The Warrior's Heart

by Sable Grey

  Viktor frowned. Superstitions and illusion.

  “I shall do as you ask,” he conceded and Tibor beamed with approval.

  * * * *

  The door of the stables was ajar. As she’d bid him, he’d unlocked her door, wondering at why they locked her in to begin with. But he’d not been certain she would come to the stables as she’d suggested earlier. He stepped inside the darkness, the scent of freshly lain hay assaulting his nose. He stood still, his gaze darting around through the darkness.

  “Prinţesă?” His steps sounded loud as he walked deeper inside the structure.

  A soft giggle drifted from the corridor of stalls. He moved forward. She was hiding from him. She wanted him to come for her. This was the kind of game he enjoyed. Tilting his head, Viktor listened to the soft pad of her steps as she moved quietly in the dark. Turning his nose up, he breathed in her scent as he moved towards the corridor of stalls, noting they all held an animal but one.

  He saw her movement in the shadows as he approached the stall. She was hiding behind him but he didn’t let her know he knew where she was. “You tempt me to chase after you, Prinţesă. If I am made to do so, I shall take what I wish of you once I’ve captured you.” He could hear her breath as she neared; his senses acute in the darkness.

  “Then you are a savage slave and mean to ravish me as punishment for your capture?” She spoke softly from behind him and he turned. His throat dried. She wore only a sleeping shift and her dark hair was unbound hanging around her in thick waves. She was close to Godly in beauty and his cock hardened at just the sight of her.

  Smiling, she slipped past him, her hand trailing over his shoulder and across his chest as she went. Opening the empty stall’s door, she stepped in and turned, waiting for him to join her. A wool blanket lay across the hay beneath her feet.

  He discarded the sheath and sword from his hip, tossing it to the ground before pulling his tunic over his head. She stood there watching him through the shadows as he unfastened the ties of his leggings.

  “Undress,” he told her.

  “What good is your strength to me if you do not use it?” She didn’t move. “I wish you to rip my clothes open, slave, and ravish me and take what you want as you threatened.”

  His breath quickened. He’d never ravished a woman in his life but her game warmed his blood and he obliged by striding forward into the stall and pushing her gently against the wooden wall behind her. He reached forward and grasped the collar of her shift. It ripped easily from neck to knee, revealing her petite, womanly body to him. Breasts, a handful each, topped in dark circles, pointed upwards for his attention. He watched them rise and fall with her quickened breath then his attention lowered to the flat of her stomach and the sweep of her hips. Dark hair curled thickly at the apex of her thighs and heat wound through him as he inhaled deeply.

  “Why are you locked in your room at night?” His gaze continued to slip over her, admiring every soft curve of her body.

  “They are afraid a man might steal into my room and do to me what you are about to do,” she said between breaths.

  He chuckled deeply and reached for her, his fingers resting around her waist. He lifted her and brought one dark nipple to his mouth, enclosing it completely between his lips before sucking fiercely. She gasped and moaned at the pressure from his mouth, bringing her hands to rest on his shoulders. He licked, sucked, and nibbled at her sensitive flesh, then moved to the other breast to apply equal attention.

  Viktor felt her body tremble when he released her breast and lowered her back to her feet. Urging her down onto the blanket, he ran a hand across her stomach then curled his fingers into the hair below, tugging gently before running both hands back up her body. He pushed her arms above her head, capturing both wrists in one hand, pinning them flat against the blanket. Her eyes darkened in clear indication that she enjoyed his dominance.

  His free hand delved between her thighs. “Open.” Her legs parted and he clapped his hand over her sex. He moved his palm against her, in slow circles, watching her face. She was so responsive. With every touch he could see her pleasure, smell her arousal, sense her anticipation. Even without the acute sense of the wolf, her expression hid nothing from him.

  He leant down and licked at her jaw as he continued to stimulate her sex with his palm. He turned his head to breathe in the scent of her hair deeply. Then, to his surprise, she leant forward and bit his shoulder gently.

