Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  “But you will,” he told her confidently. “Eventually.”

  She picked up her brush and began to stroke her shoulderlength fair hair. Marla was damned if she was going to let this man think he could intimidate her. “Get out of my house.”

  Galon didn’t seem to hear her. He moved closer, right behind her, staring at her reflection with eyes that saw far too much.

  “Why don’t you scream?” he asked, picking up a strand of her hair and running it over his lips as if the mere smell of it aroused him. “You’ve got enough guards in this house to cut me down before I get back to the window.”

  Marla met his eyes in the mirror and shrugged carelessly. “Screaming would imply I’m afraid of you, Galon Miar. I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You should be,” he warned softly, stepping so close she could feel his hot breath on her neck.

  Marla didn’t break the rhythm of her brushing. Galon let the strand of hair fall as she continued her slow, deliberate strokes. She could sense the danger, even if she couldn’t see it directly. She was feigning indifference but was aware of the nearness of him like a blind man stepping too close to an inferno. “Why should I fear you? You’re just a man, Galon Miar, and I don’t fear any man.”

  “But I’m not any man.” He put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them gently, making her spine tingle. He leaned forward and breathed into her ear, watching her in the mirror. “I can make you forget yourself, Marla Wolfblade. I can take you somewhere you’re afraid to go. I can make your blood sing.”

  “You can’t make me do anything,” she insisted, as he gently eased the edge of her robe from her shoulders. She thought about pulling away from him; about turning around and slapping his insolent face …

  But that was all she did—thought about it.

  “I can make your heart race,” he assured her softly, as his hands caressed her neck and began to work their way down toward her breast. She closed her eyes for a moment, almost gave in to the sensation …

  Then she realised what she was doing and her eyes snapped open. Marla shook off his hands and turned to face him, deciding this had gone far enough.

  “My pulse will race just as merrily watching you bleed to death at my feet,” she pointed out with all the icy dignity she could muster. “A situation I could easily arrange, simply by screaming.”

  “If you scream because of me, your highness,” he predicted with a wicked little smile, as she pulled the robe back up around her shoulders, “you’ll be screaming for more, not for help.”

  The man’s arrogance was breathtaking. Marla looked down her nose at him, wondering if contempt would work where disdain had failed. “You really do think you’re Kalianah’s gift to women, don’t you, Galon Miar?”

  “You mean I’m not?” he asked, in mock horror.

  “Sadly for you, no. Nor are you particularly creative,” she added. “Do you think I’m so starved for human contact I’ll welcome an assassin into my bed, or worse, marry one? If I want sex, Galon, I can send for a court’esa any time I please.”

  “Your court’esa is dead, your highness. You told me that, yourself. And you never seem to have acquired any others, oddly enough. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Whatever the reason, Galon, it’s none of your business.” She turned back to the mirror and resumed brushing her hair. “Now, if you don’t mind, you’ve had your fun and I’d like to go to bed.”

  He grinned mischievously at her reflection. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

  Despite herself, Marla smiled at him. It was difficult to maintain her icy demeanour in the face of such a blatant invitation. “You really should leave now, before I decide to have you run through.”

  He seemed confident she was bluffing. “You’d have called your guards long ago if you seriously meant me harm,” he told her. “Or if you thought I meant you harm.”

  “You think you know me that well?”

  “I think I’d have a great deal of fun getting to know you better.”

  Putting down the brush, she turned to face him again, amazed by his persistence. “Have you no shame?”

  “Not a lot.” He glanced down at her robe, which had fallen open, and studied her appreciatively. “Nor do you, your highness,” he added.

  Quite deliberately, Marla pulled it closed, her actions robbed of a little of their disdain when she realised she was blushing.

  “You’ve married four men for political and financial gain, Marla Wolfblade,” he said, watching her closely. “You can’t possibly be embarrassed by the thought of a man seeing you naked.”

  “I’ll have you know,” Marla replied stiffly, lifting her chin, “I only married three men for political or financial gain. One of them I actually loved.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “You were wasted on all of them. I doubt any one of them appreciated you.”

  “Oh, and you do, I suppose?” she asked.

  Galon crooked his finger at her and beckoned her nearer. “Come here,” he taunted, “and I’ll show you.”

  Marla glanced at the small empty space between them, shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Not tempted enough,” she lied, aware this game was stupid, dangerous and worst of all, easily stopped. She only needed to call out and that would be the brutal and bloody end of any man who dared sneak into her room in the small hours of the night, hoping to seduce the High Prince’s sister.

  Galon Miar seemed able to read her intentions, if not her thoughts. But if Marla wasn’t ready to cross the space between them, he certainly was. Without waiting for her answer, the assassin reached for her hand and drew her to him until his lips hovered over hers. He waited for a fraction of a second, as if he expected her to pull away, and then he kissed her.

  When Marla didn’t respond, Galon raised his lips from hers and looked at her oddly. His genuine surprise that she hadn’t melted at his touch was quite gratifying.

  “What? You think one blazing kiss and I’m yours? You do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

  Galon studied her expression as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying and then he took her face in his hands and slowly, with agonising tenderness, he kissed her again.

