“Patience, my heart. I want to give you a massage first.”
“I don’t want a massage.” Heat rumbled through his voice that had nothing to do with anger. “I want you. Preferably this very moment.”
Selecting the smoky amber vial, she popped off the cork and sniffed it carefully. Exotic scents washed over her: roasted sticks nearly burnt, dark, sultry sandalwood, and beneath, a feral musk that she couldn’t identify.
According to Benton, the desert dwellers of Keldar threw sticks and seeds onto a stone, let the natural heat of the sun roast them, and then they tossed the burnt spices into both their tea and oil. Since their drink of choice was called “Fire Tea,” the oil had captured her imagination, for obvious reasons.
She poured a small amount into her hands and rubbed it into her skin, testing it on herself. The oil heated immediately, releasing a mouth-watering aroma of exotic sandalwood. Whether the oil heated her skin or her skin heated the oil, she didn’t know, but the spreading fire was unmistakable. It didn’t hurt, though, so she smoothed her palms from the small of Rhaekhar’s back up the slabs of muscle to his shoulders. Kneading her way across his shoulders, she said nothing, waiting to see his reaction.
“Great Vulkar, woman, what is that?”
“Fire Oil,” she replied innocently. She didn’t know what the Keldari called it. “Doesn’t it smell delicious?”
“Forget how it smells.” He sucked in his breath and shifted beneath her, his back humping like a horse getting ready to buck her off. “No wonder it’s called Fire Oil; my flesh is on fire.”
“You don’t like it?”
He shuddered, his big hands fisted in the soft mat. “If I were inside you, I’d like it much better.”
Stretching out on top of him, she rubbed her breasts against his back, spreading the oil into her skin. Deliberately, she moaned, tormenting him with her own sounds of desire. It did feel like fire spread across her skin. The scent burrowed deeper in her body, twisting and stirring her hunger. She gripped his shoulder in her jaws and slowly sank her teeth into the heavy muscle until he growled and moved beneath her, his hands sliding back to tug at her ankles and calves.
Her lips and tongue heated with the oil, buzzing and tingling as she rubbed her mouth across the broad expanse of his back. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Wriggling lower on his thighs, she licked a path down his spine, smoothing her palms up and down his flanks. She bit him again, hard enough he groaned so loudly the Blood must surely hear it. “Remember our challenge. You’re not going to lose control, are you?”
“That depends.” Panting, he raised his head enough to glare at her over his shoulder. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and his hair was dark and heavy with steam. “Are you finally going to mark my arse?”
She’d marked Gregar’s ass years ago on the night of their claiming, and Rhaekhar had long regretted that he’d lost that competition, even though he wore many other marks on his throat and chest. “That was my general intention.”
He buried his face in his forearm and cursed, muttering beneath his breath so she couldn’t make out his words. She took that as permission. But first…
She poured more oil into her hands and kneaded it into both cheeks and down his hamstrings. Lady above, she’d never seen a finer warrior. Hot velvet skin stretched tight over sculpted granite, he was a complex mixture of explosive power and incredible gentleness. Although there was nothing gentle about his hoarse growl when she reached under his raised hip to wrap her oiled hand around him.
“I’m going…” He arched his back, lifting his rump so he could thrust in her hand. “To pour…that cursed oil…all over you…while I hold you down…and let your Blood…lick it off.”
Lady, he might as well have doused her head to toe in the sizzling oil. Immediately, her mind pictured it: Rhaekhar lying at her head, pinning her arms against him, while auburn and golden brown heads moved eagerly down her body.
Using his own challenge words, she retorted, “You’re welcome to try.”
She struck, biting deep, gripping his cheek in a punishing bite until blood filled her mouth. Rich with strength, spiced with love, his blood stoked a fire in her that had nothing to do with Keldari oil.
Whatever he meant to say was lost on a roar.
He rolled over so hard she tumbled off to the side and nearly spilled the oil. “Come here.”
“The challenge.” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Do I win?”
He slammed his arms down to the mat, fists at his side. Eyes blazing, he ground out, “Continue.”
“Are you sure?”