  Groaning, he turned his mouth to her ear, “Continue and your game will become very dangerous, Prinţesă.” He sucked in his breath when she bit again, this time slightly harder. Heat vibrated through him and the wolf inside of him awoke, pushed against his will. Her lips moved half an inch inward from his shoulder, tongue dragging moist fire in its path. Then she bit again, harder.

  He jerked upward, away from her, gazing down at her in the dark while he dragged a ragged breath in attempt to steady his wolf. He pressed his finger against her cunt, finding her slick beneath his fingertips. He pushed inside. Tight but not virginal.

  “Thank the Gods,” he growled.

  Her hips lifted, welcoming his intrusion. Her body clenched around him. He pushed his finger deeper, turning his hand so his palm rested against her sensitive flesh. She rocked against him, humming softly at the pleasure it brought her.

  “I’ve never had a woman so eager to be ravished.” He leant forward to lick at her jaw. “One would believe you liked what I’m doing to you.”

  “You like me to bite at you,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I do. Perhaps too much.” He worked his finger in and out of her, using the same rhythm to stroke her clit. When her pants became soft whimpers, he quickened his movements and a second finger joined the first, stretching her as he continued to rock his hand against her. Her moans made him want to crawl atop her.

  “More,” her whispered plea shattered his resistance. He withdrew his fingers and settled between her legs, lifting them to his hips. He nudged her sex with his cock and plunged into her with a deep groan of his own. He rocked backwards then thrust again to the heart of her. Her cry muffled against his mouth. He slid his tongue between her lips to lick at the moist warmth behind her teeth. She lifted her hips, meeting each stroke with hunger that matched his own.

  “Release my arms,” she panted and instantly he lifted his hand from her wrists. Instantly she surged forward, grasping his shoulders, pulling at him as she leant forward and bit his shoulder. His hips jerked against hers and he planted both hands on either side of her. His sac tightened when her mouth moved to his chest and she bit again.

  “By the Gods, if you do not stop, I shall lose control completely,” he warned. When her teeth loosened, he ducked and captured her lips with his, kissing her passionately while his hips worked his cock in and out. She felt good and the muffled cries against his mouth sent him towards the edge. He fucked her with abandon while she bucked beneath him. Tension flared and heat consumed him. He grunted with every thrust then withdrew to spill onto the ground with a shout.

  For several moments they both were still, their heavy breaths the only sound in the stables with exception of the occasional movement in the other stalls. He closed his eyes as she moved to sit up. He’d nearly lost complete control. Even now he still shook.

  Suddenly pain exploded across the right side of his head. Viktor brought his hand to his temple as he struggled to open his eyes. She’d hit him with his own sheath, he realised as he saw her scrambling away from him, her weapon clutched in her hands. He swiped at her, trying to grasp her leg, but she struck him again.

  “I’m…I’m sorry, guard.” Her whisper found him through his dizziness. Through blurred vision he saw her swipe up a small bundle in the corner of the stall and dart past him. He shook his head as he heard a horse being led from the stall next to him. Anger began to push the pain aside and he stood, grasping up his clothes so he could quickly dress.

  He stumbled from the stables in time to see her kick the horse fo
rward, galloping full speed down the road. He swore under his breath, hand clutching the side of his head. The bitch had used him. She’d had a horse and pack ready, had planned the entire tryst. Heat pumped through his veins as he re-entered the stables and prepared his horse, Koen, so he could go after her.

  Her cries of pleasure had not been feigned. He knew that for certain. Her body had been wet and responsive. As he led Koen into the night and mounted, he realised her plan would have left him looking the fool, perhaps even suspected of doing her harm. It would have ruined his own plans.

  He kicked Koen forward, taking chase. Just outside of the village, he found her clothes in a heap in the middle of the road. He dismounted and took them up, stuffing them into the leather satchel on his horse. Stupid woman. She’d stopped to change her clothes, giving him more time to catch up with her. The road wound up over the ridge and down across a small valley, and at the edge of the woods, at the pass between the rocks, Viktor found her horse.

