“No, no,” insisted Anje. “That’s not it.”
Brin reached past her to grip the other man’s forearm, his face intent. “Trey,” he grated. “Close your mouth and shut your eyes.”
“What, again? I’m not ready yet, I—”
“Shut up and do it!”
“All right, all right!” Trey sighed and leaned back, a sponge in his hands. His lashes fluttered down, absurdly delicate against the masculine strength of his face.
“Your thoughts are all over the place. Breathe, Trey. Slow and deep. That’s it.” Brin put his palm flat in the middle of the other man’s chest, almost spanning him from nipple to nipple. “Breathe with me, feel me.”
Trey hummed deep in his throat. His fingers opened and the sponge floated away.
The shaman laid his hand over Anje’s thundering heart. “You too, love. Match your soul with mine. Breathe.”
Anje let her lids slide shut, focusing her senses on Brin’s palm, warm and damp on her skin, sinking into the rhythm of his breath. His and Trey’s. Calm stole over her like a golden-pink mist, suffusing her soul, slowing her racing thoughts.
Brin’s voice dropped to a deep murmur, infinitely soothing. “Trey, I want you to recall what we just did. You were buried as deep in me as you could get, remember? And I was buried in Anje. Tell me how it was.”
“But you know. Wonderful.”
“And what else?”
“I was fucking you, but I felt you fucking me. No, that was Anje. Gorgeous.” He sighed.
“And in your heart? Not your cock, not your balls?”
Anje levered her eyes open. Trey lay, completely relaxed, the water lapping at his ribs. The smile that played on that luscious mouth made her clit throb in memory. Brin loomed over him, looking deliciously predatory, eyes narrowed with concentration. “Tell me.”
Trey’s red-gold brows drew together. “You. I could feel how much you—” His eyes snapped open, wide and shocked. He lurched up, creating a wave. “Lufra’s tits! I felt you!” he struggled. “The—the—essence of you.” He stared at Anje. “And you.”
Brin grabbed him by both shoulders, his fingers digging cruelly into the fair skin. He thrust his face into Trey’s and words exploded out of him. “Do you know what you’ve done, you idiot?”
Trey’s mouth fell open. “What?” he whispered.
“You.” Brin shook him. “Bonded.” Another shake. “With us.” Trey’s head rocked on his shoulders.
“Both of us!” The roar rattled the walls.
“I thought you said that wasn’t possible,” said Anje, shocked.
“It isn’t.” The shaman sank both hands into his black mane and tugged. “But he’s done it. I can feel it and so can you, can’t you?” She nodded her assent. “Sweet Lufra, what a mess!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Anje’s brain felt clogged with conflicting emotions. She’d be happy to be Bonded to Brin and Trey ‘til the end of time. But what about the Rite? Surely, they’d told her it required only two participants? Her heart sinking, she recalled the anguish she’d felt when she thought the shaman was dead. Holy Mother, she’d barely survived it. What if she and Brin—? She couldn’t bear to complete the thought.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a husky whisper.
“I don’t see why you’re so pissed,” said Trey. His lips trembled for an instant before he firmed them and Anje flinched at the whiplash of hurt that flickered across the link. “Unless you don’t want me.”
“Oh Trey, no!” She flung her arms around him.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Brin brusquely, but he stroked his palm over Trey’s shoulder.
Trey blew out a breath. “Good.” His gaze turned accusing. “You don’t think I can take it.”
Brin stood abruptly. Water streamed down his powerful torso, slicking the hair on his chest and groin. The dragon’s eyes gleamed balefully. “Chelisand’s got three days left, Trey. Three days for the work of ten. How do you think she’s going to do it?”
The younger man licked his lips. “Drugs, she’ll use drugs.”
Brin smiled without humor. “Ay. And every trick in the book. It’s going to hurt like hell.” He stepped forward, into Trey’s chest, his heavy shaft inches from that pouty mouth. He was half hard. “And you’ll live it too, Trey. Every screaming, gut-wrenching second. The Rite as well.” Anje gasped, but the deep voice went on, relentless. “If we die—”
Trey’s hands slid up the back of his thighs. Gripped. “You can’t.”
