tossed it to her. She ran her fingers over its dark blue bristles. They were soft and seemed made of a natural substance rather than the plastic she’d expected from the color. She bent her face and sniffed the bristles. They smelled clean and fresh.

  Maggie nodded her thanks and began to brush her hair. He stared at her, watched her openly, and her hands grew stiff and her arm motions jerky as his gaze became heated. Stealing a look at him, she saw that his glance had fallen from her hair to her breasts.

  “Come here,” he said in a low voice.

  Chapter Six

  “Why?” Maggie dropped her arms and hugged her chest.

  “A slave must do as she is bidden,” Kered replied.

  “Well, I’m not a slave. If you want to make a request, say please and tell me why,” she said, stalling for time.

  “Your impertinence is staggering.” But if Kered was angry, his soft and seductive tone did not betray it.

  “And you’re a cur, through and through,” Maggie returned.

  “Come then, please, and tend my hair.”

  Maggie stared in disbelief. He had said please! Her palms prickled with sweat. Rising slowly, she walked around the fire. Sinking to her knees behind him, she considered the tangled mass of his long hair. The fire lit it with streaks of gold. Heat crept up her face. When she touched his hair, he shivered.

  It took what seemed like forever to remove the tangles. His hair fell soft and silky, thick and heavy over his shoulders. When it was done, she lingered, stroking the brush through the long brown waves.

  “Enough.” His voice seemed hoarse, almost rough. Maggie snatched back her hands.

  “Perhaps you could tie it back?” she finally said into the silence. Maggie looked at the objects he’d spilled out on the stone floor when he’d taken out the brush. One of them was the game gun. She shoved it deep into his pack, then picked up a strip of supple leather, like the thongs he’d used to lace her boots. “What about this?”

  Kered turned and looked over his shoulder. He grunted assent and then went back to his contemplation of the flames. Maggie used the brush to stroke his hair into a thick gathering at his nape, wound it with the leather thong, and tied it. She moved back to her place on the opposite side of the fire. The air practically crackled with something she didn’t recognize. He exuded a power and warmth that caught at her. It had taken all her self-control not to let her hands drift to his shoulders, his neck, and his arms. Brushing his hair had been an intimate act that had set her blood rushing. Her lips felt puffy, her breasts tender against the soft knit dress.

  “We should sleep.” Kered stuffed the brush and his other things into his pack.

  “Okay.” Maggie looked about and sniffed the dry, stale air. “How long do you think it will take to reach our destination?”

  “Months,” he said.

  “Months?” she repeated dumbly. “I can’t be gone months. My family will be sick with worry.”

  “Nevertheless, the quest could last for months.” He added several logs to the fire. “Even longer if we miss our sleep and are weary.”

  Maggie bit her lip. The
thought of months away from home churned her stomach.

  “There is no going back, only forward.”

  His words were ominous. She swallowed hard.

  “We will rest here.” Kered indicated the cloak he’d spread by the fire. He stretched out on his side and propped his head on one hand.

  Maggie looked him over. In other circumstances, she would never cross that small space and lie down beside him, but her head ached. She rubbed her hands along her chilled arms to warm them. Even if she could find a way to be sent back home, that home was now months away. Kered looked warm and safe—comforting. She glanced over her shoulder. “Are there any animals in here?”

  “Perhaps a snake or two,” he said, the pitch of his voice dropping.

  “Snakes?” That did it. She approached warily and sat next to him. He swept her down and pulled her against his body.

  She lay stiff and frightened as if someone had suddenly starched her. She’d never sleep, she thought, with his body so close, his breath warming her cheek.

  Kered smoothed his hand along Maggie’s bare arm, raising goose bumps and causing Maggie to shake.

  “I will not hurt you,” he murmured against her ear. His lips pressed there briefly and his fingers stroked her skin, exploring the raised bumps as if they fascinated him.