  He tied the horse to his own and pushed on. It only took him ten minutes for her to appear in front of him on the road, dressed in boy’s clothing and with her hair tucked beneath a wool cap. She turned as he rode forward and started to run when she recognised him. Leaning forward he scooped her up.

  “I’ll have you beaten from Maethi! My father will…”

  “Most likely have you beaten for riding off into the night. Foolish woman. There are bands of men on this road who wait for someone to cross their way.” He snatched the bundle she carried and tucked it with her clothes, then draped her over the horse in front of him.

  “Settle yourself, lest you wish me to bind you and drag you behind me to Maethi,” he warned as he turned his horse and rode back the way they’d come. After a moment of consideration, her fight settled.

  “You used me.”

  “You don’t understand!” She began to weep, further irritating Viktor. “The count isn’t a man. I saw that as truth with my own eyes. He had his men kill Ishild.” Her words tumbled from her lips as she tried to push herself up but he placed a hand on her back, roughly holding her as she was.

  “You used me,” he repeated. “I’ve no liking for being used. You will not attempt it again.” He listened to her sobs until they quieted.

  “You shall not command me.” Her voice was weary and weak. Pulling the reins, he halted Koen, then hefted her up and turned her so that she sat, legs to one side, across the horse in front of him. He grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

  “You will not attempt to use me again.”

  Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. He released her chin when she offered no more argument and took up the reins again. She remained silent the entire ride back.

  Chapter Three

  Jolan sulked. She’d thought the guard a stupid oaf. She’d been wrong. She’d realised her mistake the moment he’d caught up with her on the road. When he began speaking it was in the tone of a man who was accustomed to ruling than of taking orders from another. Her only consolation was the red slash above the guard’s left eye.

  “You…what was your name…Raban, yes that’s it. What happened to your head?” Cloelia was the one to ask about it.

  He lifted an apple from those Jolan had picked that morning, examined it and withdrew a knife from inside his tunic. Slowly he began slicing it in bite-sized pieces. His gaze darted momentarily to Jolan and she waited for him to betray her and speak of what had happened the night before.

  “I’ve a weakness for women,” he finally spoke, directing his attention to Cloelia then Tibor, “and apparently for following one about an unfamiliar castle in the middle of the night. I tripped on the stairs in the north tower when returning to my chamber.”

  “You have made yourself quite comfortable in such a short period of time,” Cloelia snapped.

  “I adjust well.” He lifted a piece of apple and popped it into his mouth as Tibor chuckled across the room.

  “Too well. What if we had been attacked and Jolan was left unprotected?” Cloelia demanded. “Had that thought occurred to you as you entertained yourself?”

  “Her chamber is far enough away from the main entrance, which is certainly where someone would try to attack first as it is the weakest part of this place, that I would have been able to return to her long before anyone could have gotten to her.” He chewed slowly and spoke around the bite. “I am weakened by women, but I am not blinded by them.”

  Jolan’s gaze swept to Tibor in time to see the slight twitch in the corner of his thin mouth. They accepted what he said as truth. She felt like hitting them all in the head with his sword.

  “Pay attention to what you are doing. You are cutting the wick too long,” Cloelia suddenly snapped and Jolan looked down. Quickly she shortened her mark and cut the wick. Her attention wandered to the guard, however, once she started rolling the beeswax.

  He’d been big. She’d experienced soreness when she’d bathed that morning. And he hadn’t been selfish, bringing her pleasure too. She’d almost regretted hitting him in the head.

  Her gaze slid over him. He was dressed in only plain wool leggings, a loose white tunic, and worn leather boots. Worn, but they were leather. He was not as simple and poor as he might try to appear. Tibor was not stupid. He hadn’t even blinked when she mentioned his boots and sword. Again, more lies.

  “Stop.” Cloelia’s fingers closed over hers and the wax sheet was snatched from in front of her. “You are useless. Even a child can roll a candle.” Cloelia’s words would have hurt her if she were a child. But Jolan had long grown accustomed to her biting tone.

