“Put this on, and then dismount,” he said. “It will be easier if we walk.”
Surprised by the blunt tone of his voice, she did as he instructed. He reached to help her down and as her bare feet touched the warmed earth, their bodies were but a hand’s width apart. She risked a look up at him and saw an expression in his eyes she could not comprehend. He touched her cheek with his forefinger, gently, then turned and grasped the sa’abah’s lead.
“Come. This way.”
She followed him down a tricky patch of stones and was glad that she was no longer riding. The sa’abah’s long, powerful toes found secure grips, but it would have been thrown off balance with two riders atop its back.
Suddenly, Jashemi stopped so abruptly she almost walked into him. He looked back, puzzled, then smiled. Her heart lifted to see that expression on his face.
“I walked right past it,” he said. “Good. No one who doesn’t know what to look for will find it.”
He retraced his steps and Kevla now saw, hidden by an apparently random group of stones, a narrow entrance into the mountain.
“The sa’abah won’t want to go in,” Jashemi said. “Hold him, Kevla.” She did so and he slipped inside, reappearing a moment later with hands that were cupped to hold—
“Water!” she cried.
“Yes,” he said. “There’s a natural spring in here. I found this place when I was a boy.” He held out his dripping hands to the creature. Its long purple tongue crept out and lapped the precious liquid, and when Jashemi coaxed it with soft words, it sniffed, scented the water, and hesitantly entered the cave.
Kevla followed, stepping into a cool darkness that was startling after the glare of the sun. It took her several blinks before her eyes adjusted. The cave wasn’t large, and the little spring was nothing compared to the luxurious pool at the House of Four Waters. But the cave was big enough for the three of them, and it had water.
Kevla rushed toward the pool and began to drink. Jashemi and the sa’abah joined her. Kevla splashed some on her face and closed her eyes at how good it felt.
“I’m sorry I have no food,” Jashemi said as he leaned back against the stone wall. “But at least there is water.”
Kevla looked down at her wet hands. She did not know where to begin. The sa’abah, its thirst slaked for the moment, loped back toward the entrance of the cave, settled its bulk down, and closed its eyes.
“You may bathe if you like,” he said. When she hesitated, he said, “I’ll turn around.”
“It’s not that,” she began, “but Jashemi, you—”
The odd look on his face stopped her. “Wash, Kevla,” he said gently. “We’ll talk afterward.”
He turned around as he had promised. Kevla felt utterly miserable. Everything had changed so suddenly, and so completely. She was alive because of Jashemi, but she had never wanted him to be put at risk.
She did not immerse herself, but stood and sluiced down her sun-heated skin with the cool fluid as best she could. She felt a little better, a little cleaner, and shrugged into the rhia. “I am done, my lord,” she said softly. He whirled as if stung, and this time she had no trouble reading his expression. He was angry.
“Don’t call me that!”
Startled and hurt by the outburst, Kevla went to sit with the sa’abah while Jashemi took his turn in the pool. She heard him splash in the water. Finally, he said, “You can turn around now.”
She turned and looked at him. The fine fabric of his breeches clung to his damp legs. His torso glistened in the faint light and his dark, wet hair curled.
Seldom had she beheld him so, out of his well-made clothing, without a kerchief or wrap around his head. She remembered when he had been a boy, come home from his first battle, the first time he had taken a life. She had seen the healing scar that snaked across his chest and had held him while he wept. That scar had faded now, but new ones had joined it, marring the otherwise smooth, brown skin. His body was beautifully fashioned, his chest broad, his hips narrow. A thin trail of dark hair traveled from his belly and disappeared into his breeches, and she averted her eyes.
Kevla understood how men were made. Her mother had seen to it that Kevla knew just about all there was to know about how men and women came together. But knowing something and seeing it, or even imagining it—that was something different.
He padded over to her and sat. “Kevla,” he said gently, “tell me what happened.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt the khashima,” she said.
His eyes widened slightly. “I am sure you didn’t, but…she was hurt? Was it bad?”
Kevla took a deep breath, and as calmly as she could she explained what had happened. He listened without interrupting, his eyes fastened on her face, nodding from time to time. When she had finished, she pulled her knees into her chest and clasped them. He put a strong hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, then let it fall.
“I, too, have had something happen to me,” he said. “I have learned that I am not alone in my dreaming. We all stayed quiet for fear we would be condemned. There is an army of an Emperor gathering force on the other side of the mountains. His standard has a strange creature on it called a ki-lyn. I have seen this beast in my dreams. Many have died. I am doing what I can to unite the clans and stand against this, and I know that somehow my dreams and your abilities have manifested at this time for this reason—to protect our people.”
She buried her face in her arms. “I wish I could believe you. I wish I did not have these powers.”
“Kevla, look at me.” She did and found him smiling. His gaze seemed to bore right through her. Why was it so hard to breathe?
“I know,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “that your powers are not from the kulis, any more than my dreams are. I know you only wanted to save our—our Clan leader. There is nothing evil about you.” He reached to brush a strand of damp hair from her face. “Nothing.”
Tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. “Oh, Jashemi,” she said thickly, “I am so sorry. Your father will be angry with you for helping me.”