He shot her a dark look. “Be wary with that oil, na’lanna. When I come inside you, it’ll spread like wildfire on your tender flesh, too.”
Holding his gaze, she tipped the vial over his chest. “I’m counting on it.”
Oil drizzled across his powerful pectorals and puddled in the washboard hollows of his abdomen. A tremor shook his body but he didn’t make another sound.
His bond was another matter entirely. Vulkar’s Mountain bubbled and smoldered inside him, molten lava building pressure with each drop of oil and stroke of her hand.
Keeping her eyes locked on his, she slowly lowered her mouth to his stomach. Swirling her fingertips in the oil, she traced her fingers lightly over each crest and hollow. Her lips felt swollen, burning with oil, her tongue and throat catching fire. The oil tasted strongly of roasted spices. Mixed with the texture of his skin and his own unique scent, she couldn’t stop licking, biting, rubbing her mouth harder against him.
She felt starved, her need building as fiercely as his. His blood sizzled in her stomach, stoking that fire until it was all she could do not to leave bleeding bites everyplace her mouth roamed. The oil had awakened a beast in her that was very, very hungry for flesh and blood.
Worried, she sat back on her heels, chest heaving. Her shadowed lust for blood could seriously harm him. I didn’t bargain on wanting to eat him alive.
Rhaekhar’s eyes were clenched shut as tightly as his mouth, the cords in his neck strained, his shoulders roped. He hung onto his control by the skin of his teeth. He cracked one eye open and rasped out, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid…I’ll eat you up.”
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Vulkar, woman, bite me again and again and again. I don’t care.”
Need beat inside her, straining against her ribs as though a monstrous beast hovered inside her. Fire licked through her veins. She’d planned to torment him with her mouth, sucking and licking his impressive length until he begged for mercy, but now she feared maiming him.
Reading her intention through the bond, he fisted his hands in her hair and dragged her mouth to that very task. She fought his grip, the pain in her scalp merely feeding the frenzy building inside her. She clawed at his thighs, writhing and twisting against him, which only served to spread more of the dangerous oil on them both. Need hammered inside her, a brutal vise winching tighter with each passing moment. She wanted to torment him, but she just didn’t trust herself.
Is it the oil—or this place—that makes me want to rend him limb from limb?
Shadow loomed in His prison directly below the Palace.
Gripping her head, Rhaekhar thrust slowly, filling her mouth and stretching her sensitized lips. He pulled back, letting her teeth scratch all the way down to the tip and his breath hissed out on a low curse. With relentless control, he paused there, letting her do her worst.
She wrapped her tongue around him and tightened her teeth. He shook beneath her, thighs bulging with the effort of restraining himself when every instinct demanded he thrust and pound this burning need. The bond crackled with fire, flames leaping back and forth between them, spreading like wildfire across the Plains, fanned by the winds of a thunderstorm.
Something pounded through her mind, the steady, rhythmic pulse of hooves. No. The Great Wind Stallion didn’t gallop through the clouds with this oil.
Thi
s need had wings, massive sails filling the night sky, claws and razor sharp teeth, vicious hunger to raze her love.
Tears sizzled her cheeks. :Enough!:
* * *
GRABBING HER ARMS, RHAEKHAR HAULED her up his body. In one hard thrust he filled her completely. He held her like that, his hands tight on her thighs, relentless pressure at the very gate of her womb, until she shuddered.
She cried out, her voice breaking, rising to a scream that rattled the squares of glass in her bedchamber window.
He rolled her beneath him, and glass tinged on the stone. Great Vulkar, that damned oil spread in a puddle beneath her. Her eyes widened, her throat working. He saw the fear shadowing her eyes.
Whatever was in this oil fed the Shadow that she carried. Through their bond, he felt the hunger rise in her. Sharper, more vicious than the bloodlust they’d felt before, a slumbering beast had awakened, ravenous after centuries of starvation.
