Dedication
As always, to my hubby Terry, who always supports me in my writing career.
To Lena, the best critique partner a writer could ever have.
You guys rock!
Chapter One
Planet Croan
Supercontinent Dragonia
Near the Protican Ocean
Sand shifted under Mia Griffi’s feet and she stumbled and fell on her knees. Her palms sank into the sand. Head hanging down, she shivered with exhaustion. She expected to feel terror but numbness and disorientation settled into her mind.
She’d awakened earlier in the day on the beach, hot sun beating down, clothes crusted with sand, mouth dry and head aching. She’d spent too much time struggling in the ocean, hoping to save her own life. When she’d collapsed on the beach she must have slept for hours. After she’d awakened, she realized she was parched. She’d located a plant with leaves that held water and had taken the chance the liquid wouldn’t kill her. Thankfully it had quenched her thirst and given her strength for whatever might happen next.
Maybe all your reading about Dragonia won’t help you survive.
Without finding another healer, you are doomed.
Fear tickled at the back of her neck and reminded her that coming to Dragonia, to a totally alien way of life, was her idea. The way she’d arrived here wasn’t but she’d planned to escape to Dragonia and make her new life. Discover all the freedoms she couldn’t have on Magonia and find another healer who could free her from disease.
Well she’d pay the consequences if she was wrong about Dragonia, wouldn’t she?
A groan left her mouth. Water hadn’t cured her headache. She was so tired. So very tired. She thought she’d walked for a couple of hours but couldn’t say for certain.
Sticky heat pounded her body. She wasn’t used to the humidity and the air felt thick and hard to breathe.
Get up. Get up.
She struggled to her feet and reached for the high-neck collar on her long-sleeved tunic. Damn these garments. They were always too hot, too restrictive, too everything. She unbuttoned the collar until it gaped open to the top of her breasts. She supposed she should be grateful the Magonian garment kept the sun from burning her skin. Thank goodness her long hair was braided or it would act as a mantle around her shoulders and make her even hotter. Even so, it was crusted with sand.
Dragonia. She was finally here. She’d escaped Magonia and all its traps and rules. On this continent the Truth and Order Police couldn’t locate her, and even if they did, they had no authority. Now that she was here though, the land threatened to kill her before she could enjoy freedom.
Thick sand sucked at her feet, threatening to pull off her sodden shoes. Glaring light off the blue waters dazzled her eyes and she squinted. She hoped to feel something, any sort of guidance from her inner self on which way to walk and where to find salvation. Her mind was a scramble of details, most of it spotty. She hadn’t lost her memory, not really. Perhaps the throb at her temples made it hard to remember. She recalled the furious storm that battered the passenger ship Hydrasoseles, the giant wave tearing her from her friends. She recalled her name and her mission.
To escape.
To find anywhere far away from Magonia and the lies.
The lies she’d been a party to and the great shame that went with them.
Humiliation mixed with regret. She couldn’t relive these emotions and accomplish her goal.
She was on dreaded Dragonia, the sworn enemy of Magonia, the one place she should not want to be. Instead she relished the desire to run from a sinking ship. Not the one the rogue wave had destroyed, but the sinking ship of her life.
Perhaps in Dragonia, where she heard women had far more freedom, she could find a new path and purpose. Perhaps her abilities wouldn’t be mocked or forbidden on this wild continent.
She continued walking, determination fueling where physical strength threatened collapse. She glanced around, hoping for inspiration. Strange birds tweeted and called from the jungle to her left. Huge plants she’d seen in drawings loomed thick and hostile. She wished her supply pack had survived. Her compass, her map and the details on how to reach Grimnald Castle, where she hoped to find shelter, had gone to the bottom of the ocean.
She had a vague notion she walked south but her orientation had scrambled as badly as the rest of her ability to think straight. Hunger gnawed her stomach. Her last meal, yesterday, she thought, had long worn away.
More than all that, her fear for her friends tore her inside out.
