by Renee Wildes
Trystan reached up to brush them away. “Ye have the littles who love an’ need ye. Ye have friends who care for ye, too. Ye have a good life, Finora. What we canna change we can endure. Ye’re stronger than ye know.”
She searched his eyes for pity, saw compassion and understanding in his face.
“Ye need t’ take yer mind off the dark things,” he said.
“What do you suggest?” she whispered.
He answered, but not with words. He leaned forward to brush her lips with his. His kiss was tender, undemanding. She laid her hand against his cheek and sighed, parting her lips under his. She shivered as he deepened the kiss, the stroke of his tongue against hers bringing her to tingling awareness. She curled her fingers through his hair to hold him closer. It had been so long since a man had held her, and never with such care. It made her tremble, uncertain.
Heat poured off him in waves, and she breathed in his unique scent. Wild and dark, like the deepest shaded forests, a hint of earth and spice. It wrapped about her like a blanket, warm and comforting. Always she’d flamed fast and hot. Trystan took his time, stroking her arms with his hands, teasing her tongue with his. Long, leisurely kisses. Drugging her senses with a slow steady burn. She relaxed, luxuriating in the novelty of seduction.
He broke off the kiss, and she bit back a whimper of protest. But he moved to the sensitive column of her throat, the unfamiliar brush of his beard making her shiver. He scraped his teeth over her pulse. It hammered against his lips with the pounding of her heart, and she arched her neck, gasping his name in his ear. Desire clouded her mind. Her body came alive as her world shrank down to taste, scent, touch.
Trystan.
She shifted in his arms, clutched his shoulders, stroked down over his chest. Her fingers brushed the amulet around his neck, and she opened her eyes to see that odd creature, a wolf’s head with an eagle’s wings and beak, staring at her. It startled her right back into focus. “Where’d you get this?” she asked.
He groaned, half laughing. “Me sister. We’re no’ goin’ t’ talk about me sister, are we?”
Her cheeks heated and she shook her head.
“Good.” He cupped his hand around her breast, rubbing his thumb across her nipple. A sharp dart of pure need struck, tightening her womb. Her nipple pebbled beneath the material of her gown. His lips found a spot on her neck that made her choke and he suckled on the skin there hard enough to leave a mark, soothing her with his tongue.
Stars, he made her burn. Burn for more. Finora pulled his head up for another open-mouthed kiss. Every stroke of his velvet tongue intensified the aching need. His hands were magic, teasing her into an agony of yearning. She fell back onto the cool grass, wrapped her arms around him to slide her hands under his shirt, caressing hot skin over hard muscle. He settled between her thighs, his hard length pulsing against her swelling, softening core. She twisted restlessly, rolled her hips. Her entire body throbbed with the need for the glide of skin on skin, and she choked back a sob of pure frustration at the confining layers of clothing.
Trystan pulled back with a muffled curse. His eyes gleamed down at her, a naked wanting on his face to match her own. “Sweet mother, lass, but ye make me burn.” His voice had deepened, rough with passion. He grasped her hands, stilled her caresses.
She arched up against the hard press of his body. “Please,” she whispered.
He shuddered. “I’ll no’ take ye on the cold ground like a ruttin’ beast,” he growled. “Take me t’ yer bed, lass. Let me make this time what it should be.”
It wasn’t the place, but the man. And that varden bed was too far away. She needed him now. To her utter amazement, he rolled off her, scooped her up into his arms and strode toward the cottage. Finora leaned forward to lick the salt from his skin, catching a bead of sweat with the tip of her tongue.
He staggered, closed his eyes and turned his face skyward. “Ye’re killin’ me, woman.”
Good. The feeling was mutual. If he’d make her wait, she’d make him pay. The entire way. She slid her hand down his chest to pinch his nipple.
The word that escaped his clenched jaw wasn’t one she’d ever heard, nor did she understand its exact meaning. The tone of strangled frustration, however, she was intimately familiar with. She burned, she ached, she needed. Him. Now.