Brin pushed him away. “Get your torques.” He stepped out of the bath and grabbed a drying cloth. “We can still go through the motions.”
But when Trey shook the desecrated collars out of their velvet bag, the shaman’s expression became thunderous. “What, in Lufra’s name, happened to these?”
The ghost of a smile quirked Trey’s lips. “We went to buy a pleasure slave.”
Brin snapped out a curse, looking so frankly appalled that Anje had to stifle a chuckle. Then she watched with intense interest as the shaman prepared the torques, adding the dark strands of her hair and his own to the auburn braids in Trey’s. He muttered darkly as he dismantled and rebuilt them, turning the two collars into three.
Finally, he had the three of them kneel close together on the floor, on a thick rug beside the bed. Once he had their bodies arranged to his satisfaction, he clipped a new torque around each throat. Now he and Anje had two each. Frowning with concentration, he curled their fingers together around his own extra collar and reached out one hand to Anje’s new torque, the other to Trey’s. Thus linked, he gathered them with his dark gaze. Already, the goddess flame flickered brightly in each fathomless pupil.
“Empty your mind and breathe,” he ordered. “It may be a while before you feel anything.”
Fascinated, Anje watched his lashes sweep down. By slow degrees, calm spread over his face, smoothing creases, relaxing the tiny muscles around his eyes. As he sank visibly further into trance, he seemed to her both timeless and extraordinarily powerful, a portrait of perfect masculinity. A velvety croon rumbled out of his chest, soothing and exciting her all at once, pulling her into his dark aura. It seemed almost as if he were…calling, beseeching.
On the thought, a wave of warmth spread over the base of her spine, like the caress of some great hand. Under her fingers, the gold wire fastening Trey’s torque around the shaman’s throat rippled like a living thing. Shocked, she began to snatch her hand away, but before she could move, the tide of heat reached her heart and she was transported to a place of such light, such ineffable beauty, that her soul simply hung, luxuriating.
The sensation lasted for no more than a few moments, but she knew she’d been marked forever. As it faded, her heart yearned, stretching toward it, running, stumbling, in vain pursuit.
Very gradually, she became aware of the cramp in her limbs, the cushioning depth of the rug beneath her, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Here, scout, drink.” A mug was thrust into her slack fingers and she drained the water in a couple of grateful gulps. “You all right?” Brin crouched in front of her, peering into her face. Behind him, Trey knelt, frozen, staring at nothing, his face as pale as milk. Tear tracks marked his cheeks too, she noted.
Brin turned to run his knuckles over the other man’s jaw. He smiled crookedly. “No escape, now, Trey. It worked.”
“Gods, it was Her.” The hazel eyes were very wide, green lights flickering in their depths. “It really was.”
“Yes.” Brin pulled him to his feet. “She’s pleased with you and Anje. As for me…” He shrugged. “We’re not exactly on the best of terms.” He planted a big hand in the middle of Trey’s chest and shoved. The other man tumbled back on to the bed.
The shaman turned his dark gaze on Anje and she shivered, her nipples stiffening in a sensual rush. As she put her hand up to stroke the two torques around her neck, her clit began to throb, ripe and heavy, in time with the thudding of her hea
rt. Her tongue crept out to moisten her lips and Brin’s eyes flared.
“For this one night, you are both truly mine,” he growled. “Collared. Linked.”
“Works both ways, mighty shaman.” Trey sat up and put his hands on his hips. “No escape. Lufra, I want to try everything!”
Some sort of silent communication passed between them and their heads swung around, eyes locking on Anje. Alarm and arousal sparked within her. Her thighs were wet. “Oh no, you don’t.” She rose and backed away, only to come up hard against that dratted dresser.
Trey laughed. “Oh yes, we do.” He cocked a gleeful brow at Brin. “How long do you think we could keep her on the brink?” She would never have thought someone as sweet-natured as Trey could look so evil.
The shaman’s dimpled grin was blinding. “With the link? Hours, easy.”
Anje dodged his grasp and ran.
Slowly.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There is little to interest the traveler in Quaremel itself. Although it is the capital of one of the Ten Nations, it remains a small administrative seat. The only buildings of note are the Royal Council Chambers and the Temple Offices. However, the Temple of Lufra, located two miles beyond the settlement, is a natural wonder well worth seeing, though permission is difficult to obtain. Apply to the Temple Offices.
