Gift of the Goddess

by Denise Rossetti

  Privately, Anje thought Braithie wasn’t as dim as she seemed. She’d never have the chance to touch a man as beautiful as Trey again—let alone one as clean. She frowned. An idea teased at the back of her mind. “Do you think we could trust her?”

  Trey shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m not convinced she’s all there, anyway.” He snuggled Anje’s head into his shoulder. “Why?”

  Anje pulled free of his grasp and sat up. “Don’t you see?” She clenched her fists on her thighs. “We have to have a diversion or we’ll never get out of the Hssrda camp alive. And if we’re both inside, who’s going to create it?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mother keep you warm in the cold.

  Mother keep you fed in the famine.

  Mother keep you safe among your foes.

  Mother keep you always in Her arms.

  The Matriarchs’ Blessing, Children of the Mother.

  Anje sat stiffly on Twink in the near dusk, her scalp pulled so tight, it itched. She longed to dig her hands into her hair and dislodge the coiffure it had taken them hours to construct that afternoon. She’d been amazed at Trey’s dexterity as he twined ropes of cheap blue beads into her braids and secured the heavy mass in a crown on the top of her head. “I used to make a point of watching my sister being dressed for state occasions.” He’d chuckled. “Her maid was very gifted with her hands. And her mouth. Funny, what things turn out to be useful.”

  On the other hand, the link no longer caused her such physical discomfort. There was no question that Brin was near. Soon, she’d see him again, touch him. Her soul wanted to sing, despite the risks they were taking.

  They’d reached the outskirts of The Hollows, a mile out of town, where the swamp was at its most noisome. The lights of the Hssrda camp twinkled in a boggy depression at the base of the escarpment. The occasional gleam sparked on the blade of a halberd or reflected sullenly off a patch of oily water.

  Anje glanced down at Trey, leading Twink, as befitted a slave. Privately, she thought he looked beautiful. Even the shaven scalp suited him. He looked older, more formidable, without the cap of red-gold curls. After all, he was a warrior, he’d killed the revolting Fettle without a blink. As for the rest… She sucked in a breath. He wore only the collar, the straps and soft boots. The dark lines of the straps went first around his waist and then bisected the cheeks of his ass. They cradled and presented his genitalia, circling his smooth, bare balls and holding his cock upright, flat against his belly.

  When Braithie had seen him, her mouth had fallen open, the eyes starting from her head. Anje glanced behind them. There was no sign of the girl, nor of Brownie. Gods, hopefully she wasn’t too addled to perform the simple sequence of actions they’d drilled into her.

  Trey caught her eye. “Ready?”

  Her laugh was shaky. “Mother, no! But let’s go anyway.” But as Trey stepped forward, she said, “Wait!”

  He looked up.

  Anje leaned down and caught his shoulder. “Promise me,” she said fiercely. “After we get him out of there, promise me you’ll tell Brin how you feel.”

  Trey shook his head. “He doesn’t want me, Anje.”

  She snorted. “Don’t be stupid. He can barely control himself whenever you touch him.”

  The hope in his face was painful to see. “What would you do?” she asked quietly. “What would you do if you were free to love him?”

  “Ah, Lufra, I’d do everything!” Trey leaned into Twink’s shoulder and gazed unseeing at the Hssrda camp. “Get him to rest, for a start. My blasted mother and the Council ask so much of him and he never refuses. He should be on his ranch, with the vranee. That’s where he’s happy. I’d rub the knots out of his shoulders.” He grinned up at her, his teeth flashing in the fading light. “And I’d fuck both of you ‘til we were all too sore to move.”

  He hesitated. “Last night, when I was up your gorgeous ass, you turned and looked at me. Anje, I saw Brin’s flames in your eyes, like a shadow behind yours. Do you think the link—?”

  “He was there.” She ran her palm over the smooth, hard curve of his skull. “Feeling what I felt. He knows, Trey. He knows what it’s like. But he doesn’t want us anywhere near. I can feel him pushing us away.”

  “Always the noble idiot. Tell him we’re coming anyway.” Trey’s chest expanded as he inhaled. “Right, Anje love. Let’s go buy ourselves a pleasure slave.”

  They moved forward.

