Feolin prayer for the prey. (trad)
The fareng had found the ideal site, a streambed in a narrow valley choked with boulders and tangler ferns. Brin selected a pair near the water, the female sprawled on the mounded nest, dozing in a shaft of sunlight. The striations of purple and coral on her leathery skin glowed and her tail switched slowly back and forth, the lethal spikes tipped with a tarry, poisonous secretion.
To Anje’s surprise, she and Brin combined as though they’d hunted together all their lives. She let him take the lead, since it seemed so important to his masculine pride. At his gesture, she worked her way to the downwind side of the nest, placing her feet with the utmost care, noting the tracks of dozens of beasts. She kept a wary eye on the tree canopy. Fareng mated for life. Where was the male?
Her patience was rewarded when a slight movement revealed a second animal, lying high on a branch, keeping a lordly eye on his brood. She pointed and Brin nodded, indicating she was to take the female, he the male.
She took two razor-sharp throwing stars from a pouch on her belt, running her fingers over their smooth faces. On Brin’s signal, she let fly, the stars humming through the air with lethal purpose. Her aim was true, hitting her target in the throat with meaty thunks, an instant apart. As the creature’s body convulsed, the male launched himself from his perch with a bloodcurdling hiss.
Instantly, Brin was on him, sword flashing in a deadly arc. The fareng died in a fountain of blood, tail thrashing impotently, as the dark warrior danced out of the way.
He watched the animal closely, waiting for the last twitch. “Good shot, scout,” he said. Then he crouched and laid a hand on the fareng’s long snout. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Puzzled at first, Anje watched in silence, until it dawned on her he must be thanking the fareng for the gift of its flesh, blessing it. It was an angle she’d never thought of before, but there was a courtesy, a rightness to it she liked. She thought the Mother would approve.
As she glanced at the dead female, she caught a glimmer of movement out of the corner of her eye. Instinct and training took over. Before she had time to think, she was exploding into action, dagger in her fist.
Anje and the third fareng met a few feet from Brin’s unprotected back. The impact of the animal’s heavily muscled body knocked her flat, but she managed to get her blade up and into its throat, twisting and gouging with all her strength. Mother, would it never stop hissing, never die!
Dimly, she heard a guttural roar of fury and the fareng was yanked away. Brin straightened, holding its writhing body at arms length, his biceps bunching with the effort. Before the lethal tail could snap around, he flexed his powerful wrists and gave a brutal twist. A grating snap and he’d flung the twitching corpse aside and snatched her into his arms. “Anje! Where is it?” He was patting her all over, searching for the wound. “Tell me!”
She sat up and coughed. “Not my blood.”
“You’re not hurt?”
She flexed her limbs. “No, thank the Mother.”
His fingers clenched painfully on her shoulders. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
It was a good question. Anje considered it and her heart sank. Stupid, stupid! “It would have spiked you.” She shrugged.
Brin was white to the lips, his eyes black pits in a face pale beneath the tan. He opened his mouth then shut it with a click. Spinning on his heel, he stalked into the forest and disappeared.
Anje stared at his retreating back, the shoulders rigid with fury. What biteme had stung him on the ass? He hadn’t even said thank you. Shrugging at the incomprehensible nature of man, she stripped and washed in the shallow stream, rinsing the blood from her clothing. Shivering, she dressed again.
So much for hitting him over the head and running. She’d had the perfect opportunity to escape and what had she done? Risked her life to save his.
Shit, shit, shit! Sweet Mother, what was the matter with her? Where was her honor?
Her lips twisted in a wry smile. It could have been worse. She was alive, wasn’t she? Exertion and sunlight would dry her out soon enough, but Fareng venom made for an unpleasant death.
She was about to start the butchering when a hand reached over her shoulder and lifted the knife from her grasp. “We’ll do that at camp.” Brin hunkered beside her. “You go sit.” He jerked his head at a patch of sunlight.
“But—”
“Go.”
She went. Turning her face to the Sun and its Shadow, she let her lids droop shut.