“Feolin and environs: a traveler’s guide”, 3rd ed, Miriliel the Burnished, 10353 ATF.
Perched high on the broad back of Trey’s vran, Anje turned her body full circle. Her brows drew down. They’d passed the small, neat settlement that Brin said was Quaremel proper and headed out to the temple.
Except that there were no buildings to be seen, only a sheltered valley, cloaked with an ancient forest of sorrowtrees and candlewoods, the biggest she’d ever seen. Though it was mid-morning, the light was twilight dim, full of gently shifting shadows. Three days to the Day of the Dark.
“Where’s the temple?” she asked.
“Right here,” replied Brin. They’d barely slept, but she thought he looked more weary than sleepless—weary right down to the heart. He dismounted and Trey lowered her down into his waiting arms. As he tucked her hand into his big, warm one, Anje became aware of the murmur of voices and a gawky lad loped out of the trees and skidded to a halt in front of them, eyes saucer-round with excitement.
“B-Brin,” he stuttered, coloring as his tongue tripped him up. “Lady Chel s-said to s-say she’s been expecting you.”
“I’ll bet she has,” muttered Trey as he handed the reins of their vranee to the boy. He squared his shoulders and took Anje’s free hand, his own firm and faintly moist. “Let’s go, then.”
Go where? Her puzzlement increased as they entered the verdant dimness of the forest and the voices grew closer. The path opened up into a clearing and her mouth dropped open.
Brin’s grip tightened. “Behold,” he said softly. “Lufra’s temple.”
Before them stretched a vast, shadow-dappled expanse, bracketed by two lines of simply enormous sorrowtrees, their graceful, weeping branches interwoven to form a roof of living green. The forest floor beneath them was carpeted by a rippling sea of grass dotted with small flowers, their white starry faces upturned to the stray shafts of light piercing the canopy above. The whole space rustled and swayed on unseen currents of air.
Anje inhaled deeply. The air felt crisp and clean in her lungs. It smelled green, of rising sap intermingled with a piercing sweetness.
“Goddess daisy.” Brin indicated the flowers and at once she recognized the perfume. It was in the herbal soap the Feolin used, the one she liked so much.
About a dozen people were clustered at the far end of the temple, dwarfed by the soft, cavernous volume of it. As she walked down the nave with the men she loved more than life itself, the grass yielded under Anje’s boots, clinging to her ankles, before slipping away, almost reluctantly. What would it feel like brushing against her bare skin? She shivered.
“Brin!” A tiny woman wearing a long, tightly fitted gown detached herself from her companions and rushed forward, her hands outstretched. “You’re dreadfully late.”
The shaman stepped forward to catch her up in a hug, her head pressing against his ribs, but Anje didn’t hear his rumbled reply. She couldn’t drag her gaze from the statues gleaming in the shifting shadows. There were four of them.
Maiden, Mother, Crone and Harlot. Lufra smiled at Her worshippers, depicted as a slender girl barely old enough to have breasts. And there She was as a crone, her wrinkled face stern with wisdom. As the Mother, Her lovely head was bent to the child in Her arms, Her belly proud with new life.
They were made of the same pale stone as the figure on Brin’s dresser, inlaid with silver and gold and colored gems that splintered the light, but it was the final statue that dragged the breath from Anje’s lungs and made her head swim.
The goddess embraced a dragon, not much bigger than She. Her smooth limbs were twined around the scaly torso. The creature’s gold-tipped claws dug into the soft flesh of Her hip and its leathery wings wrapped Her up. At first glance, it appeared the beast was devouring Her, but a more careful inspection revealed that Lufra was laughing, Her head thrown back. One hand the clasped the dragon’s rigid, pointed phallus, while its forked tongue slid over Her milky throat.
It was the most beautiful, frankly sensual thing Anje had ever seen. A deep burning warmth suffused her belly. Trey’s arm curled around her waist. “The Lust Dragon,” he murmured. “Her most popular aspect.”