Somehow he opened the door and made it inside, shutting the door behind them. The fire burned low in the hearth. Trystan’s face flickered with light and shadow in the wavering glow. Finora stroked her palm down the side of his face, her fingers gliding over his tattoo down to smooth his beard, trace the seam of his lips. He turned his face to press his lips against her palm, kissing his way down to her wrist. He traced the veins with his tongue, and the rough hair against her sensitive skin made her shiver in anticipation of that beard brushing across her in other places.
And then they were in her bedroom, behind the final closed door. At last. Moonlight poured over the unmade bed, made the entire room glow. Trystan’s eyes gleamed at her as he set her down. She quivered as she slid down the length of his body. He reached out with shaking hands for her laces, loosening them enough to slide her gown off her shoulders, down her arms and body until the material pooled in a heap around her ankles.
Finora bit her lip as his gaze traveled down, over her body. Hers was no longer the sleek suppleness of a young girl. Her breasts hung heavier, her hips had widened, and no amount of physical activity made the slight rise of her abdomen flatten. She looked like what she was—a mature woman who’d borne more than one child. But when his gaze returned to hers, his eyes shone with open appreciation, like a man who admired what he saw. Who wanted what he saw.
“What are you looking at?” she whispered.
“At the lush curves o’ a beautiful woman, who knows what she wants, an’ for t’night she wants me,” he replied hoarsely. “Show me, lass, show me what ye want.”
He was a true miracle. She took his hands in hers, bringing them to her breasts. His calloused fingers curled around the soft globes. She fit into his big hands perfectly. She sighed at his touch. Trystan groaned and pulled away.
“I ’pear t’ be o’erdressed,” he rasped. She moved to help him, but he stayed her hands. “Nay, lass, I’m hangin’ on by a thread here. Touch me now an’ I’m done for.” He unwound the plaid cloth, yanking his shirt over his head to toss it somewhere behind him. He hauled her close. Hot skin, slick with sweat, slid against hot skin. The crisp grey hair that sprinkled his chest teased her nipples, and she gasped at the foreign sensation. He locked her to him with his arms, with his lips, and tumbled her down onto the bed, rolling her beneath him.
Finora shifted against him, her legs tangling with his. He broke off the kiss to stare down at her. His face was flushed, his eyes gleamed with desire. For her. He leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth, teasing her with the tip of his tongue, drawing hard. Heat struck her, low and fast. She closed her eyes and clutched his hair, arching into his mouth with a shivery cry. He surrounded her—his scent, the heat of his body, the strength of his arms. He knew where to touch her, when, how much. His hands, his lips, his tongue…
She lost herself in a world of pure, wanton liquid need. Her entire body shivered in reaction as his beard brushed across the sensitized skin of her stomach, as Trystan slid his hand down to stroke his fingers through the dark curls that shielded her molten response to him. She needed him to ease the ache. He made her burn hotter, until she writhed against him. Begging, pleading, her words incoherent to her own ears until the words died away and all she could manage was a gasp, or a choked sob.
“Sweet mother, lass, when ye leap ye just close yer eyes an’ jump.” There was wonder in his voice.
How was he still able to speak? Finora shook in his arms, gasping for air, panting under him, her entire body afire. ’Twas a wonder the bed itself didn’t burst into flames. He stroked her, gliding his fingers through her cream and circling the tiny hidden bud, mimicking the motion with his tongu
e on her nipple. She arched into his mouth, into his hand, legs tangling with his. She was so close…
Trystan moved down, sliding her legs over his shoulders. Through a red haze, she felt the first probing touch of his tongue. She stiffened in shock, but it felt too wondrous to protest. She ached, she needed this. She clutched at his hair and moved on his mouth, swelling even more. Her thighs trembled as she rubbed against him. He suckled the tiny bud that was the center of her passion, and need coiled tight. With a flash of heat and a muffled cry she shattered around him.