  The SpurSoldier on sentry duty at the rough stockade didn’t seem to have any human language, but it assessed them shrewdly enough, a third eyelid flicking across its slit-pupiled eyes. As Anje glared down from her vantage point on Twink, trying to look imperious, it hissed and gestured with its serrated halberd.

  Trey tied the vran to a post in the palisade and assisted Anje to alight, handling her as if she was made of spun glass. Restricted by her voluminous skirts and tight bodice, she moved cautiously. One major disadvantage of Trey’s costume—or lack of it—was that he had nowhere to conceal a weapon save in his boots. In contrast, Anje was a walking armory. A single unwary move and she’d bleed right through her finery.

  She took the light cane Trey handed her and slashed his forearm with minimum force and maximum noise. “Gently, you fool!”

  Another Hssrdan, this one short enough to be a TailSoldier, led them along a muddy path toward the black gloom of the cliff. Squinting, Anje made out a massive, reptilian shape, waiting. Her heart began to thump erratically. They’d gambled that the Hssrda wouldn’t be able to recognize the details that distinguished one human from another. Who knew if they even saw in color? Suddenly, she remembered the magenta scales on the commander of the force that had captured Brin and her stomach turned over. Thank the Mother for Trey’s shaven head! His coppery locks were far too distinctive.

  She straightened her spine and tried to walk the way he’d taught her, shortening her stride to a gliding mince. Holy Mother, the creature was huge! It cocked its head, watching them, and her guts knotted with atavistic terror.

  Anje began babbling from several yards away. “I have need of a tall, muscular slave. What do you have in strong males?” She wrinkled her nose as she looked around. “Faugh, this place stinks! I won’t take anything unless you bathe it first.”

  The Hssrdan surveyed her, its scaly face unmoving. Skeins of chartreuse and carmine twined over one massive shoulder. Behind her, one pace to the left, Trey dropped to one knee and lowered his gaze.

  After an aching silence, the creature’s mouth opened, exposing an impressive array of teeth. “Yess,” it said, forming the words with difficulty. “Have sstrong sslaves. Thiss way, flesshy one.” It lumbered toward the dark entrance of a cave tunneled into the base of the escarpment, without looking back to see if they followed.

  Anje didn’t dare glance at Trey. They’d seen the slave pens from a distance already, enclosures of stout poles in the open air. But a cave! That complicated matters considerably.

  Complaining in a shrill monotone, she swept into the gloom, followed by Trey. A couple of SpurSoldiers fell in behind. The passage was damp underfoot, but well lit with slow-burning torches thrust into the floor at intervals. The big Hssrda turned a corner and stopped before a chamber fenced off with metal bars.

  After a moment’s silence, during which it seemed to be thinking hard, it said laboriously, “Am ClawCaptain.” It thumped its chest with a taloned fist.

  Anje let her lip curl. “So I see.” Deliberately, she turned away and stared into the slave pen. Mother of Mercy! She gripped the cane so hard it creaked in her hands. There were about a dozen men crowded into it, all tall and muscular, and all naked and filthy.

  As soon as they saw her, they rushed the bars, shouting, hands reaching through in clawing desperation. Anje leaped back, her forearm knife falling neatly into her palm. It was only when Trey thrust her behind him that she remembered who she was supposed to be.

  At least she didn’t have to conceal her disgust. She shrank away, one hand press
ed to her breast. “You’re wasting my time, ClawCaptain,” she shrilled. “These are scum!”

  “But sstrong!” it pointed out.

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.” Anje turned back slowly, ignoring the pleas and catcalls.

  Only three men weren’t pressed against the bars. Two lay unmoving in the furthest corner. One had a rough bandage around his head. The other didn’t seem injured, but he was curled up in a fetal position. The third was Brin.

  He sat cross-legged, bolt upright against the wall, his face expressionless. The dark beard shadowing his jaw made him look both scruffy and menacing. One thumb stroked the braided circlet around his neck, over and over. The soothing rhythm of the caress slowed—the only indication he was aware of their presence.

  But the Bond link fairly hummed with his fury that they had dared to put their lives at risk for his. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Anje’s lips quirked. She put a hand to her own torque, concealed beneath a gauzy scarf that drove her crazy with its trailing ends. Same old Brin, she thought as loudly as she could, concentrating on her exasperation. His mouth thinned.