“My friends, where are you?” Her voice sounded scratchy to her own ears. “Please, God Magon, please let them be alive.”
Tears flooded her eyes at the thought of Ketera and Xandra, her shipmates and newfound friends. They must have drowned. She hadn’t seen a sign of them since waking up on this beach. Their bond had grown in the short time they’d been on board the ship together. Each had reason to escape their lives on Magonia. Each had secrets they wouldn’t reveal to each other. Still…her bond with them had formed swiftly. She felt they understood her.
Mia fought tears and lost. She walked toward the ocean, for a moment allowing her despair to overwhelm all sense. Tired and overwhelmed, she waded into the ocean. Her body itched and she had to remove a little sand before she tried to find civilization. She didn’t care if she was wet again. She sagged as the water enveloped her to the knees. She splashed the water over her arms. One step more. Two. It was up to her waist when a wave of dizziness threw her off balance. She splashed into the ocean as darkness swept her under.
She choked, sputtered as water washed over her head.
Too bad she couldn’t heal herself.
No.
No.
She refused to die. Not when so many must understand and know the truth about Magonia. If she died, she couldn’t spread the truth. She held her breath. Thought she heard a shout.
Powerful arms drew her up and out of the water but her legs had no strength. She tried to lash out. Everything spun, her mind a whirling circle, and everything went black.
* * * * *
Mia felt tossed around, her body jolted as she dangled.
Dangled?
What had happened? Panic surged upward with fire-bright intensity. She could hardly breathe. Something pressed on her stomach. It took her a few moments to realize she lay over a man’s broad shoulder. One of his hands spread over her butt, the other behind her thighs as he walked. Despite her situation, her cheeks heated violently. A man had never, ever touched her so intimately. Certainly no man had ever carried her. She dared open her eyes and regretted it. The ground loomed up and danced around. Huge fronds crunched under the man’s feet. He’d taken her into the jungle.
She heard his breathing, smelled a musk that wasn’t unpleasant. He was man and rough. She closed her eyes again as shock jolted her. Was he a slaver? She’d heard they roamed Dragonia, determined to use Magonian women as slaves and breeders for their dying race.
“No!” She kicked and wriggled.
A string of pithy, precise curses left the man’s throat as he struggled to keep her on his shoulder. “By all that is feckin’ holy and right! Woman, stop it!”
Rough and filled with gravel, his harsh, deep voice struck a chord in her that demanded instant obedience. Old habits died very hard. She almost did as he said. But new resolve refused to die. She was done with men ordering her about. Done.
“Put me down, you filthy cretin!” She whacked at the first thing she could reach. His ass.
He grunted and cursed again. “Feck!”
It got her the result she wanted. Sort of.
She slipped off his shoulder onto her feet.
What she saw stunned her into silence, mouth hanging
open and breath seized. The man who’d carried her was the most glorious male specimen she’d ever seen. A riot of black hair perhaps a shade darker than hers tumbled around his wide shoulders in thick, disordered waves. His thunderous brown eyes bored into her. A long, crooked nose kept his features from perfection, as did a fresh wound above his right eyebrow. The cut, stitched tightly, ran from one side of his eyebrow to the other, as if an enemy had drawn a knife with slow purpose across his flesh. His mouth was a tight slash of anger. He wore a sleeveless muddy brown tunic belted at the waist with breeches tucked into thick black boots that ended low on his leg. At his waist a wide belt held a sword, a water bladder and a pack that no doubt held supplies.
Dizziness threw her sideways. He moved fast and caught her in his arms. She pressed along miles of hard, immovable male sinew. She sucked in a breath and looked up and up. He was the biggest male she’d encountered in her limited experience. As his arms braced her against him, every disturbing inch let her know he was all male. Fierce determination sparked from those dark eyes. Her mind whirled as much from his musky scent as it did from the man’s obvious power. Primal urgings tugged sharply in her lower belly. She knew and understood the feelings but old training made her shove them to the background—or try to. A woman wasn’t allowed to have carnal feelings for a man. With female lust came sin and evil.