Trystan raised up to probe her pulsing wet heat with the hard proof of his own arousal. Finora wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him into her, in one smooth mind-blowing motion. She gasped. It had been too long. He was huge, he stretched her to near-discomfort.
He groaned. “Easy, lass, wait but a moment. Relax.” He kissed her, slid his tongue over her lower lip, and she shivered at the taste of herself on her own tongue. Trystan nibbled his way down her neck, reaching up to knead her breasts with his hands. At her liquid response, her softening, he eased back, and then thrust home again. Her body clutched his in an age-old rhythm she was powerless to resist. Finora pushed him, tightening her muscles when he would have gentled his thrusts, quickening her pace when he would have slowed down. She grabbed his hands, pulled them above her head, slid her hands free so he held her wrists. She tilted her hips, tightening her body even more, driving him deeper.
Trystan understood. “Ye need it hard an’ fast, now, lass, so be it.” He held her down, slammed into her body in a frenzy of thrusts, driven now to reach his own climax. The heat was unbelievable as she panted under him, lost in a burning white need. Her body tightened anew, and this time she felt his climax boil up around him, through him, in time with her own. His body shuddered as his seed spurted deep within her body. She came again, her channel milking him.
He collapsed on the bed, releasing her wrists to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. He rolled onto his back, so she lay sprawled over him, still joined to him. Finora laid her head on his chest, her hair blanketing his skin. His heart thundered in her ear as he stroked her back and took a deep, shuddering breath.
Finora was stunned. She’d never known passion like what she’d just experienced with Trystan, never knew ’twas even possible afore tonight. He didn’t feel like a stranger. Her entire body hummed, and an unfamiliar lethargy weighed her down. She relaxed against him, purred and stroked a hand down his side, quivering with the lingering aftershocks as his body softened and slipped from her own. She sighed, trying to get her breathing under control.
Trystan pulled the covers up over them and drew her close, as if he was loath to let her go. Warmth crept over her, through her, and she closed her eyes, relaxing as she slid toward sleep. “Ssh, I’ve got ye,” he murmured. “Close yer eyes an’ rest. No more dark dreams t’night. Just sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Talk… They had a lot to talk about. But she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move, let alone think or talk. It was enough just to be held, sheltered in his strong arms, enveloped in the comfort of his warm body, his wild scent. She drifted off to the sound of his heart beating in her ear, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, rocking her to sleep.
Chapter Five
Spiridon the man opened his eyes and stared down at the blonde hair of the woman kneeling between his legs. His body still shook from the aftershocks of climax, and lingering energy sizzled along every nerve ending. Amazing the water in the marble tub didn’t luminesce. Two days. Two days it had taken to restore his powers. There was something to be said for sex magic, even with mortals. This one, whatever her name was, had a talented mouth. Power refilled him to overflowing, pulsing with the need to do something.
Spiridon the beast growled with the need to tear out the woman’s throat for not being her.
The chambermaid looked up at the sound and smiled, vapid blue eyes alight. She probably thought he growled in appreciation for her efforts, which were prodigious.
Stupid cow.
Prey.
He curled his fingers into fists, wrestled the power down. “Go,” he ordered, afore he did something he wouldn’t regret.
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Do ye wish me to finish yer bath first?” Blood would ruin the rare Kumarian carpet—lucky for her. “Out!” he thundered, pointing toward the door.
Her none-too-honed survival instinct kicked in, and she sloshed out of the shallow water and fled the room. Sinking back down into the warm water, he closed his eyes and fought for control of his beast. Her fear should have pleased him, but it didn’t. He could summon only contempt and disgust. Mortals were too easy. Their minds were weak, they were no challenge to control. It got harder and harder to let them walk out that door. Unfortunately, if he started shredding bedmates, it would become harder and harder to find one. They already feared him, but were unable to resist the allure and compulsion of his beast. He needed their compliance. Sex magic was safer than blood magic.
The only one who didn’t fear him was Anuk. His daughter. And even his beast shied away from that thought.
