The Invisible Ring bj-4

by Anne Bishop

  It wasn’t enough, but as she relaxed against him, it soothed the hunger sufficiently that he didn’t feel so wildly out of control.

  After a while, she leaned back and looked at him.

  His hands slid up her back and over her shoulders, finally cupping her face. He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. Since she didn’t protest that action, he kissed her again, this time letting his mouth softly melt into hers.

  When he raised his head, he saw confusion in her eyes— and maybe a little hunger.

  Looking flustered, Lia turned her head slightly, then frowned at his wrist. “You’re bleeding.”

  A different kind of tremor went through him. He wanted her to turn her head a little more, close her mouth over the wound, and lap the drops of blood welling up from his wrist. He wanted to make a small nick in the hollow of her throat and drink from it.

  Jared dropped his hands, shaken.

  A Queen didn’t accept blood from any but her First Circle.

  A male didn’t accept a Queen’s blood unless he was offering to surrender his life to her will. A court contract was a formal, written agreement weighted by honor and Protocol. A blood bond was a lifetime commitment.

  “Come inside,” Lia said. “Your wrist needs care and you need something to eat.”

  “Lia . . .”

  “Come inside.”

  She led him inside, walking slowly but more easily. When they reached the kitchen area, she created a small ball of witchlight, enough to see by but not enough to disturb the others.

  He stood passively while she used healing Craft on his wrist. He watched her dab an herb paste over the wound. All he could think of as she wrapped some gauze around his wrist to protect it was how good her hands felt and how much he wanted her to stroke him.

  “You’re using too much Craft,” he said as she warmed some of the meat left over from dinner and sliced the bread without using a knife.

  “Don’t fuss now, Jared,” Lia replied, keeping her voice low. “You can fuss tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  She looked startled for a moment and then sighed. “Promise.”

  Pleased by that, he managed to bite back another comment when she used Craft to heat a mug of water for an herbal brew.

  A soft stirring. A change in the feel of the room as someone rose and approached them.

  Snarling, Jared whirled around.

  Thera gasped and took a step back.

  The hunger inside him grew knife-edged teeth that savaged his self-control as he caught the slight muskiness in her psychic scent that signaled a sexually mature witch. Lia’s scent was a blend of muskiness and innocence that helped sedate the hunger. Thera’s scent enraged it.

  After glancing at Lia, Thera licked her lips. “Lord Jared, if you require—”

  “Go away,” Jared snarled. He felt insulted by the offer. Insulted and a little humiliated that she had so little respect for him that she would offer to take him in front of Lia.

  Which made him want to hurt her. Badly.

  “Go back to bed, Thera,” Lia said softly.

  Thera glanced at Lia again and nodded.

  Jared stood there, saying nothing, not even daring to look at Lia until Thera was once more tucked in on the mattress next to Blaed’s.

  Lia touched his arm. “You need to eat and get some sleep.”

  “Do you think I’m such a whore that I’ll willingly go with any woman who snaps her fingers?” he asked harshly.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not a whore, Jared.”

  “That’s exactly what a pleasure slave is, Lady.”

  She rubbed his arm to comfort him. “Well, you’re not a pleasure slave anymore.” She hesitated. “Thera made the offer out of friendship for you and concern for me. I don’t think it was an easy thing for her to do. Let it go now. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  Rage and hurt swirled through him, confusing him. Submitting to her gentle coaxing, he felt a little steadier when she placed the food on the table and then sat next to him, even allowing him to feed her small bites of bread and meat. By the time he finished the meal, he was shivering from fatigue.

  “Come to bed now,” Lia said, guiding him to the mattresses. “Can you put a warming spell on the blankets?”

  Stretching out on his mattress, Jared nodded.

  Her fingers lightly brushed his dark hair. “Sleep, Jared.”

  He tried because she’d asked him to. But the spell-warmed blankets didn’t stop the shivering, and the presence of the other males made him tense and angry. He also knew they were all awake now and aware of the reason for his tension . . . and feared it.