  “Perhaps I can weave the baskets instead. I am better at that,” she suggested.

  “Not if you can’t take your eyes off that ogre long enough to cut the strips.” Cloelia’s gaze was narrowed when Jolan looked at her. “You’ve been ogling him all morning. Remember, you belong to Count Mircea Dragomir.”

  Jolan looked away to find the guard’s attention now directed at them. The slight curl in his lips made her wish she’d taken the sword from the sheath before hitting him.

  “I do not ogle any man,” Jolan argued. “And how can I forget Dragomir when you mention him every few minutes? Perhaps you should marry him in my stead since you already know of making candles.” She made sure to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but rather feigned sincerity.

  “Be careful with your tongue, girl,” Cloelia warned.

  Jolan smiled. She was already going to be punished. She could tell by the quietness in Cloelia’s voice. Her gaze darted to the guard momentarily who continued to watch them in silence.

  “Perhaps it’s my tongue, and not these silly candles, that makes Count Mircea Dragomir want me so he is willing to part with so much coin.”When Cloelia said nothing, Jolan looked at her to find her eyes hard and piercing. “I may be useful to him in other than wifely duties.”

  Tibor cleared his throat. “There is a family in the village that needs to be taken food. Charity is a quality that must also be learned when you become the Countess Drago. I shall prepare you a basket and you may take the food to them.”

  Jolan glanced at Tibor then nodded. He turned and hurried from the room. The guard still said nothing.

  “Fucking a stable boy like a whore when you are thirteen does not make you much of an expert at anything. I can’t imagine you would be any better at that than anything else you’ve attempted.” This time Cloelia’s crass words hit their mark. “You are fortunate Count Mircea Dragomir even wants you after having learned you gave away your value as you have. Were it not for his forgiving nature, you would have no such fortune with any other man.”

  Jolan looked at her hands, “I loved him.”

  Cloelia snorted. “You are not intelligent enough to recognise love. If you had truly loved him, you would have spared him.”

  Tears stung Jolan’s eyes. She bit her tongue, thankful when Tibor returned with the basket. He’d offered her an escape from Cloelia and she would take it. Rising to her feet,
she frowned when the guard accepted the basket, looped it over one arm and popped another piece of apple in his mouth. She wouldn’t have complete peace with this hulking shadow following her around.

  “Do not linger with those people. Return so you may learn something useful today.” Cloelia reminded and Jolan nodded. She wouldn’t speak for fear that her voice would shake and Cloelia would know her words had wounded her.

  “Perhaps she can be taught how to muzzle a mongrel,” Raban suggested around the mouthful and Cloelia’s head snapped up. Jolan followed her stare to find Raban slicing another piece of apple. There was no mistaking that his statement was meant as an insult.

  “What did you say to me?” Cloelia’s voice was deathly quiet.

  His gaze slanted up at her then darted to Jolan. He was standing up for her, Jolan realised, apparently not sensing the danger to himself by speaking. She licked her lips and quickly faced Cloelia. “There was a dog this morning, howling early. It woke me too.”

  Cloelia eyes narrowed, drifting from the guard to Jolan. “I heard nothing.”

  “Yes, but you always sleep so much more soundly than I. At the slightest wind I wake. You sleep through the worst storms. You know how ridiculously sensitive I am to such.” Jolan spoke quickly.

  “Then I shall have someone chase it away so you may sleep,” Tibor offered.

  “The only way to silence such a beast is to cut off its head.” Raban tossed the core of the apple onto the table next to Cloelia’s candles, sliding the last sliver of fruit into his mouth. “I’ll consider doing so when it barks again.”

  Jolan’s eyes widened and she heard Cloelia’s sharp breath. He reached forward and grasped her arm gently, guiding her across the room and into the corridor. She stared up at his face as they wound their way to the main entrance of the castle.

  “You are either stupid or very stupid.” Jolan finally spoke. “Cloelia knows things…secret things. It is why my father keeps her. He believes she casts a spell of protection over Maethi. She can cast other spells too.”