She’d heard this, learned this, and at one point had tried to believe it.
No more.
Everything about this man screamed lustful. Powerful. Strong. A prickle at the back of her neck signaled her foreknowledge. She understood several things about him without doubt.
He is highly sexed.
He knows how to please a woman.
He wants me.
At this last piece of understanding, she sucked in a breath.
Scribe Head Janto Ribboner had wanted her. Her scorn for his ways, for his immorality, for his hypocrisy, had drowned any chance she would reciprocate Janto’s lust.
With this stranger her inhibitions wavered and rippled like water in a pond.
Conflicting thoughts warred inside her. She wanted to understand what it would feel like to experience a lover’s touch, to enjoy a carnal tie to a man. Oh she knew a man’s penis filled a woman’s body—even Scribes possessed that knowledge. She’d seen drawings and imagined what it might feel like. Yet she feared intimacy, nakedness and vulnerability.
Somehow she knew this man could show her pleasure. Dark, hard, unrelenting pleasure.
It scared her to death.
She kept the foreknowledge to herself, understanding that telling him these things could hurt her chances for survival. If she was wrong about him in any way, he could harm or kill her.
Male sinew tightened and flexed under her touch. The throb in her lower stomach gathered strength and raced upward to her breasts. Her nipples tingled. Horrified at her body’s unrestrained reaction, she tried to draw back. He held fast. His arms were rock solid—there was no way she’d escape if he wanted to keep her here. She cursed her physical weakness.
His nostrils flared, a big animal on the hunt and smelling prey. “Woman, do not fight me.”
Fear made her heart stagger and thump but showing apprehension would make things worse. Anger pushed her to shove at his chest with both hands. “Let me go, you mangy lout.”
He laughed. Not the cold, evil laugh of the man who’d driven her to leave Magonia, but pure, appreciative humor. He released her but didn’t move away.
Stunned at his compliance, she didn’t try to run. Men never did what she asked.
They stared at each other. A stalemate.
He planted his big hands on his hips. His gaze traced over her from head to toe, a mix of curiosity and what she interpreted to be genuine male appreciation. His attention seared her.
“I won’t harm you.” His voice rumbled softly, so deep and rich.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Eryk Gauth.” He removed the water bladder from his waist and held it out to her. “Drink. You look as if you’ve been out here a long time. What happened to you?”
She opened the water container and drank deeply. The water was cold, delicious and refreshing. She sighed. “My ship was wrecked.”
One of his dark brows twitched up and he scrubbed one hand over his chin. “I heard rumor a Magonian passenger ship sank in a storm. Are you the only survivor?”
She swallowed hard and looked through the trees. She couldn’t see beach through the thick plants. “I hope not. Two of my friends were on the ship.”
“How long have you walked?”
“I woke up on the beach but I don’t know how long I’ve walked.”
Mia’s head throbbed. She closed her eyes. Weakness threatened her legs but she stiffened her spine and opened her eyes. She couldn’t afford to show this man how close she was to falling on her face again.
She handed the water back to him. After he returned it to his waist, he crossed his arms and tilted that arrogant head to one side. “You’re a Magonian Scribe.”
Startled that he knew, she touched her collar. “What?”
“Don’t even think of hiding it.”
“How do you know about Scribes?”
She saw something like anger flicker through his eyes.
“Long story.” He held out his hand. “Let us go.”
She took a step back. “You’re a stranger. I would have to be insane to walk into the jungle with you.”
He crossed his arms again, a smile flirting with the corners of his lips. “You’re already in the jungle.”
Heat filled her face at her misstep. All around her the evidence proved it. Birds squawked in the high canopy. Insects buzzed and Magon only knew what other creatures slid and skulked in the thick greenery surrounding them. She’d studied what little she could find on this forbidden continent, and had heard of the many animals that could kill. Still, she feared the men far more than any animal.