  Half an hour later, he gave up and crept under Lia’s blankets.

  “What—”

  “Let me hold you, Lia,” he whispered against her ear. “I need to hold you.”

  “You’re freezing,” she hissed, tucking the blankets around them.

  He settled her comfortably against his side, offering his shoulder for a pillow. Now that he had his arms around her, the other males didn’t bother him as much. The tension eased. Warmed by the blankets and even more by Lia’s presence, his body relaxed.

  Resting his cheek against her soft hair, Jared slept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WHAT?” Dorothea SaDiablo shrieked.

  Krelis’s fury overwhelmed his usual fear of Dorothea’s temper. “It’s not the Gray Lady. It’s some little Green-Jeweled bitch-Queen who used an illusion web to trick herself out so she could prance into Raej pretending to be the Gray Lady.”

  Dorothea’s gown swished like an angry cat’s tail as she paced her private receiving room. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Every breath came out as a hiss.

  Krelis watched her, saying nothing, unwilling to pull her attention back to him. While he waited, his left thumb rubbed the palm of his right hand. He’d clenched the two brass buttons so hard while he’d unraveled the spells on them and extracted the message that they’d left a sharp impression in his flesh.

  Those impressions would fade. The kind of impression Dorothea would make on his flesh if she decided this was somehow his fault . . .

  “Why?” Dorothea finally said, slowing to a more thoughtful pace.

  “We know the Gray Lady was hurt in the attack last spring,” Krelis said cautiously. “Perhaps more than we’d realized.”

  “But not enough. The Gray is still strong in Dena Nehele.” Dorothea tapped a long, red-tinted nail against her lips. “But if the body had been maimed . . .” She waved a hand at Krelis, as if he had dared to interrupt her. “An illusion web would be able to hide any disfigurement, but a crippled limb wouldn’t function properly and would be quite noticeable, especially since Grizelle’s stride is as well known as her power. What did your pet have to say about the little bitch?”

  Watching Dorothea’s hand stroke her rich red gown from breast to thigh, it took a moment for the words to sink in.

  “She’s a young Green-Jeweled Queen. Her name’s Arabella Ardelia. She says she’s taking them to Dena Nehele on the Gray Lady’s behalf.” He almost told her the rest and decided against it. Those kinds of details were his problem.

  “Grizelle’s daughter is a Black Widow,” Dorothea said, more thinking out loud than talking to him. “A well-trained one. She’d certainly be capable of creating an illusion web like that. But to trust a young witch with the task . . .”

  Krelis shrugged. “Maybe she resembles the Gray Lady more than other witches in the court.”

  Dorothea stopped pacing, an arrested look in her eyes. Then her lips curled in a malicious smile. “Of course.” She swayed toward him, lightly stroked his face, and drifted away. “You have a delightful mind, Lord Krelis.”

  Krelis wasn’t sure if his knees had jellied from the hot little sexual jolt she’d given him or from his fear of what her nails might have done to his face.

  Then he remembered all the plans that were being threatened by that little bitch-witch, and his fury drove out everyt
hing else.

  “I swear to you, Priestess, this Arabella Ardelia will never reach Dena Nehele.” Krelis laughed nastily. “Well, she may reach it, but what’s left of her won’t be any good to anyone.”

  Dorothea gave him a sharp, assessing look. “No,” she said slowly. “She is not to be harmed.”

  Krelis stared at her.

  “She is not to be harmed,” Dorothea repeated. “Bring her here.”

  “Why would you want that filth in Hayll?” Krelis’s voice quivered with outrage.

  Dorothea smiled as if he’d done something pleasing. “A young witch who would be trusted with such a task must be highly valued by the Queen and her First Circle, but she’s still just a pawn we might be able to use against the Gray Jewels—especially if Grizelle feels some emotional attachment to the girl. Here the little bitch can be taught to be of service.” Dorothea’s gold eyes glittered. “And if her own stubbornness or Grizelle’s unwillingness to extend some courtesies to Hayll results in the girl being disciplined, it’s something the Master of the Guard should see to personally. Don’t you think?”