Gratefully, she leaned into his solidity, only gradually becoming aware of the silence. Four men wearing snowy white sarongs and six women in gracefully clinging gowns stood frozen, staring.
At her.
Not a limb moved, not an eyelash flickered. She folded her arms and tilted her chin at an aggressive angle. “What?” she demanded. “Haven’t you seen a Child of the Mother before?”
“Well, no.” The small woman released Brin and held out her hands. Automatically, Anje bent to catch them in hers. “But know you are welcome.” She must have been well into her forties, but she was lovely still—her powerful, natural presence enhanced by a mature, confident beauty. It could only be Lady Chelisand, the cousin Trey found so formidable. The resemblance was there in the set of her cheekbones and her auburn hair, several shades darker than Trey’s. The High Priestess cocked her head to one side and scanned Anje’s face, feature by feature. But when their eyes met and tangled, Chelisand snatched her hands back as if they’d been singed.
Pressing her lips together, she stepped away and bowed her head, a dignified, graceful gesture that conceded very little. “You honor us.”
She turned to Brin, the gown parting on one side to reveal a slice of creamy flesh, all the way to her hip. She wore nothing beneath. “You were right, shaman,” she said. “She’s the one.” A delicate brow arched in Anje’s direction. “What’s your name, Child of the Mother?”
The link flared with warmth and Brin’s calloused palm came to rest hard and comforting on Anje’s shoulder. Some of the tension whispered out of her. “This is Anje,” he said, his deep voice carrying clearly in the soft air. “My Bondmate.”
The silence rang like a thunderclap. One of the young women shifted abruptly, then stilled. Another gasped audibly, her hand over her mouth, eyes stretched wide with shock. Chelisand turned to frown them down. Her gaze traveled to the torques nestled in the collar of Anje’s shirt and her brow furrowed. “An unnecessary complication.” Her lips compressed again. “The Rite will be harder on you. Maybe even impossible. Brin, how could—”
“Chel.” Trey cleared his throat. His hand tightened on Anje’s waist. “That’s not all.” He stroked his fingertips over the battered torque that circled his neck.
Chelisand’s smooth brow creased as her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.” Her tone remained absolutely even, but Anje thought the admission irritated her.
Ah Mother, they were fine, her loves! No woman had ever been gifted wi
th so much. An echo of Trey’s rueful laughter ghosted through the link and she knew what she had to do. “Trey is my Bondmate also,” she said. Let Chelisand and her priestesses make of that what they willed!
The High Priestess whirled on Trey, her skirts flying. “That’s impossible,” she said flatly.
Trey just looked at her, a small smile playing over that carnal mouth.
Chelisand dragged in a breath. “If they fail—”
Trey shrugged. “I know.”
“Chelisand.” Brin’s dark baritone jerked the woman’s head around. A flush darkened his high cheekbones, but his gaze was level, uncompromising. “There’s more.” His hand closed hard enough on Anje’s shoulder to make her gasp. “Trey is mine also. They both are. And I am theirs.”
Chelisand’s beautiful face went slack with surprise. Her mouth opened and closed. “What?”
A ripple of reaction ran through the shamans and priestesses. Someone gave a sharp bark of nervous laughter, swiftly stifled. A woman whimpered, deep in her throat.
The High Priestess pushed a lock of hair out of her eye. Her hand trembled. She swallowed. “Tell me,” she said in a thready whisper.
“The Bond is three-way,” said Brin. “We did it last night.” He indicated the statues with a jerk of his chin. “It wouldn’t have happened without Her approval. You should know that.”
Chelisand shook her head. “Of all the men in the world, I would never have believed—”
“Believe it,” growled Brin. He tucked Anje under his arm and swooped on Trey, kissing him hard enough to make him stagger.
He drew back, still gripping Trey’s jaw. “Go.” His hand fell away. “Go, before I—” The link rang with love and grief, reverberating like a temple gong. Brin inhaled sharply and turned his back on the other man.
His dark eyes seemed to penetrate to the depths of Anje’s soul. “Scout.” The kiss was deep and swift. Before she had a chance to respond, he was striding away into the forest, followed by a gaggle of priestesses, tripping over their long skirts as they broke into a trot to keep up.
Gift of the Goddess Page 26