A shadow fell over his face and he looked away. A terrible suspicion filled her. “Jashemi,” she said slowly. “Jashemi, what will happen to you?”
He sighed heavily. “He will disown me. I will be Jashemi Bai-kha, who has no father or mother. And he will track us down until he finds us and puts us both to death.”
Kevla’s hand went to her mouth, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then a cry burst from her.
“No!” she screamed. “No! I will not be the one to bring this on you!” She leaped to her feet and reached for the sa’abah.
“What are you doing?” Jashemi’s hand closed on her arm.
“I’m going to ride back to the House,” she said. “Persuade him to take you back. If they have me they won’t need to kill you, too.”
“But you’ll die!”
“Better that than live with having done this to you!”
He had both her wrists now. She struggled against him. Why had he come for her? Why?
“Kevla, listen to me!” He shook her roughly. “Listen! I knew exactly what would happen! I chose this! I saw that you were in trouble and I came. I had to because—” His voice broke and then softly he said, “Because I love you.”
She stared at him, stunned. He released her and went to the other side of the cave, not looking at her. Sighing, he sat down and put his head in his hands.
“I should not have said that,” he said. “For many reasons. Kevla, there is something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”
The tone of his voice filled her with dread. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said.
“Kevla—”
“No.” She rushed to his side and dropped down beside him. “You have a wife, Jashemi.”
“Not any more. Not now. I am dead to her.” He didn’t look at her. “And I did not love her. On our wedding night, when we—when I—all I could think of was how
much I wished it was you instead. She deserves better.”
“Oh,” said Kevla, weakly.
“And when they came for you—I saw you, as if you were right there. You were in trouble.” He shrugged. “I came. I could have done nothing else.”
He knew he spoke the truth. He could no more have refused to ride to her than he could have grasped the sun in his fist. The bond that he had sensed between them the moment they had first locked gazes at the feast had only strengthened with time. It was stronger than a blood tie; stronger even than a love bond. He was a part of her, and she of him.
He had intended to tell her of their common parentage. Instead, what had come out was a confession of a love that should never have been.
Jashemi tried again. “Kevla, we—”
“Are bound to each other,” she whispered. At the tone of her voice, he looked up at her.
“But how could that be? I tried to resist it. You were the khashim’s son, and I a lowly Bai-sha. There was no way in the world that we could be together, and so I did not even dare dream of it. Yet you kept pushing, kept creating ways for us to be together. So I saw you in secret, touched your hand, embraced you when you wept.” She smiled slightly. “Played Shamizan with you. And I convinced myself to be content with that.”
A terrible, wonderful hope rose in him, a hope that made him feel weak and powerful at the same time. It was possible, now….
“But you are no longer a khashim’s son,” she continued. She moved toward him, sat down beside him. His throat was dry and he could not speak. “The world has changed. There is no life for us here, only death. You speak of a land over the mountains—we could go there, Jashemi. We could go there and start again.”
Kevla’s gaze held him. “We have nothing left but each other. Am…am I being a fool to think that we have that?”
He shook his head, still unable to find words. Licking dry lips, he said hoarsely, “No.”
She held out her hand to him and he took it. Palm to palm, fingers slowly entwining, Jashemi trembled from even this simple touch. He had held her before, but everything was different now.
As they gazed into one another’s eyes, Jashemi made his decision. He would not tell her. He couldn’t, not now that he knew she loved him in return. There was no need for her to know that she was his half sister. All who cared about such things considered them already dead. Jashemi would not let this stand in the way of their happiness. Surely, even the Great Dragon would feel they had suffered enough.
Slowly, she brought his hand between her breasts as she leaned forward and placed her hand over his heart. He felt her heartbeat, strong and fast, against his fingers, and knew she could feel his own heart racing. He covered her hand with his, pressing her fingers into his smooth skin.
Kevla moved closer, kissing his hand with soft lips and then releasing it. Her fingers traveled over his chest, caressing the old and new scars, brushing his unshaven cheeks, slowly discovering him. When she ran a finger over his lips he jumped, nerves on fire. A smile touched her face, and he knew that for the first time she was experiencing the power a woman had over the man who loved her. It was impossible for him to resist touching her in return. He ran his fingers through her thick hair, savoring its softness even as he gently undid the snarls the wind had wrought.
She closed her eyes and leaned toward him. Their lips brushed lightly, and the pleasure was torment, taut and lingering. He breathed her in through his open mouth; scents and tastes of smoke and honey. Unable to bear it any longer, Jashemi permitted himself to do what he had dreamed of for almost half his life; he tangled his fingers in her hair, pulled her to him and kissed her deeply.
Her response excited him even more. She opened her sweetness to him and pressed into him so they sat heart to heart. Kevla still wore his rhia, and he felt her breasts through the fabric that scratched his bare chest.
Kevla was lost in pleasure, lost in love for this man. He had always been such a profound presence in her life, and always, she had buried any feelings that were not acceptable. Now, she finally gave free rein to her passion.
We are one. We always have been. Why did it take this for us to dare to claim that?