  “I want to see that one.” She pointed. “Bring him out.”

  “You ssure, flesshy one?” The ClawCaptain’s armored scalp shifted back a fraction, showing its surprise. “That meat iss disscolored.”

  “Among humans, a tattoo is considered decorative, ClawCaptain.” Anje raised her brows, striving for the hauteur of the privileged. “And please do not call me that.”

  “Flesshy one?” The ClawCaptain scratched delicately behind an eye ridge with one talon. “Iss what you are.” Awkwardly, it bent its thick knees to peer more closely into her face. It had to be over seven feet tall.

  The fanged snout did not lend itself to smiling, but Anje had a horrible feeling the creature might be trying. Finally, it said, “A meat with money, yess?”

  “Yes,” she agreed curtly. “Are you going to show me or not? I’m sooo bored with this one.” Gritting her teeth, she turned to Trey, back in position behind her, and slashed his shoulder with the cane.

  He grunted, absorbing the pain. She’d pulled it at the last possible second, but it had to have hurt. A hand flew to the stripe scoring his fair skin, but her hard stare captured his hazel one. Slowly, the hand dropped and his head sank.

  The ClawCaptain hissed its approval and waved a taloned hand. The SpurSoldiers waded into the naked bodies in the cage, serrated halberds jabbing right and left.

  Brin rose slowly to his full, imposing height, the snouts of the SpurSoldiers reaching only as high as the middle of his chest. Presumably they could grow as large as the ClawCaptain if they got enough meat. Anje suppressed a shudder.

  She heard Trey’s quick, rattled breath. Brin’s torso was mottled with bruises and a long slash on his upper arm seeped blood. A nasty-looking knot marked his temple. They’d taken everything from him except the torque, but a thin, angry welt on the strong, brown column of his throat showed where they must have tried to wrench it off and failed.

  Anje’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to assess his condition dispassionately. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Who knew better than she the strength in that huge, muscular body, the sheer power of his will?

  One SpurSoldier stood directly behind him, halberd pressed to his spine. The other flanked him, weapon at the ready.

  “Thiss way.” The ClawCaptain stumped off, leading them further into the cave complex. The link thrummed with shock as Brin got his first real sight of Trey. It was followed by admiration and amusement and a thread of something else that made her lips tilt. She wasn’t the only one who thought her pleasure slave looked edible.

  Their destination was a well-lit chamber with a mud wallow at one end. It steamed gently, exuding a stagnant marsh-like smell, harsh enough to make the eyes water.

  “Fassten the meat.” A SpurSoldier stepped forward with a length of chain and a lock. There were two wooden poles set deep into the earth, facing the wallow.

  The very sight of them made Anje queasy. “No!”

  The Hssrdan fixed her with an unblinking yellow stare. “Insspection, yess?” It hissed another command and the second SpurSoldier left the chamber at a lumpy trot.

  “I’ve seen enough.” Anje put a hand to her belt pouch. “This one will do. Let’s bargain.”

  “Hssrda traderss have good name! Insspect meat now!” The ClawCaptain slid into the wallow until only its eyes were exposed. When it heaved itself up again, acrid clouds billowed into the cave.

  The SpurSoldier returned with a bucket of water and slung it over Brin. “Wassh,” said the Hssrdan triumphantly as the shaman gasped and swore, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Insspect.”

  “Uh, yes.” Anje laid a tentative hand on Brin’s dripping shoulder. “Right.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

  She ran her hand over his biceps, squeezed. “Rescue,” she whispered.

  The ClawCaptain shifted. Mud squelched and popped beneath its enormous weight. “Iss sstrong meat. Work fieldss. Throw in gelding for free.”

  Brin’s mouth opened then clamped shut. His face was dark with fury.

  Anje cupped his heavy testicles in the palm of one hand. “Definitely not,” she said firmly and heard him exhale.

  “Pleassure sslave?” Despite the rigidity of its facial scales, it wasn’t difficult to see the ClawCaptain calculating an increased margin of profit.

  “Yes.”

  “Ssatissfaction guaranteed. Insspect.” With a loud clink, the SpurSoldier fastened Brin’s wrists behind the pole. “Working partss, yess?”