Gathering her tightly against him, he rolled back toward the pool. She thrashed in his arms, rolling and fighting, not to jerk free of his grip, but for dominance. She wanted him flat on his back, his throat in her mouth, her claws buried deep in his stomach. Challenging his control was risky enough; now, she inflamed the warrior bent on conquering his mate, whatever it took. Always, she challenged him, standing toe to toe with him despite his size and formidable strength as a warrior, but this time…
He feared he would break her.
It took his full weight smashing her to the bottom of the pool with their lungs straining for air before she ceased trying to toss him on his back. He jerked them both up for a desperate gasp of air and then crushed her against the side of the pool. He slammed into her, hard, jamming as deep as her body could take him.
Her choking gasp of pain stilled him. Regret clawed his heart to ribbons. Had the strange oil driven him to the brink of his control, or something else?
Deep down, he feared he was losing her, whether to her Blood or her High Throne, he didn’t know. He jerked back, determined to withdraw and calm his fury before he seriously hurt her.
“Don’t you dare,” she growled, throwing her legs up around his waist. “Give it all to me.”
Fighting to hold on to the last bit of his control, he forced himself to remain still, until she planted her mouth on the old scar on his throat. She worked his flesh with her teeth, reminding him of how she’d marked his arse, and the last bit of his control shattered.
He thrust as deep as he could. Deeper. Vulkar help him, he could not fill her tight enough, deep enough, even when her body convulsed around his, her arms squeezing off his air. Flames danced at the edge his vision, tinging the water to blood, and still he took her hard, punishing them both until he collapsed against the side of the pool. He could only pray he didn’t drag her back to the bottom to drown.
Hauling in another lungful of air, he shifted her higher, determined to get her limp body out of the water before the last of his strength faded.
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when Dharman reached down and lifted her out of the pool. Still breathing hard, Rhaekhar gathered his strength and heaved up out of the water, shaking a moment on his knees.
Sal slapped him on the back and helped him stand. “You’re wheezing like a fat old stallion that just bred a whole herd of mares in heat.”
Nay, he felt as though the whole herd had trampled him.
Rhaekhar couldn’t be angry with the lads, although if she’d been aware enough to realize her nearest Blood was carefully scanning every inch of her naked body for injuries, she would have blasted them all from here to Vulkar’s Mountain.
“She’s unharmed, Khul, though she’ll have a few bruises to remember you by after you leave on the morrow.”
Grateful, he felt the last of his worry melt away. “Whatever you do, lads, never let that oil anywhere near her again.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Khul,” Sal said. “It sounded as though you found it very…entertaining.”
Rhaekhar gave the lad a look that would have sent many a warrior reaching for his rahke, but the young Blood merely grinned wider. In many ways, the lad carried on Gregar’s tradition of wicked humor.
Rhaekhar held out his arms, and Dharman gently transferred her over to his embrace.
Nestling her face against his chest, she whispered, “I smell like a dragon.”
Taken aback, he sniffed her face and shoulder. Traces of the oil remained despite their rolling frenzy in the water, but he smelled nothing but spice. He didn’t even know what the mythical beast looked like, let alone how it might smell.
“I almost ate Khul.”
Wincing, Rhaekhar braced for the inevitable joke. Sal did not disappoint.
“Don’t worry, Khul’lanna. You can eat me anytime you desire.”
* * *
AS NIGHT FELL IN VELVET SHADOWS across this miserable blasted land, Mykal stumbled into a low group of tents shielded in a modest lee between dunes.
“Tal!”
Shouts echoed in the night. Hands caught him, lowering him to the blistering sand. His tongue was swollen, a massive wad of cotton in his mouth; his throat as dry as the countless riverbeds he’d stumbled across. He’d run out of water hours ago, but somehow, he’d known where to go. Someone lifted water to his mouth, a wet blessing even though the fluid was bitter enough to curdle on his tongue.
Words flew about him, and for a moment, they made no sense. This language was not his own. Panic raked claws down his spine.
Several men squatted around him, swathed in black cloth. “We thought you were dead.”
“Not yet.” Dunes blew in his mind, graceful waves scalloped by the winds. At least the words made sense this time. “What happened?”
“Nearly a week hence, we had gathered about the fire to discuss our strategy, when a large black shape floated overhead. Something flapped, and you were gone.”