“Point me in the direction of Grimnald Castle,” she said.
A low, deep laugh left his throat. “Pretty one, there is no way you’d survive a trek through this jungle without my help. And I’m not going to Grimnald right now. We’re heading to Bardannia Castle in Imekland, where I’m stationed.”
“Imekland?”
“It is in the frozen wastelands. When we get to the edge of the Tarrian Jungle there is the Ithycan Desert to cross. After that we’ll cross to into Imekland and Bardannia.”
She shivered thinking about how far they had to go.
His eyes narrowed and he assessed her more closely. His attention unnerved her to the bone. “You’ve never seen snow and ice, have you?”
Since he already knew she’d come from Magonia, she couldn’t deny it. “No. There isn’t any on Magonia.”
He grunted but she had a feeling he knew quite a bit about Magonia. She had no proof of it but it stood to reason that anyone who knew that she wore the garb of a Scribe would know other things about her country. Everything she’d heard about Dragonia made her cautious, but under different circumstances she would have been excited. This was freedom. A new life.
“You’re a fool to travel to Dragonia,” he said. “Don’t you understand how dangerous it is for you here?”
“Yes.”
He snorted. “You wouldn’t have come here if you did.”
Anger trickled upward. “You don’t know anything about me or why I came here. Don’t presume to know.”
One of his eyebrows quirked upward but he didn’t look angry or reprimand her. She expected it. Waited for it. It didn’t come. The man inspected her as if she amazed him, was a singular oddity for him to observe.
“How many days’ travel is it to this Bardannia Castle?” she finally asked.
“A few days on foot.” He eyed her cynically. “Then again, I don’t know if you could move fast enough. It might take us longer.”
She stood straighter, stung by his assessment. “I am fit for travel.”
“You
are a woman and unused to strenuous travel. If you were a warrior that would be different. We can march many miles a day.”
“I’m very capable.”
Again his gaze traveled her body, but not with the desire she’d noted in his eyes before. “Under normal circumstances, maybe. Women are weaker physically in many respects. It isn’t a reflection on your worthiness.”
His statement silenced her a moment. Not because he’d said she was weaker but because he said it didn’t reflect on her worthiness.
She planted her hands on her hips, sarcasm leaking out even as she wondered if she could push him too far. “Well thank you very much. But I do not really care whether you think me worthy. Perhaps you can direct me on how to reach Grimnald Castle after I get supplies and—” She stopped. God Magon. She’d lost her money wallet. “My money is gone, but perhaps someone will be generous enough to provide me with what I need to reach the castle. I will pay them back.”
The dark brow with the scar above it lifted slightly. “Someone? Maybe. It won’t be me.”
Ticked, she glared at him. “I never said it would be you.”
“Not because I can’t.” He took a couple steps closer, crowding her once more. “Because no woman with an ounce of sense would travel the jungle alone. I won’t help you kill yourself.”
Aching and impatient, she groaned softly. She rubbed her left temple. “I was hoping Dragonian men would be different than Magonians. But perhaps not.”
His chest seemed to puff out a little. “Magonian men have little dicks and big mouths.”
Startled by his bluntness, she asked, “Do they?”
He chuckled, and for a few moments this man’s hard looks gave way to genuine warmth and amusement. “Some Dragonian men do too.”
“Literally?”
He laughed louder. “Sometimes.” When his laugh faded, his gaze traveled her body again. “Not all.”
Hot interest licked at her lower belly. She pressed one hand to her middle, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to this stranger. Desire had claimed her attention before but never with this ferocity.
He tilted his head to the side slightly, curiosity plain in his eyes. “Men are men no matter where they come from. It’s their teaching that makes them different. Their wits and brains. But by all accounts I hear Magonian men make rules for women that are different. Rules designed to make the men feel superior. To keep women in their places.”
Daryk Warrior Page 1