  For a moment, Marla surrendered to the sensation. She hadn’t been kissed like that since Nash had made love to her in Kalianah’s grotto in Krakandar Palace when she was a girl. But that sort of familiarity was far too tempting and ultimately futile. She’d ended up having Nash assassinated. Soft lips, a hard body and too much raging lust weren’t the basis for anything but trouble. Marla knew that for a fact.

  She pushed him away, marvelling at her own strength. Galon Miar was far closer to winning this confrontation than he knew.

  “What part of ‘I have no interest in you’ are you having trouble understanding?” she asked coolly.

  Her question seemed to amuse him. “You’re court’esa trained, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” she replied, puzzled by the question.

  “Then you should know better than to lie about what you’re feeling.”

  “I am not lying about anything. I don’t like you, I don’t want you, and you’re completely insane if you think I’m going to marry you.”

  “Really?” he asked, gently brushing the hair off her face. “Didn’t your court’esa tell you about the physiological changes that happen when you’re aroused, your highness? You must remember. It’s pretty much the first thing you would have learned. You know, all those little telltale signs: ragged breathing, galloping heart rate, pupils dilating, and,” he added, looking down, “a few other … miscellaneous symptoms …”

  Offended by his brazen gall, Marla raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist and held it fast. “Now you’ve got your breathing under control, but your pulse is racing, princess,” he said, glancing at
her raised hand he held fast around the wrist, “and your eyes are so wide I could drown in them. Tell me you don’t like how I dress. Tell me you don’t like what I do for a living, but don’t tell me that right at this moment, you don’t want me just as much as I want you.”

  Marla struggled to free her hand from his grasp, but he had no intention of letting her go. She raised her other hand, but he caught that, too, and she was effectively trapped in his embrace. He wasn’t hurting her, but neither was he giving an inch.

  Call the guards, she told herself sternly. Stop playing games with this man and call for help.

  The trouble was that Marla didn’t really want help.

  What she wanted here was victory.

  And to win, she realised in a sudden flash of insight, she was going to have to lose. “Very well, then I admit it. I want you.”

  Galon was so stunned by her sudden surrender that he let her go. “What?”

  “You’re right, Galon,” she sighed, sliding her arms around his neck. “I want you. You make me feel things I haven’t felt for years. You’re a very attractive man—unfortunately, you know that, which makes you a little obnoxious—and I’m a living, breathing woman, no more immune to your charms than any other. Take me.”

  He lifted her arms away and studied her suspiciously. “A minute ago you were fantasising about me bleeding to death at your feet …”

  “We all have different things that arouse us,” Marla observed. “That’s court’esa lesson number two, isn’t it?”

  Now he was really starting to worry. Marla was delighted. In a heartbeat she had turned the tables on her adversary and suddenly held the upper hand. Galon Miar was no longer anywhere near as sure of himself. Now he doubted her motives, was suspicious of her inexplicable capitulation, certain there was something sinister in her intentions.

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’m surrendering,” she told him, breathless as a lovelorn girl.

  He wasn’t convinced. “Surrendering? Why? So you can call your guards and claim I took you by force?”

  “If you weren’t prepared to risk that fate, Galon, you wouldn’t have come through my window.” She deliberately let the robe fall open and moved closer to him. “Isn’t that what you wanted, darling? Marla Wolfblade throwing herself at you, desperate for your touch, your kiss, your caress? So take me, Galon. Take me hard. Show me what I’ve been missing out on. Ravish me. I’m yours.”

  He actually took a step backward and Marla knew she’d won. She studied him triumphantly and stepped back, once again full of icy dignity.

  “Now who’s afraid of whom?” she said, tying the robe closed. Then she walked to the centre of the room and turned to face him. Her eyes never left his face as she called out, “Guards!”

  At her summons, the door flew open and two palace guards burst into the room. When they realised their princess was not alone, the men drew their swords and turned on the intruder. Galon stared at her in shock, but was smart enough to make no threatening moves other than to raise his hands to show the soldiers he wasn’t planning to resist.

  “Your highness?” the more senior of the two guards asked in confusion, staring at the assassin. “Are you all right?”

  They’d been on duty outside since she’d retired and had let nobody past her door. The unsuspected presence of a strange man in their mistress’s bedroom had her guards looking almost as stunned as Galon.

  “Master Miar was just leaving,” she told the guards. “Be so kind as to escort him off the premises, please.”

  She turned to look at him. To his credit, he recovered quickly. He lowered his hands, bowed with genuine respect. “It’s been a pleasure, your highness. I expect we’ll resume our … conversation … sometime soon?”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Marla advised.

  “It’ll be soon enough,” he predicted with an insolent wink, already back to the Galon she knew. “You need me.” And then he grinned at her. “Almost as much as you want me.”

  Marla allowed herself a small smile. “I wouldn’t bet the family fortune on it if I were you, Galon.”

  For once, he didn’t seem to have a clever comeback. Marla watched as the guards escorted him from her room and down the hall toward the stairs.