  Krelis bowed. “I would be pleased to teach the little witch how to serve.” More than pleased.

  Dorothea studied him for a moment, then smiled. “I thought so.”

  With a measured stride, Krelis walked across the large courtyard that formed the center of the guards’ quarters. Discreetly hidden from the SaDiablo mansion by a stand of trees, the quarters were close enough for the guards to answer a summons quickly and yet still far enough away not to intrude on aristo pleasures.

  It also meant that the screams that accompanied punishment were distant enough not to arouse the Black Widows in Dorothea’s coven or the other witches in her First Circle. Or the High Priestess herself.

  And it meant that the female slaves who took care of the guards’ needs weren’t blatantly in evidence. Not that the witches didn’t know about them. They knew, just as they knew that the common female servants were used by the court males in the same way.

  Krelis walked toward the end of the courtyard, his eyes fixed on the naked man tied between the whipping posts. Using a hard cock was one way to get rid of anger.

  This was another.

  Krelis stopped a few yards away from the whipping post and waited for Lord Maryk to join him. “Everything ready?” he asked calmly, pleased that his voice betrayed none of his doubts or fears.

  Lord Maryk looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

  Moving slowly, as if he were stalking prey, Krelis circled the whipping posts until he stood in front of the marauder leader.

  “I helped you,” the man spat as he struggled against the leather straps holding him taut. “Is this how you honor your agreements?”

  Krelis slapped the marauder, just hard enough to sting. “You’re a fool,” Krelis replied, filling his voice with contempt.

  “We were ready for them. A perfect ambush about a mile from that bridge. I told you that. I brought you the buttons. How were we supposed to know the bitch would unleash witchfire like that?”

  Krelis cocked his head. “You didn’t try very hard to find out what happened to the wagon, did you? Didn’t try very hard to catch up with the bitch when you could have taken her by surprise.”

  The man looked at him defiantly. “We found the clearing. Found that rogues’ nest for you.”

  “Found it empty,” Krelis snapped. “If it hadn’t taken you three days to pick up the trail, it would have been stuffed with prey.”

  “Wouldn’t have mattered if they were there or not,” the man argued. “I told you what those protection spells were like.”

  “Yes, you told me,” Krelis replied, making sure the man understood he hadn’t believed half of what he’d been told. “But you didn’t have to take the risk. You didn’t have to flush them out. All you had to do was keep them in and send a message to me. I would have been there with enough trained guards to take care of them.”

  “I don’t see you sending any of your trained guards to do the hunting,” the marauder sneered. “I don’t see any Hayllians risking themselves against the Gray Lady.”

  Rage burned Krelis.

  Doubts and fear froze him for a moment, then, circling the whipping posts, he snatched the knotted, triple-tailed whip from a guard’s hand.

  The whip whistled through the air. Struck. Cut deep.

  “Beg for mercy,” Krelis snarled as he applied the lash over and over again. “Beg for Hayll’s mercy, and maybe I’ll let you go.”

  The man screamed, begged, pleaded.

  Deaf to all of it, Krelis let his anger sing through the whip.

  Long after the marauder stopped screaming, Krelis finally dropped the whip and turned away.

  Eyeing him warily, Lord Maryk stepped forward. “What should we do with that?”

  Krelis didn’t look back at the mess that had once been a man. “Castrate him and break him,” he said harshly. “Then let the slave Healer see what she can do. If he lives, work him.”

  Krelis walked away, fighting the need to run.

  Once he was safely inside his office, he closed the shutters on the windows that overlooked the courtyard and pulled a bottle and glass from a corner cabinet. His hands shook as he poured a large brandy, downed it, and poured another. By the third glass, he felt like he could take a steady breath.

  Turning, he stared at the two brass buttons that sat in the center of his desk.

