As many times as it took to ready her for the Great Rite in the temple of Lufra.
Though his soul ached for her pain, he could hardly wait to begin again. But she had to come out of it alive and heart-whole. He’d make sure she did.
Even if he didn’t.
Anje uncoiled long, supple limbs and rose. Her breasts trembled with each shallow breath and Brin let his insolent gaze wander. His palms itched.
As she stalked past, he scooped up a shirt and tossed it to her. Without pausing, she snagged it in midair and left the tent, head held high.
Anje pulled the shirt on over her head as she emerged into the sunlight. It was Trey’s. Funny, she could tell immediately by the light masculine scent that clung to it. Brin smelled darker, spicier.
Huffing with irritation, she strode past the pool. Her boots sat in the sun, stuffed with grass to hold their shape as they dried. Tugging them on, she was too thankful to spurn the thoughtfulness. Because she was going to run, and run. And run.
She wasn’t a fool. Brin made Deklan look like a fumbling boy and as for Trey… There was something about him, a bravado and a vulnerability, that made her mouth water.
So she was leaving, as fast and as silently as possible. And once she’d completed her duty and delivered the map, she’d track them down, one at a time, and take them apart.
On her own terms.
She increased her pace up the slope until she was almost running. Brin, the arrogant fool, would allow her enough time to relieve herself and wash. She’d retrieve her pack from its hiding place on the ridge and fade into the forest.
Magic torques! She snorted as she shoved the undergrowth aside, snatching up her pack to check on the map. Turning to survey the peaceful camp one last time, she backed away down a forest path.
Safe. The breath whistled out between her teeth and her stride lengthened.
A brisk five minutes later, she came out on the far side of the camp. Nothing moved in the sun, save the pod of grazing vranee.
Muttering an oath, she plunged back into the trees. She must have got turned around somehow. Embarrassing for a scout, but it happened sometimes.
After half an hour of effort, she leaned against the trunk of a tree, the shirt plastered to her back with sweat and her heart hammering. It didn’t matter which direction she chose, whether she walked, trotted or ran, her feet turned her around and brought her back to the camp.
Sobbing with frustration, she pulled out her spare blade and wrenched it from the scabbard. It was razor sharp, but she’d gone beyond caring if she cut her own throat. Slipping it beneath the torque, she sawed with increasing desperation.
A firm hand stayed hers. “It won’t work, Anje.” Trey stood beside her, kindness in his hazel eyes. “Nothing does, except trust.”
She spat an epithet and gave him her back. The Matriarchs would be expecting her. She needed to be gone.
Now.
“The greater the trust, the greater the distance.”
At that, she glanced over her shoulder. Trey smiled, cocky and sweet. “You could try it, you know.”
“Trusting Brin?” She meant it to sound derisive, but it came out as a wistful croak.
“There’s no one like him.” Trey’s smile faded.
Anje let herself slide to the base of the tree. She stretched her legs out in front of her with a sigh. “Thank the Mother for that.” She slanted a glance at Trey. “Who is he? What is he?”
“He’s the most powerful shaman among our people, dragon-anointed.” Trey settled neatly beside her.
“By a real dragon?” she queried scornfully.
“No.” Trey’s lush mouth curved and for a moment, she let herself be distracted. “You’ll see.” He leaned his head back against the tree, gazing up into the canopy.
In repose, his features were not boyish after all. There was dignity in the broad, clear forehead, strength in that stubborn jaw. Commitment. She had a sudden insight. “You’d die for him, wouldn’t you?”
He shot her a glance. “Yes.”
The sound of the vranee tearing at the tough grass was loud in the silence. A harness jingled.
“Would he do the same for you?”
“He almost has.” Trey’s smile was wry. “More than once.”
“Tell me.”
“Ah.” The smile broadened to a grin. “There’s a price to be paid for stories.”
She knew that expression. Heat roiled in her belly. “Fine. So don’t tell me.”
Trey drew his knuckle down her cheek in a feathery caress. She shivered and slapped him away. “But it’s such a small price. A trifle.”