“Come on, scout.” Her eyes fluttered open to find Brin waiting for her, the three fareng slung from a pole across his broad shoulders. Their amputated tails lay in a spiky tangle on the ground.
Without a word, he led the way back to the vranee. Anje watched him pack the fareng on Brownie, still grim and silent. Her uneasiness grew.
When all was to his satisfaction, he turned to face her. “Are you bruised? Or sore?”
“Not really. A scrape over the rib and I think it kicked my calf, but that’s all.”
“Good. Your things are wet.” His face was impassive, his thoughts hidden. “Strip.”
She laughed. “No.”
His voice dropped to a silky rumble. “Every stitch. Or I’ll do it for you.”
She’d already turned to flee, but he was on her in two strides, his arms caging her like iron bands. No matter what she did, and she tried every dirty trick she knew, he was ready for her. In no more than a few minutes, he’d pulled the leather thong from his hair and trussed her hands behind her back.
She was pleased to note the bruise blossoming on his cheekbone when he stepped back to survey his handiwork. “I promised you a reckoning, Anje.” His crooked smile grew slowly and her blood ran cold.
“No,” she whispered, despising herself for the shudder of terrified arousal.
“Yes.” With steady hands, he unlaced her shirt and pushed it back over her shoulders, immobilizing her upper arms and exposing the tender mounds of her breasts. Her nipples peaked under his regard.
“What was I supposed to do?” she demanded. “Let it spike you?”
“It was only half grown. I could have taken it.”
He gave her a little shake, as though she was a disobedient puppy. “Anje, it’s not your place to protect me.” Kneeling to pull off her boots, he fixed her with a cold, dark glare. “Don’t even think of kicking.”
“This is about your pride.”
“No. Step out.” He pulled her trews down to her ankles, holding her steady. “I can’t keep you safe when you’re stupid.”
“No one asked you to!”
He left her standing in the open shirt while he spread her garments across Brownie’s saddle. A warm breeze toyed with the loose fabric, slithering over the skin of her back and buttocks like a caressing hand. The silver trails on her skin tingled pleasantly, but a chilly pool of panic blossomed under her breastbone.
Ignoring her, Brin packed both beasts, every movement methodical and unhurried. When all was ready, he strode back to her, studying each feature with cool deliberation. He ran a fingertip across her lower lip. “You’re mine, scout. And in your heart of hearts you know it.” His mouth twitched. “But you’re nothing if not stubborn. An admirable trait, but very irritating.”
He shepherded her toward Twink.
“What are you going to do?” It came out as a croak.
Twink knelt, Brin settled himself in the saddle, then reached down and plucked her from the ground, swinging her up on the vran to face him.
“I’m going to punish us both. You for your stupid courage and me for putting you at risk. You want to play games with me, scout? It’s two hours back to camp. Let’s see how well you play.”
Anje gurgled with outrage, her eyes wide. Mother of Mercy! He had her spread-eagled near naked across the saddle of a vran while he was fully clothed. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life. “I’m not in the mood,” she grated.
Brin grinned
so broadly, the dimple flashed and her open sex quivered with longing. “You will be, scout. Now relax.”
He ran warm, hard hands the length of her spine, took her knees and pressed them further open, handling her as if she was a doll. Humming under his breath, he cradled her buttocks and lifted her closer, so that her thighs were splayed across his, the warm cleft in her dark curls kissing the unmistakable ridge in his leather trews.
“Perfect,” he growled. “Just…” He put a broad palm on her waist and exerted pressure until her spine arched. With her hands bound behind her back, the posture made her breasts jut proudly, the tips already stiff, the skin flushed and rosy. “Ah, mouthwatering.”
Brin nudged Twink with his knee and the vran entered the forest path, its stride majestically slow. Anje wobbled, gasping with alarm.
“Sit still, scout.” He nibbled the side of her jaw. “I won’t let you fall, I promise.” Keeping one hand spread across her lower back, he held her steady, while with the other he undid his trews. Anje stared resolutely over his shoulder, the green of the forest blurring in her vision.