Jashemi broke the kiss and she made a soft sound of protest. She fell silent in delight as he kissed her throat where the vein pulsed, flicking his tongue lightly over the vulnerable hollow at the base of her neck. She pulled him tighter, gripping his thick hair. She felt a tentative brush of his hands on her breasts through the rhia and suddenly ached for him to touch her.
The garment was a barrier to the contact she so urgently needed, and she moved away and struggled out of it. Kevla heard a gasp of breath and found Jashemi staring at her, full of awe at beholding what the rhia had hidden from him. She had been naked earlier, when he had ridden to her and helped her escape. She remembered the strength of his body as he clutched her briefly, saw the love in his eyes when she reached down from the sa’abah, refusing to abandon him as he had refused to abandon her. But then, survival had been the pressing need. Now, she offered herself to him, her nakedness her gift, her choice.
He lifted her eyes to hers and for a long moment neither moved, not touching, only their gazes locked together. Then Jashemi’s face flushed and he reached for her again. Kevla went joyfully into his arms, shuddering with pleasure as her nipples brushed his chest. She was dizzy as her senses were flooded and surrendered to the sensations. His kiss this time was fierce, but she responded with an intensity that matched his.
Jashemi had never imagined it could be like this; this pleasure so intense it was pain; this joy making his heart swell until he thought surely it must burst. The gentleness was gone and he knew he was being rough with her, but she seemed to want this as much as he.
Her hands moved down his chest, over his flat stomach. He tensed in anticipation. When her fingers lightly stroked him through the thin fabric of his breeches, he cried aloud in surprised delight.
She drew her hand back and asked, “Have I hurt you? I thought men enjoyed—”
“We do,” he gasped. “I do. You heard my pleasure, beloved, not my pain.”
Kevla looked unconvinced. By the Dragon, he could take her right now; could have taken her easily before she had even laid one of those exquisite fingers on him. He swallowed hard and asked gently, “Please…touch me again.”
She did, at first hesitantly and then with growing confidence, and he shuddered. His kurjah strained against the breeches and impatiently he sat up to remove them. He heard a slight intake of breath.
“There is nothing to fear, my love,” he said hoarsely. “But I will stop at a word.”
She looked at him then, with eyes that smoldered. “I want this,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Jashemi, I want you…I have wanted you for so long….”
Growling in the back of his throat he pulled her down on top of him. His freed kurjah pressed hard against the softness of her belly as their mouths met and the sensation was so intense he almost climaxed. He tensed, holding himself back, wanting to make this first joining exquisite and bring her as much pleasure as she was giving him.
He sat up, taking her with him, and kissed her between her breasts. She folded him close and laid her cheek on his hair. For a moment, they clung to one another, eager to continue exploring and discovering, loath to relinquish the sweetness of this moment.
Holding Kevla securely with one strong arm, Jashemi reached for the rhia she had discarded. He spread it on the cold stone. She smiled at the gesture.
“I would it were the softest bed in the land for you, my love,” he said, easing her onto her back and moving away from her slightly. “I would feed you dates and honey from my lips, like so,” he said, kissing her repeatedly, “and cover you with rare and precious oils, thus,” and his hands moved over her perfect body, worshipping her as she lay naked and opening to him.
Kevla closed her eyes and drank in the sensations of his hands on her. She gasped as he touched her breasts gently, then
more firmly, and quivered in anticipation as he bent to take the hard peaks into his mouth. Already flooded with pleasure, she jumped when she felt his strong, sensitive fingers reach between her thighs to touch her with the lightest of strokes. She pulled his face to hers, closing her lips on his in a kiss that was as much a devouring as a caress.
She felt him trembling as though he stood in a strong wind, he, Jashemi, son of a khashim, was trembling in her embrace. He pulled back and she reached to stroke the beloved face that was, after so many years of desiring and denial, finally hers to touch.
Tears stung Jashemi’s eyes as her fingers brushed his cheek, and all playfulness fled before the power of his adoration of her.
Oh, Kevla. I love you so much. I will never let any harm come to you.
Jashemi’s skin prickled with a sudden, swift knowing. He grasped her face between his hands, locking his gaze with hers, and when he spoke, his words were laced with a passionate urgency.
“There is destiny here. I feel it…I know it. We were meant to be together. I belong to you completely, Kevla. I always have, and I always will. No matter what happens—no matter who or what we are—know that I am yours.”
His knees parted her thighs and she opened willingly to him. He could hold back no longer.
“You are my soul,” he whispered.
His mind, heart and senses ablaze with love for this woman, he pressed gently at her entrance. He wanted to go slowly, to cause her as little pain as possible, but he was not sure he—
Kevla uttered a deep, primal sound, and then moved her own hips fiercely, deliberately impaling herself on him.
Jashemi cried out in ecstasy as he entered her. She was so wet, so hot, he felt as if he was being engulfed by the molten fire that sometimes streamed from Mount Bari. She hissed in pain and he kissed her, sorry to have hurt her, regretting nothing else about this joining.
Slowly, Jashemi moved his hips, building a rhythm, bracing himself on his arms to watch her face. She opened her eyes and their gazes locked as he moved inside her.
On Fire’s Wings Page 24