  Anje literally didn’t know what to do next. Surely the creature didn’t mean… But apparently it did. Waves of panic made her head whirl. She couldn’t, not here. Couldn’t. But if she didn’t, they’d all die.

  A piece at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Darling Letts,

  You’ll never guess what Mama gave me for my natal day—a pleasure slave of my very own! She says I’m a grown woman now, with a woman’s needs. He’s the most gorgeous thing—dark gray eyes and a lovely body—especially the you-know-what!!!

  But he’s dreadfully sullen. He’s been tongue-trained, but he shows little enthusiasm for pleasuring ME. Do you think it’s too soon for a whipping? I don’t want to ruin him.

  Are you going to the Sea Harvest masque? I have such a cheeky idea for a costume …

  Extract, letter from HighDuchess Willimela d’Agostin to NobleLady Lettalefa van Pinzfest, Kingdom of the Leaves of the Sea, 10332 ATF.

  Warm fingers touched her calf. “Mistress?”

  Trey crouched at her feet. He pressed his lips to her boot. “Let me do this for you.” Even the shape of his shaven skull was strong and beautiful. The fluid line of his back and buttocks gleamed in the lamplight like gold-washed ivory. The woman who owned a pleasure slave like Trey would be mad to look for another.

  Unless it was Brin.

  Tears of relief prickled behind Anje’s lids. “Yes,” she husked. “Please.”

  No, the tone was all wrong for a pampered aristocrat. She squared her shoulders. “Some privacy, ClawCaptain!” she demanded.

  “Sss?”

  Better rephrase. “Send these…” she indicated the SpurSoldiers, “away.”

  The Hssrda grunted and waved a clawed hand. Stolidly, the SpurSoldiers dropped to all fours and shambled out. She heard them ground their long halberds outside in the passageway.

  “Tesst working partss,” insisted the ClawCaptain and Anje wanted to scream.

  Trey reached around Brin as if to check the strength of his bonds. Averting his face from the yellow stare of the Hssrdan, he whispered into Brin’s neck, “Trust me. Please.”

  When Brin’s mouth opened, Trey clapped a hand over it. The Bond link roiled with apprehension, rigidly controlled. The dark warrior’s gaze remained impenetrable. Slowly, Trey released him.

  “No,” Brin rasped. “Don’t—”
Anje trembled with the impact of the shaman’s emotions. His appalled comprehension of what Trey was about to do was underlaid with dark desire.

  Trey’s lips twisted in the ghost of a smile. He huffed out a breath, sank to his knees and ran a shaky hand up Brin’s flank. The two heads turned to her, Trey’s shaven scalp shining pale in the yellow light, Brin’s black locks hanging in disheveled glory around his jaw. The goddess flame flickered deep in his black eyes.

  Time seemed to stretch like taffy. Mother, how she loved them! Fear swarmed over her and she beat it off. She turned her back squarely on the ClawCaptain and reached up to stroke Brin’s cheek. “Trust us,” she breathed.

  The inferno in the shaman’s eyes leaped with hungry power. The charge of it fair burned her alive. Her response hummed under her skin, ran tingling through the silver lines of the wings clasping her loins, to her sex.

  Mother, give me courage!

  Raising the cane, she brought it down sharply across Trey’s buttocks. He reared back and the breath whistled out between his teeth.

  “I want to see him hard, understand?” she snapped.

  Brin’s eyes slammed shut as Trey reached out to cradle his heavy balls in both hands. He handled them gently, rolling and stroking, hefting their weight. Then he bent his head and ran his tongue over the seam and back and around and under, mouthing and nibbling. His touch was delicate, light, but his own cock had risen brutally, stiff in its nest of straps.

  Brin’s jaw set so hard, she heard his teeth click. His shaft stirred and swelled though Trey hadn’t touched it and the link swamped her with delight and shame.

  Anje moved to interpose her body between the two men and the ClawCaptain. But the Hssrdan was picking its teeth with one long talon. When it yawned, a gust of carrion breath wafted her way.

  The Hssrda didn’t copulate with anything they considered food. Only the Mother knew how they obtained sexual satisfaction. And She probably wished She didn’t.