The shaman’s chuckle vibrated through their point of contact at the thigh. “You know you want to look.”
Her glance darted down, then away. His shaft was hard and ruddy, shockingly real in the sunlight, rearing up to his navel.
His voice lowered to a seductive purr. “And you know what it does to me when you watch.” That’s right, she did.
Brin slid his hands under her ass and shifted her forward, so that his cock nestled the length of her labial furrow. With each step of the vran, their flesh slid together, the lubrication seeping from her folds oiling his way.
Breathing hard, Anje held her upper body away from his, but the rocking motion had her nipples brushing his chest every third or fourth step. Brin tsked and shrugged out of the vest, leaning past her to tuck it into a saddlebag.
The action thrust the root of his cock hard up against her clit and she caught her breath. But it was no better when he eased back, because a delicious expanse of warm muscle spread before her like a feast, topped off with small, dark nipples, already fiercely erect. Mother, she was starving! And they’d scarcely begun!
She cleared her throat. “Are there rules to this…game?”
“Of course.” He toyed with her breast, stroking his knuckles along the soft weightiness of the underside.
“Brin!”
“Ah yes, the rules. You have to ask for what you want, scout. That’s all.”
“Ask?” Her nipples tingled, a pleasant itch.
“You have to say the words. Nicely.”
“What does that mean?”
The devastating half-smile flashed. “You could beg. That would please me.”
Anje scorched him with a look.
“Or you could simply say please.”
She folded her lips together and strained against her bonds.
Twink ambled on, and her cleft slid over Brin’s hard flesh, his hot skin growing slicker with her juices at each jolting stride. Anje regulated her breathing. If this was the torture, she could endure it. Her loins thrummed with delight.
But she’d calculated without Twink. At unpredictable intervals, the big vran would miss a step, or lean sideways, or lift a hoof high to step over a log. Each time, their joined flesh slithered at a different angle and she had to stop breathing until the tremors faded.
The random nature of the stimulation made it worse, because if she wasn’t coping with one sensation, she was anticipating the next. She had no thoughts to spare for anything else.
She stared grimly at the pulse beating at the base of the shaman’s strong, brown throat and willed herself to feel nothing.
Gods, it was impossible! Brin explored her body with his mouth and fingertips, learning her by feel, murmuring praises against her hair. He licked her throat, bit gently then blew on her wet skin. Goose bumps rose all over her torso, her nipples tightened painfully. He hadn’t even touched them.
“How do you like the game so far, scout?”
Anje snarled. He drew her closer, so that her nipples rasped his chest at every step. “Kiss me and I’ll take the edge off,” he said.
She felt more like biting—huge, hungry chunks. “I won’t beg!”
“I know that, but the offer stands.” He chuckled. “You wound me with your doubts.”
Twink stumbled. Her sex quivered and wept. “Well?” inquired that diabolical voice.
Stubbornly, she endured for more endless minutes before muttering “All right,” and lifting her chin.
Brin didn’t move. “No, scout. I want you to seduce me with your mouth. Slowly.” Setting both hands on the curve of her waist, he waited, giving her nothing.
But sweet Mother, he couldn’t conceal the fire flickering in his midnight eyes!
“I hope your precious Lufra incinerates your balls!” she grated, stretching up to touch her mouth to his.
Instantly, he dipped his head to meet her. “Why don’t you do it for Her?” he murmured against her lips.
Anje ran her tongue from one corner of his mouth to the other. Gods, how could such a hard man have such soft lips? She traced their shape, over and over, bemused by the sweetness.
What was wrong with her? She nipped sharply. Brin grunted and administered a stinging slap on her ass. “Seduce me, remember?”
Grimly, Anje returned to her task, slipping her tongue inside his mouth, rubbing it against his. Brin had a heavy hand. Her bottom prickled with heat and moisture oozed out of her as if to douse the fire.