When she pointedly refused to ask, he chuckled. “A kiss, sweetheart. Just a kiss.”
“Don’t be adolescent.”
Trey shrugged.
After a few moments of breathing silence, she said, “One?”
“One. After the story.”
Know your enemy, she thought. “Tell me then.”
Trey sat up and faced her. His eyes sparkled, more gold than green, even under the trees. He laced his fingers over his knees.
“I met Brin when I was sixteen. I’d heard of him, of course, who in Feolin hadn’t? The greatest warrior, the greatest shaman and still only twenty-six. And Lufra, the offerings he made! Unsurpassed!”
“Offerings?”
“We told you.” He shifted his hips. “Yesterday.” He cupped himself, almost absently. “Orgasms sustain Lufra and in return She stands between the Feolin and the might of the Sky Father and the other gods. She feeds on love, the more powerful the sensation the better—and what is stronger than a climax delayed beyond bearing?”
Anje’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.
Trey went on, “Any Feolin man may offer his cock to be milked by the body of a priestess, but the shamans of Lufra are trained to resist. Endlessly.”
Mother of Mercy! She had a vision of Brin, wrists bound with silken ropes, his huge, muscular body oiled and gleaming, that meaty cock shuttling in and out of succulent, gripping flesh. It was all she could see, not the rest of the woman, just that junction. His thighs were corded with tension, his buttocks hollowed as he pumped.
Endlessly.
“How long?” Her throat was so dry she could barely speak, but her sex was drenched.
“It’s more a case of how many. He exhausted twelve once. Made them offer before he did.”
Anje gulped. Twelve. It didn’t seem humanly possible. “Is that a record?”
Trey laughed outright. “Even Brin’s human. He says he couldn’t walk for a week afterward. Others have done better, but only with drugs to numb the sensations. Brin wouldn’t pollute his offering.”
“Do women—?“ she husked.
“Oh yes. Some of the priestesses are famous for their endurance. They argue that a woman’s offering is more pleasing to Lufra than a man’s. Bless ‘em.” Trey spread his hands. “Who knows? I think all She cares for is the emotion of it, the pure passion.
“Speaking of which, I’m hard as a spear. Come here.” He reached for her, but Anje planted a hand under his breastbone and shoved.
“I haven’t heard how he saved your life.”
Trey grimaced as he leaned back. “That’s easily told. I was only a lad, more balls than sense. And I was insufferably proud.”
His expression shuttered and she wondered what he wasn’t telling her. “I guess I was spoiled. Brin was given charge of three of us, to be our mentor. It’s a common custom among the Feolin.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I burned to impress him. So I took a half-broken vran from the Palace stable. I didn’t know it was in rut. Gods, what a fool!” His lips thinned. “It got away from me, of course. We were nearly at the cliff above the river before he caught up.”
He shook his head and fell silent. Anje gripped his forearm. “What happened?”
He roused. “Brin drove his own mount into mine. We went down in a great tangle a dozen paces before the edge of th
e cliff.”
“Mother!” She looked at the vranee below. The turquoise-feathered stallion was taller at the shoulder than her head, with a deep chest and withers. The sunlight glinted on three wicked horns as it grazed contentedly. In the wild, rutting males disemboweled each other with those razor-sharp weapons. What a killing risk he’d taken—and all for a green boy.
“Were you punished?”
He nodded. “Brin refused to tell my parents. Said it was his responsibility because I was in his care. But for six months, I mucked out his stable every day and sparred with him besides. He didn’t hold back either. I got a brilliant collection of bruises.”
Unshed tears shone in his eyes. “But that wasn’t the worst. My vran stood so hard on his thigh, it was a miracle the bone wasn’t broken. He limped for a year and I had to watch, knowing it was my fault. He still has the scar.”
Anje stroked the firm flesh of his arm, the light, golden hair silky-rough under her fingertips. “I’m sure he’s forgiven you.”