  Beware what you wish for! Maggie squeezed her eyes closed. She remembered many nights wasted wishing for a night with a man such as this. Her blood rushed and her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest.

  Kered encircled her waist, drawing her even closer.

  She couldn’t breathe. His hand gently massaged her midriff. With infinite slowness, his hand rose and came to rest beneath her breasts. “Your heart pounds in fear,” he whispered against her ear as he lightly skimmed his cheek against her hair.

  Maggie clamped her hand to his wrist.

  “Sleep, little slave. Sleep.” He nuzzled her neck, breathed in her scent, and lowered his hand to her waist.

  Maggie didn’t move for what seemed like hours after Kered’s breathing relaxed. It was less her circumstances that kept her awake than the press of his body against her. His thighs were now cradling hers. His arms were iron-hard about her and his scent was a mysterious combination of male sweat and some spicy fragrance she assumed was a soap he used. His breath feathered against her cheek. She no longer feared that she would be cold. She was on fire.

  Sometime in the night, Maggie turned. He gathered her in. A feeling, a need to protect, one he had never felt for a woman before, rose and enveloped him. He drew her against his body, a body that needed sleep, but couldn’t rest.

  Lust rose.

  Slaves were made for manly lust, but this one, this woman, was like no slave he had ever met. She made him want to shout and tear his hair in frustration. She made him want to take her. His hand slipped into her thick, black hair. Silky and soft. Exotic. A woman from beyond the ice fields somewhere. She had hit her head, couldn’t or wouldn’t remember her journey to Nilrem’s mountain, but it mattered not a whit. She was a slave, albeit an exotic slave, her worth phenomenal on the auction block.

  He drew a knuckle down her cheek. Her skin felt like fine, precious alabaster. He had never seen a being whose skin could change color, and he wondered if the soft skin of her breasts would flush such a beguiling rose when she was aroused. His lips grazed her eyelids. Her breath caressed his cheek and he shivered, his manhood surging to even greater tumescence against her. He shifted uncomfortably.

  His resolve was tested—sorely. She must accompany him on his quest. It would not do to slake his lust on her. He had no need of the entanglements of a pleasure slave when lifemating was in his future—and she did not seem amenable. She had trembled in his arms. He would not hurt her, but he sensed she did not believe that. Even in sleep, she lay guarded, not quite coming against him.

  He ran a hand lightly along her arm. She murmured in her sleep, and he slipped his palm over her hip and cupped a gently rounded buttock. Her hips shifted against him and he groaned softly. Then her hand fell from her side and dropped between them, the back of her hand pressing against his swollen manhood.

  He edged her away, rolled to his feet, and strode from the rock chamber. Carefully, he drew back the brush concealing the entrance and sat down against the cave wall. High in the sky, the waning conjunction shone on the barren landscape. A land without peace. He must remember his priorities—earning arm rings so that he might negotiate peace, not to mention finding a lifemate to enhance his power. Those thoughts kept him awake even more than the beguiling woman asleep by the fire.

  Chapter Seven

  A thrashing, grunting noise startled Maggie awake.

  “Ker?” she called. The fire had died and a harsh, heated glare penetrated the opening overhead. Her mouth tasted abominable. The grunting came again, ac­companied by more thrashing.

  Maggie shoved her feet into her fur-wrapped shoes and crept cautiously along the cave wall. She kept one hand out before her as the light grew dimmer the farther from the chamber she moved.

  “Oh, my God!” Maggie cried. The beast crouching over Kered, claws clamped on his biceps, turned red feral eyes on her. It resembled a huge, reddish-brown monkey, but stood twice the size. Long fangs dripped saliva on Kered’s chest. Kered took advantage of the beast’s distraction to lift a knee and slam it into the creature’s chest. The beast howled and gnashed at Kered’s throat, but didn’t relinquish its brutal grip on his arms.