But each time she tried to force the pace, the shaman pulled back, making her start again. In the end, she gave up and simply luxuriated, nibbling at his lips, tangling her tongue with his in a slow, sensual dance, sinking more deeply with every caress, every flick and pull.
Her heart beat slow and thick, her sex quivered with empty desperation and all she could think was sweet, unbearably sweet.
After what seemed like an age, Brin raised his head. His chest rose and fell with his hard breaths. “Lean back.” One brawny arm tightened behind her, holding her rock steady.
His tanned fingers trailed over her belly, dark against her satiny skin. Mesmerized, Anje watched as they reached his cock and fondled. It thrust boldly from her cleft, as if her clit had blossomed into a rosy-red, heart-shaped head, glossy with its own clear fluid.
Around and around Brin stroked, until his fingers were wet and shiny. Then he placed a broad, slippery thumb over her clit and began to slide it back and forth, building an inexorable rhythm, working with the rocking stride of the vran. His forefingers pressed the bulk of his shaft hard into her folds.
Anje squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the sight of the small frown that creased his brow as he concentrated on her pleasure. So when his mouth engulfed her breast, she cried out with the shock of it, the heated, suckling pressure. The tension in her clit exploded, all of a piece, and she shook so hard, Brin had to clamp her against him so she wouldn’t fall. At his murmured command, the vran halted.
The wave still had her panting in its grip, when he lifted her clean off him and brought her down, arching his hips, thrusting into her with his rigid length.
He groaned, a sound of relief, but Anje shrieked. With her hands tied behind her, she was utterly helpless. She clenched her buttocks, trying to raise herself, but without the use of her arms it near impossible. Relentlessly, he filled her, inch by inch, while her sheath fluttered around his girth in involuntary welcome.
“Now we play, you and I,” Brin growled as he let her slide down another fraction.
“You…you bastard!” She bared her teeth and he swayed back out of the way.
“Bite and you get my hand on that juicy little ass.”
He lifted her legs, one at a time, and placed them around his waist. Then he urged her forward, wrapping his arms around her back, so that they were plastered together from groin to belly to chest. His skin was like a furnace against hers.
He st
ared deep into her furious eyes and smiled benignly. “I’d like to keep you like this forever.” Long fingers loosened her braids, sifting the soft strands, fluffing the hair over her shoulders, her breasts.
Seduced by so much sumptuous pleasure, she fought. Pride came to her rescue. She set her jaw. “Mother, how I hate you!” He wasn’t going to win.
He nudged Twink and the vran lurched forward with a jerk that made them both gasp. Brin recovered first. “I should spank you for telling lies, scout.”
“No,” she gasped, shaking.
“Lucky your gorgeous little cunt tells the truth.” He tilted his pelvis the slightest bit and her internal muscles bit down hard in reflex. “Uh-huh, like that. And Lufra’s fire burns so hot in your eyes, you scorch me with it.”
“No.” It was almost soundless. She couldn’t look at him, she mustn’t, or she would be the one begging for the flames. It didn’t matter if it looked like surrender, she had to rest, regain her equilibrium. Wearily, she laid her head on his chest and inhaled. Gods, he smelled wonderful, like pure sin spiced with honey and male musk. She let herself snuggle, just a little bit. If she could relax…
“Good girl.” His fingertips wandered over her ribs, the sides of her breasts. “Only another hour or so.”
Mother of Mercy, give me strength.
Chapter Nine
Decorative Arts—Bond Torques:
Bond torques are not common even in their Feolin culture of origin, the majority of couples choosing a less binding form of marriage. Whether jeweled or plain, a matched pair of torques will be made of the braided hair of the Bondmates and their immediate ancestors. The torques are said to create a psychic connection between the partners.
Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.
Fifteen minutes later, neither of them had said a word and Anje was convinced all the nerves in her body had relocated to her sexual organs. Every pulse of Brin’s cock was greeted with quivering acclamation. With each step, the vran massaged him against her sheath. The occasional stumble shoved the meaty strut of him against her womb or pressed his rock hardness into her clit.
Gift of the Goddess Page 8