“Yes.” The word came out as a sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut and when they opened again, that purely male expression of speculation was back, spiced with mischief. “You have a price to pay, love.” A red-gold brow arched. “Lean back.”
Warily, Anje did as she was bid. “One kiss. We agreed.”
“I remember. Put your palms flat on the ground.” He waited patiently ‘til she complied.
“Now…” He unlaced her shirt, spreading it so her breasts were exposed. “One kiss. But where?” His gaze was considering.
Anje’s clitoris gave a convulsive ripple that spread sensation from her belly to her breasts in a single, swift wave. “Trey. That’s not what—” She swallowed as he drifted a fingertip over her areola.
“I love women’s tits, their nipples,” he said dreamily. “They’re so soft, so tender. I could play all day. Look how beautifully they stand up.” He pinched her pouting flesh between two knuckles and tugged.
Anje took her bottom lip between her teeth. “Get on with it.” Her clit burned.
“Mind you…” His gaze drifted down and he bunched the hem of the shirt with one hand and pushed it up her leg. “This would be a good place.” He nudged her thigh aside and ran a finger over the satin smoothness of her sex, gathering moisture, leaving fire in his wake. “Mmm.” He put the digit in his mouth and his tongue crept out, cleaning it as neatly as a cat.
“What do you think, Anje? Shall I kiss you here?” His fingers returned, petting without penetrating.
Her heart had migrated to a new home between her thighs. It beat and beat. He was so young, so sweet. Mother, what had the shaman taught him? She shook herself out of her daze. “I thought…”
Trey moved to kneel between her legs. His lips hovered a breath away from hers. “I never got to kiss you hullo properly.” He cradled her cheeks in the palms of his hands and his tongue traced her lower lip. “Hullo, Anje,” he whispered. “I’m so glad we found you.” He slanted that carnal mouth lightly over hers. “Don’t go away.”
The softness of his lips settled, molded to hers. The tip of his tongue dabbed at the corner of her mouth, licked over her lower lip, ventured within. It flicked and teased, sending tingles chasing up and down her spine. Anje growled in her throat and her fingers sank into his shoulders.
He drew back. “Easy, darling, easy.” Then he returned, the blessed heat of him filling her mouth, sinking into her by slow degrees. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry or push, he kept it remorselessly tender. Her hands slid up over his neck and into his curls. His tongue was so firm, his lips so soft. He kissed like a master, exploring the interior of her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers in a spiral dance.
His body pressed into hers from chest to groin, and he set up a languid rocking motion with the ridge of his erection, rasping her clit with every stroke.
Sweet, it was so sweet. Anje hooked one leg around his hips, pressing him closer. With a moan, she arched her pelvis and Trey echoed her pleasure deep in his throat.
The sounds shook her out of her sensual trance. She tightened her grip in his hair and wrenched. They stared at each other, gasping.
“No more.” She put her fingers over his lips. When he licked them, she swallowed. Gods, she’d nearly—!
Trey watched her intently, eyes shining with unslaked desire. “Anje.” His voice was quiet, steady. “I only meant it as a welcome kiss. Truly.”
“All right.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. What was it about these two? “How did you know?”
“How close you were?” She nodded.
Trey smiled, his mouth deliciously swollen. “The flames of Lufra burn in your eyes, just as they do in Brin’s.”
There was something odd in his voice, something off-kilter, but she set aside it to puzzle over later. “The flames of Lufra?”
He grinned and stood. “There’s a mirror in my saddlebag. Want me to get you hot so you can check?”
When he reached down to pull her up, Anje hooked his feet out from under him. As he sprawled, she grabbed her pack and marched back to the camp, head high.
Trey’s laughter rang out behind her.
Chapter Four
Decorative Arts—Tattoo:
Among sailors of the Leaves of the Sea, a tattoo is a symbol of courage as much as a personal enhancement. Elaborate designs, taking years to complete, may cover the subject from waist to knee. The Feolin, in contrast, look on the pain of the procedure as a homage to their goddess. Only shamans or priestesses have their bodies decorated in this manner.
Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.
She barreled into the camp to find Brin sitting cross-legged, placidly sewing a button on a shirt, dark brows drawn fiercely together in concentration. The needle was lost in his big fingers. The sight startled a bark of laughter out of her.
“Someone’s got to do it,” he pointed out. “And Trey hasn’t the patience.”
“You have?” She propped a hand on her hip.
“I can wait for what I want.” Brin set the shirt aside and rose slowly to his full height. He was still wearing the sarong, knotted loosely about his hips. Anje set her teeth and planted her feet. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of glancing at all that hair-dusted, olive-toned flesh. Not even once.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I see you discovered the limits of the torque.”
She cast him a killing glare. “It makes me a slave.”
“No.”
“Then take it off.”
“I like to see it on you.” The thick lashes fell over his eyes and he reached out to touch it lightly with his fingertips. “Give me your trust and the range increases.”
The Mother only knew how she was going to get away from him. She’d never met a man so formidable, so hard to read. “Not likely!” she spat.
Then her stomach growled, rather spoiling the moment. Anje tossed her head. “Your slave needs feeding, oh great master.”
Brin slid a hand under her hair and turned her around. “I’ve lit the fire. There’s hot water for roberry brew and last night’s leftovers.” His light clasp on her nape was almost brotherly, comforting.
He bent his dark head to whisper in her ear. “I like hearing you call me master. Shall I hold you on my lap and feed you, beautiful slave?”
Anje snarled and pulled herself away, her brain working furiously. What if he was unconscious, would the magic of the torques still work? If she could knock him out…
Feeling better with a bowl of porridge warm in her belly, she dug out her bag of powdered babybane. She wasn’t stupid. If she didn’t take her daily dose of the contraceptive herb, she might yet pay the consequences for yesterday’s weakness. Luckily, she preferred the sweetness of babybane to the bitter bite of roberry, so it was no hardship.
She took the steaming mug with her to the tent, kicked off her boots and settled down to take stock of the contents of her pack. Stroking her thumb over the hilt o
f her knife, she was considering its precise placement against Brin’s skull when his long fingers lifted the weapon out of her hands. He studied it. “Aetherian work?”
When she grunted assent, he hefted it. “Nice balance. And a handle of vran horn, no less. Very pretty.”
He handed it back politely, hilt first, and Anje saw amusement gleaming in his eyes, the patronizing bastard. “I won it at the Games of the Mother,” she said stiffly.
A dark brow winged up. “We should spar, you and I.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“There can never be enough tricks and I warrant you know some good ones,” he said tranquilly. “I like to learn, scout.”
Mother, Trey had been right! It hadn’t been her imagination, yesterday. There was fire in his eyes, tiny flames that flickered in the inky depths of his pupils. Heat stirred in her loins.
“This isn’t roberry.” He’d lifted her cup to his lips.
For the first time since Brin had carried her into the camp, Anje grinned. “It’s babybane.”
Brin choked and spluttered. She chuckled. “Don’t fret, mighty warrior. You could drink gallons of the stuff before your balls shrivel.”
But when she saw his face, the spurt of humor died. The goddess light in his eyes had faded, leaving them flat and bleak. He stepped to the tent flap. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the contents of the mug away. “You won’t need it.” Spotting her bag of the powdered herb, he flung that out too. “Nor this.” She heard a faint splash.
“What the hell—? Brin!” Outraged, Anje leaped forward, but his arm barred the way.
His jaw set. “No Feolin seed has quickened for four years now.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Lufra has turned Her face from us.” He moved away, but Anje followed.
“Brin, wait.” He stopped.
She pushed the hair out of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly.
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“You mean no children, none at all?” She couldn’t imagine it. She wasn’t maternal, had never been. It was one of the reasons she was so fit to be a scout. But her people adored their children and Anje had a real affection for her sister’s brood of three. Zulie’s little ones tumbled like puppies at clan gatherings, attracting dirt and disaster in equal measures.
Gift of the Goddess Page 4