There was her, that insidious voice whispered. Even after hundreds of years, it never quieted. His control snapped. The beast within roared and broke free. He flung his hand toward the hearth as flames shot across the room. He’d barely time to roll out of the tub afore the shift. Every bone popped, muscles stretched, as scales burst through his skin. The room shrank as he flashed back into true-form.
The beast.
The dragon.
The door opened and Anuk herself strode in. Her cold, golden eyes swept his form and her lip curled. “You’re scaring the peasants again.”
He growled as she marched up to him and placed her hand on her hip.
“You need their cooperation for this plan of yours to succeed,” she reminded him. “Get control of yourself.” Her voice was a whip of contempt. It cracked along his hide. Damn queen. Even a lifetime under his rule—he couldn’t call it control—failed to crush that accursed arrogance from her.
She was too much like her mother.
She was too much like her.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“Reed is here, requesting an audience.”
He held his shields locked in place. “Looking for a ship, I’m sure.”
She crossed her arms. “You could pick a worse captain.”
“He sank his last ship. You’d have me give him another?” Spiridon fought the urge to shred the pillow, the mattress, the help.
“The Fates and the weather sank his ship. You know as well as I do it happens. The sea goddess of these waters—Cilaniestra, they call Her—takes what She wants to take. The people here accept that as a historical fact. He’s still the best candidate. He knows these waters.”
“And do you think you can convince him to join us?”
Her smile was chilling. “I think I can…persuade him.”
She suspected naught. He was glad that smile wasn’t aimed at him. “Then go…entertain…our guest. I shall be along shortly.”
“Whatever you say.” She turned and strode out.
Whatever you say. He curled his talons along the marble flooring at her mocking tone. Thank the gods he’d had the foresight to not teach her sorcery. She was dangerous enough as it was. He’d told her it was a male talent and she’d not challenged his word.
Thus far.
Spiridon flashed back down to man-form and raked a hand through his hair as he contemplated the enigma of his daughter. Had he made a mistake all those years ago, stealing back what was his? Mayhaps centuries of exile had clouded his judgment. The blood bond wasn’t quite enough to stay the constant discomfort of two predators under the same roof.
He hoped similar goals would be.
Shaking his head, he strode over to the wardrobe, examining his choices for the meeting with Reed. Anuk was right. Reed was the best candidate to command the fleet, and now thanks to Cilani
estra he was available. He’d become sorely depleted from the summoning ritual. That barbaric sea goddess was not an easy ally. And yet, the spell had worked. The Sunrisen was no more, and her captain was on his way here. It all came together as planned.
Well, Spiridon amended, there wasn’t a fleet just yet. But there soon would be.
And then they would pay for their insolence, their treachery. Those accursed, archaic mountain clans. How dare they lure her away from his side?
How dare she go?
But he’d shown her. He’d show them. He’d show them all. He would not rest until the last guardian-worshipper was but a distant memory. Mayhaps then the voices would be silent.
Mayhaps then he’d have peace.
***
Anuk narrowed her eyes as she stared through the crack in the door at the bald man standing aside the library fireplace. This Captain Reed was tall for a human, with a proud stance and shoulders broad as the doorway. His breeches clung to long, muscular legs, and she wondered what color his eyes were.
What color would they turn in arousal, should she bother to seduce him? Her father wanted him swayed, but he’d said naught about seducing the man. However, Anuk was bored and seldom listened to her father anyway. She smoothed the sapphire velvet of her skirt over her hips. The color flattered both her fair skin and the fiery copper of her hair. Tiny seed pearls framed her bosom. A matching sapphire pendant on a pearl necklace nestled in her cleavage. Captain Reed wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her.
She swept into the room, savoring the scent of sea air and sandalwood. He turned at her entrance, and she counted to three afore the musk in the room increased. The air thickened with his awareness of her. Men were all the same. None withstood the lure of her beast for long. But to his credit, this one kept his gaze on her face after a single, quick all-encompassing glance.
His eyes were green, a smoky ever-changing jade. Intriguing.