  Deceitful, Gray-Jeweled bitch. Deceitful, cowardly bitch to hide within the borders of her Territory. It was one thing to be up against the Gray Lady’s cunning; it was quite another to have some Green-Jeweled chit running around making a fool of him. He should have had her by now. It would have been finished by now if the little bitch had shown some sense or leadership ability. About the only rational thing she’d done was continue to head northwest toward the Tamanara Mountains, and even then her choices had no rhyme or reason. She was either very smart or very stupid. Either way, it shamed him that she’d eluded him so far.

  Unless someone else was behind this.

  Like that Shalador Warlord.

  No. The man had spent the past nine years as a pleasure slave. He wouldn’t have many useful skills outside the bedroom, while he, Krelis, had spent centuries training to be a warrior, a guard.

  He would show everyone, including the older guards who still had doubts about his ability to command, that he was worthy of being Master of the Guard by bringing the Gray Lady to her knees.

  Except Dorothea wasn’t helping, which was something he hadn’t calculated on and didn’t dare point out. Perhaps it was better to say she was helping too much. That trap she’d convinced another Black Widow to set at the creek hadn’t done anything except spoil a good ambush. And no amount of gold marks and promised favors would keep marauder bands on the hunt if they became worried about getting caught in someone else’s trap.

  There was nothing he could do about Dorothea, but that little bitch-witch . . .

  She was threatening all his plans, all his dreams. What made these puny, flash-in-the-pan races think they could be anything but Hayll’s servants? The Green-Jeweled bitch might see a hundred years. He could reach five thousand. Who was she to snuff out his ambitions? She would be gone in a finger-snap of time while he would reap the rewards or suffer the disappointments for centuries to come.

  While he might fear being so close to her, Dorothea had the power and the vision to rule the entire Realm of Terreille. Hell’s fire, almost half the Realm already stood in Hayll’s shadow. And all those Territories would eventually need overseers to remind them of Hayll’s greatness and ensure that they remained loyal.

  When the time came, why shouldn’t he be one of them? Why shouldn’t he receive the wealth of a Territory’s tithes and the power that was the right of those who ruled?

  And with that influence, why shouldn’t he have a light-Jeweled witch for a wife, one who would be so grateful for the safety he offered that she’d submit to his wishes, in
bed and out? Why shouldn’t his children serve in important positions in a court?

  Lady Arabella Ardelia threatened all of it. All of it.

  Krelis carefully set the glass on the desk.

  He would find her. He would bring her back to Hayll. He would teach her how to serve like a good little witch.

  Just like he’d taught that other little bitch-Queen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So what’s wrong with the horses?” Jared asked.

  Blaed and Thayne exchanged looks, each one waiting for the other to say something.

  Watching them, Jared tried to still a growing uneasiness. He’d pushed the group hard yesterday, partly to put as much distance between them and the clearing as possible and partly because pushing himself physically was the only way he knew to stay sane and not hurt anyone. Thank the Darkness, the rut had only lasted one day, but it had been a long, miserable day. If his pushing had injured the horses . . .

  Jared eyed the team hitched to the wagon. “Is one of them lame?”

  “No, no, nothing serious like that,” Blaed said hastily.

  Jared ground his teeth. The rut might be over, but his temper was still frayed. “Then why aren’t we moving?”

  Thayne gave Blaed a “go on, tell him” look.

  Blaed glared at his friend and then turned back to Jared. He looked like a man who had just bared his throat after handing a witch a well-honed knife. “It’s just—” Sighing, he raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “We think they’re sulking.”

  Jared stared at the two younger men long enough to make them squirm. “Sulking?”

  Thayne flinched.

  Blaed huffed, then gingerly put his hand on Jared’s shoulder, leading him a little ways from the wagon.

  Confused, Jared let himself be led. Brock and Randolf were on the saddle horses, scouting ahead. The others had stopped walking once they realized the wagon had fallen so far behind and were just starting to drift back to find out why. Lia was safely tucked in the wagon. And Thayne already knew what the problem was.

  So who wasn’t supposed to overhear this conversation? The horses?