  Kered’s arm muscles bulged against his sleeves with the effort he used to hold the creature off. The hooked teeth slashed and Maggie knew they could sever arteries. She turned and ran back to the fire. She ripped Kered’s pack open and drew out the game gun. She sped back to the entrance, skidding on the smooth, rocky floor. The creature raised a clawed back foot and slammed it into Kered’s groin.

  She thumbed the blue button.

  A scent, like that of an iron left on too long, reached Maggie’s nostrils as the beast fell in a heap on Kered’s chest.

  Maggie held the pistol before her as she warily approached Kered, who lay writhing beneath the stunned beast. She prodded the creature and then wiped her hand on her skirt, for it came away oily. She raised her foot and used all her strength to heave the beast off Kered’s body. It fell over the cliff face. When she saw the blood soaking Kered’s sleeve, she did not spare a thought for its fate.

  Joe and Jason, Maggie’s two older brothers, had been hit in the crotch a few times, so Maggie recognized the expression on Kered’s face. She stood back and let him breathe. When he’d vomited up what little he’d eaten, she approached. Placing a hand on his arm, she examined his wounds through the torn shirt. “This looks nasty. When you can walk, let’s tend it.”

  Kered growled and let off a string of curses, rolling to his knees. He knelt there for a moment, a hand pressed to his stomach. Maggie gave him a wide berth when he staggered to his feet, a stricken expression on his face.

  At their campsite, he dropped to one knee, ignoring her. From the objects spilled from his pack, he lifted a small leather pouch. “Here. Water. Make a paste.” His breath still hitched in his chest.

  Maggie nodded and silently did as he directed. Lacking a bowl and an instrument to stir, she cupped her palm and sprinkled in a little of the powder from the pouch. She wasn’t happy with the cleanliness of her hands, but the water could not be wasted. The gourd was almost empty. Maggie dripped some water into the gray powder and used a fingertip to mix a paste. Its pungent odor reminded her of cactus at dawn after a summer storm.

  Kered stood up and lifted his shirt over his head. He tossed it to the floor and then sat gingerly at Maggie’s side. Carefully, she used a bandage to wipe the blood from the wounds. Ignoring Kered’s half-naked body made the effort a trial. He was all bronze skin stretched over well-defined muscles. Buffed to the max, she thought. A workout king, but not overdone with useless, bulky muscles. No, he was perfect. The hair on his chest rose from a narrow swath at his waistband and spr
ead in dark wings across his massive chest. As she applied the salve, his chest muscles bunched and flexed.

  “I guess it’s a little late to say this, but I think these need stitching.”

  “Later.” Kered gripped Maggie’s wrist. “You saved my life. I thank you.”

  “What was that thing?”

  “One of the night creatures. It is unlike me to fall asleep. I failed in my duty to protect you.”

  Maggie looked at his face. Anguish deepened the lines edging his mouth and creasing his forehead. “You’re exhausted, Ker. Did you sleep much last night?”

  He looked away. “I have not slept in five days except at Nilrem’s hut.”

  “Five days!” Maggie gasped. “You’ll be sick. The body isn’t meant to go so long without sleep.”

  “Is it not?” He raised a dark brow.

  “No, it’s not. Now lie down. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

  “Maggie. We must go. Now.”

  “What is the point in making this trek to the sacred pool if you arrive so weak that you can’t find this blasted knife?”

  “Sword. We seek a sword.” Kered fell back onto the stone floor and stared up at the rocky ceiling. The blaze of the red sun cast a bloody gleam on his bronzed torso. “I must find the sword—the sword of Leoh’s grandfather.”

  Maggie leaned over him, fussing at his wound, tying the bandages a second time, more neatly now that her hands were steadier. She couldn’t resist tucking a few loose strands of his hair back behind his ear. “So much for brushing this mangy mess,” she teased.

  Kered captured her hand. “You saved my life. I know few slaves who would lift a hand to save their master, let alone a stranger. Your master must have inspired great loyalty in you. I am honored to reap the benefit.”