Teeth and claws flashed through his mind, sinking deep but gliding through the blowing, shifting sands without leaving a mark. Indeed, his body bore no wounds of any attack, just the dead dragon as soon as he’d awakened. He took a deep, steadying breath, and his spiced scent smoothed the straining tension.
I know exactly who I am. I’m Mykal tal’Mamba, and nothing will prevent me from fulfilling my destiny.
“Will you be able to challenge tal’Cobra as planned?”
He closed his eyes. Memories flickered dimly in the dark corners of his mind. Brilliant green fields had faded to blasted sands, but the hint of roses wafted through that memory. Sands and wells, he sighed, longing trembling through him. “I will do what is needed.”
The answer seemed to appease the men. One by one, they touched his shoulder, murmured a soft word, and then left, until only one remained.
“It was Him,” the man whispered, his voice tight with fear. He reached over his shoulder and ran a long rope of oiled hair through his hand, tugging firmly. “Shadow took you, and yet you live.”
“Tell me your name.” Calmly, Mykal sat up, absently twisting the ring on his smallest finger. “As well as everything you know about this tribe and the others. Pretend as though I know nothing and we have just met.”
“Asad rav’Mamba.” The man touched his forehead, lips, and heart in quick succession, his eyes as wide and wet as the deepest well. “I’m your second and we…” He gulped and rushed through the rest of the words. “We’ve been friends since childhood. On the morrow, you are supposed to fight three other tals for the title of azi, the leader of all Keldar.”
Perfect, he thought, letting his lips curl in a smile. The other man paled. “I want to know everything about these tals, especially their weaknesses and fears.”
As the man babbled every dread secret of the tribes of Keldar, Mykal stared up at the slip of moon sliding across the evening sky. A chill settled in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t know why.
CHAPTER
THREE
LITTLE ARMS SQUEEZED SHANNARI’S NECK AND SHE NEARLY BROKE DOWN INTO LOU
D, MESSY SOBS.
Already mounted on her mare, Rhyra called out, “Let’s go, Papa!”
Anya squirmed in her mother’s tight grip, more than ready to join her twin. In fact, the entire Sha’Kae al’Dan contingent was snorting and pawing the ground, anxious to leave the Green Lands—and Shannari—behind.
That’s not fair. This is my choice. There’s no other way to keep them safe.
Resisting the urge to crush both girls in her arms once more, she set Anya on her mare’s back. As all Sha’Kae al’Dan children, the twins had practically grown up on horseback and were more than comfortable, despite the maternal worry Shannari pushed away at seeing such small children on such large animals. The cream-colored mare made a derisive noise and shook her head.
Harder yet was to walk over calmly and look up at her beloved warrior preparing to leave her behind. Rhaekhar had awoken her hours before dawn and made slow, tender, sweet love to her until she’d stopped crying. He knew her well. Her pride would not take well to breaking down in public before the nobles and people of Shanhasson.
“We ride straight south.” His voice sounded perfectly normal; his manner reserved, some might even say hard or cruel. He spoke as a warrior, not a husband or lover.
No one could feel his love flooding their na’lanna bond which tied their hearts and souls together. He warred his own kae’don in order to present so calm a façade. A warrior took what he wanted and then kept it, or he was no warrior. His instinct demanded he haul her up before him on his golden stallion and gallop straight for the Plains.
“Drendon’s last messenger said the Camps are already moving toward Vulkar’s Mountain. I’ll delay the Summer Gathering until you arrive.”
The Summer Gathering was the one time each year that all Nine Camps met on the banks of the Silver Lake at the foot of Vulkar’s Mountain. Camp status would be challenged and adjusted, and warriors might challenge their khuls for leadership of each Camp. In fact, any khul might decide that Rhaekhar should no longer be the supreme Khul of the Sha’Kae al’Dan. Although looking at his impressive warrior physique and the heavy braids of beads in his hair, she didn’t think such blind stupidity very likely. Each bead represented a battle in which Khul had been victorious, and it was no boast to say he was the most honored warrior on the Plains.
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