  Once he was out of sight she closed the door and leaned against it, her breathing ragged, wondering why, of all of the emotions she was battling with right now, the hardest to deal with seemed to be the urge to run down that hall after Galon and call him back to her room.

  CHAPTER 44

  As it turned out, the most difficult part of Starros’s grand plan to honour Dacendaran by robbing Krakandar of its entire population was finding a way to speak to Xanda Taranger without bringing the wrath of Mahkas Damaran down on all of them. Damin’s commission to his cousin had been to keep an eye on Mahkas, which meant even with uninhibited access to the slaveways, there weren’t many opportunities to find Xanda alone in the palace.

  Krakandar Palace probably wasn’t the safest place for such a potentially dangerous meeting to take place, in any case. After days of mulling over the problem, Starros decided to take a more direct approach. With Luc North’s assistance, he arranged for Wrayan’s Thieves’ Guild henchmen to kidnap Xanda Taranger off the streets of the city in broad daylight.

  Their mission was made easier by Xanda himself. He made a point of inspecting the city two or three times a week to see how things were going, to talk to the people, reassure them, gauge their mood, and generally try to put a good face on things. Because he was here as a guest and actually held no formal position in Krakandar’s court, he was able to do this without fanfare and usually accomplished his inspection with no more than a single guard accompanying him.

  Wrayan’s men ambushed Xanda and his guard as he entered the narrow streets of the Beggars’ Quarter, a few blocks from the Pickpocket’s Retreat. They overwhelmed them and bundled the two men away, trussed up like chickens on their way to market, not removing the ropes or the sacks thrown over their heads until they were behind closed doors in the safe house.

  “What the hell …” Xanda began, struggling as his kidnappers freed him. His voice faltered as the sack was pulled from his head and he found himself face to face with Starros.

  “Hello, Xanda.”

  “Starros? For pity’s sake, man!” he complained, shaking free of the ropes that had bound him, while he glared at the men who’d taken him prisoner. “Couldn’t you have found a less dramatic way of getting me to your …” he glanced around and then shrugged, “ … your lair?”

  “Believe me, Xanda, if there’d been an easier way to do this, I would have used it.” He glanced at the men still holding Xanda’s accompanying guard, tied and blindfolded. “Let him go.”

  Luc’s men did as Starros ordered. As soon as the man’s hands were free he pulled the sack from his head and stared at Starros in shock.

  “I thought you’d be dead by now, lad.”

  Starros smiled gratefully. “Thanks to you, Sergeant Clayne, I survived.”

  His thanks were heartfelt and genuine. Clayne was the man in charge of the palace cells the night Damin returned to Krakandar. This was the man who’d stood aside to allow Damin to come to his aid.

  The big man was clearly disturbed by Starros’s miraculous recovery. He eyed him up and down, his expression grim. “You shouldn’t have survived, lad. You surely shouldn’t have walked away from it without a mark on you.”

  “I had help of a sort you couldn’t imagine, Sergeant.”

  The man looked around the room with a frown. “And now you’ve fallen in with criminals, I see.”

  “I don’t know if he’s fallen, so much as been given an almighty shove,” Xanda remarked, rubbing his chafed wrists. “Is there anything to drink around here, or are you lot planning to torture me, as well as tromp all over my dignity?”

  “Get him something to drink,” Starros ordered the man standing closest to the door. “And take Sergeant Clayne into the next ro
om. I’m sure he’d appreciate an ale or two.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Clayne announced belligerently. “My job is to watch over Lord Taranger.”

  “And I swear no harm will come to him. I’m asking you to leave for your own protection, Sergeant,” Starros explained. “You did me a favour once, and now I’m returning it. What I have to say to Xanda could be considered treason. You’ve risked a charge of treason once before on my behalf. I’m not going to implicate you, even by association, a second time.”

  Clayne thought about it and then held up his hands to indicate he would offer no further resistance. “Very well.”

  Starros waited until the others had escorted Clayne from the dingy room and then turned to look at Xanda once they were alone.

  “Noble of you to care so much about Clayne’s neck, while you’re endangering mine without a second thought.”

  “Oh, we’d thought of that,” Starros assured him. “We’re going to beat you senseless after we finish our meeting and leave you for dead in an alley somewhere. Just to make it look good.”

  “There’s the mark of a true friend.”

  Starros smiled. “I like to help where I can. How have you been, Xanda? You look tired.”

  “I’m all right, I suppose.” He sank down on the bench beside the fireplace. “As right as any man can be, living in an insane asylum, at any rate.” Xanda jerked his head in the direction the others had disappeared. “You seem to be fitting in with your new friends rather nicely.”

  “I’ve been touched by Dacendaran,” Starros reminded him, taking the seat opposite. “That makes me something of a celebrity in the Thieves’ Guild. Didn’t you notice? I even have my very own henchmen now, ready to do my criminal bidding.”

  “Yes, I noticed that.”

  “In truth, they’re not really mine, they’re only on loan from Wrayan while he’s away, but they do the job and they look at me like I know what I’m doing, so I suppose that means something.”