by Meg Harris
He doubted she’d ever had a man stroke the smooth skin of her belly or her thighs, or drop kisses along the graceful line of her back. A thrill ran through him at the thought that he would be the first man to do such things to her.
“Has any man ever kissed you before?” he asked in a rough whisper.
Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with puzzlement. “Kissed?”
“Like this.” He placed a finger beneath her chin, tilted her face up and brushed her lips lightly with his own.
When he drew back, her eyes were wide with surprise. “No,” she admitted. “No man has ever done that.”
He bent forward again, let his mouth stroke over hers, let his tongue caress the soft plump contours of her lips. A soft sound rose from her throat, a moan of shocked pleasure, and she swayed toward him almost imperceptibly.
He leaned back and looked at her parted lips, seeing her fangs fully erect, a glistening drop of moisture sliding from one of them. The knowledge that he’d aroused her with a simple kiss sent heat blazing through his veins.
She evidently saw the direction of his gaze. “Now that I am no longer producing pheromones,” she said softly, “will my venom work on you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. The doctor had been unable to determine if the effect of her venom was related to her pheromones or not. The thought of living the rest of his life without the excruciating pleasure he’d experienced yesterday horrified him, yet he had told the doctor to go ahead. There was no way she could live among Terrans unless her pheromones were suppressed. This, he knew, was the only way he could ever have her.
Tiryl stared at him a long moment, and her catlike pupils expanded. “You don’t know?”
The shock in her voice puzzled him. “The doctor isn’t sure what effect the suppressant will have on your venom,” he explained.
“But…” She hesitated for a long moment. “You wish me to be your life-mate anyway?”
The reason for her shock finally registered. “Tiryl,” he said gently, “I already told you. It isn’t the venom I want. It’s you.”
He was surprised to see tears well up in her eyes. He leaned forward again, placing his arms around her slender waist. He kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her venom mingling together in his mouth. A wave of arousal struck him, and he gently probed against her lips with his tongue. Her lips parted, and he sought her tongue with his own.
The tip of her tongue stroked his, hesitantly, almost shyly, and an onslaught of sensation sizzled through his body. He wasn’t sure if it was the taste of her venom, or if it was simply her. She was the most exciting, intriguing woman he’d ever known, and she was going to be his…forever.
He hoped.
His voice sounded harsh to his own ears as he whispered, “Make love to me, Tiryl. And let me make love to you.”
She hesitated, looked up at him. “There is no such thing as making love,” she said in a small voice, as if repeating a catechism she had learned long ago that she had grown to doubt. “There is only sex.”
He brushed his lips over hers again, lightly, licking away a trickle of venom. “Are you certain?”
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she clung to him. “No,” she admitted in a whisper.
Despite the flowing robes, he could feel every curve of her naked body pressed against him, and he craved the feel of her satin skin against his own. He groped at his robes, fumbled frantically, trying to unfasten them, and her hands slid down and helped. Within moments his robes had fallen to the floor, and he fell back against the rumpled sheets of his bunk and yanked her down with him, her skin burning against his own.
For the first time, neither of them attempted to get the upper hand, to use sex as a weapon to control the other. His hands and mouth were eager and hungry, caressing her everywhere, and she seemed as violently aroused as he did. His mouth trailed down her back, discovering the smooth skin of her buttocks, and he traced her contours with his tongue and his lips, lingering on her thighs, which were wet with her juices. He licked away her moisture and hungrily sought more.
She rolled onto her back and parted her thighs, and he stroked her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, lavishing attention on this smallest part of her as he had lavished attention on the rest of her body. He found every last inch of her incredibly exciting. His tongue played with her until she cried out and trembled, at the verge of orgasm.
When he moved up the bed to kiss her again, her hands stroked across his chest, his thighs, his abdomen, as if she was discovering a man’s body for the first time. It felt like his first time, too. He felt as fumbling and awkward as a young man who had just attained his majority, but she didn’t seem to mind. He fell back on the mattress, his hands all over her skin, and roughly pulled her on top of him.
Her wet flesh cradled his cock, straining eager and hard against her.
And then he was inside her, slamming hard into her depths, and she was moaning, her head thrown back, every muscle in her lithe body straining. The liquid heat felt exquisite, yet he was aware of her on much more than simply a physical level. He felt as if a silver thread of connection had grown between them, something as gossamer as silk yet as strong as steel, something far beyond the ordinary. Something more intense, and more lasting, than any physical bond he had ever formed with a woman.
He couldn’t look away from the beauty of her pleasure. Watching her with avid interest, he saw her face contort, her back arch, heard her crying out as she came.
At last she fell forward against his chest, gasping for breath. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, holding her fast against him, and thrust into her over and over again.
He felt her fangs prick his shoulder, felt the heat build inside of him, and he screamed as he came in a violent maelstrom of pleasure.
He wasn’t sure if the intensity of his orgasm was caused by the venom or if it was just her.
It no longer really mattered.
* * * * *
“There it is.”
Barrak stood on the bridge, dressed once again in his flowing robes, and studied the blip on the screen that showed the location of another vessel. He’d dressed hastily at Ama’s urgent summons and run from his quarters at top speed. The vessel was already so near that there was no chance of outrunning it. It loomed just ahead of them, like a coiled cobra ready to strike. It wasn’t as enormous as the flagship had been, but it was decidedly formidable.
“How did it get so close?” he inquired.
His second-in-command looked worried. “It appears they have some sort of shrouding technology, sir. It just appeared out of nowhere.”
Barrak frowned. “I didn’t realize the Zytellians possessed shrouding technology.”
“It could be that they rarely need to use it.”
Barrak nodded. That made sense. As the conquerors of a thousand worlds, it was almost a given that they possessed every sort of technology known to civilization. But they rarely needed to sneak up on a target. Evidently they now considered Terran vessels to be dangerous.
He supposed he should be flattered.
Instead he was annoyed with himself. Damn it, he should have anticipated this. But he’d allowed the Zytellians to sneak up on him while he dallied in bed. Now he knew precisely how Tiryl had felt when she’d lost her flagship. Because he was grimly aware he was most likely about to lose his ship and crew.
Not to mention his life.
“We have their Leader,” Ama said. “Surely they won’t attack. They’ll negotiate to get her back.”
“Perhaps,” Barrak said. He thought it was at least as likely that another woman had already proclaimed herself Leader and now intended to blast the former Leader to space dust in order to consolidate her position. In which case they weren’t likely to remain in one piece long enough to discuss the matter.
As he strode back toward his command chair, he noticed a familiar weight missing from a sheath on his leg. He sat, pushed the folds of his ro
be aside, and checked.
His knife was missing.
He was certain he’d returned it to its sheath when he’d used it to cut Tiryl’s bonds. But she’d seen it, and doubtless stolen it when the opportunity arose.
A weight settled in his chest. Damn it. He’d known he couldn’t trust her, and yet he’d allowed himself to hope that she’d thrown in her lot with him. That she would be his life-mate.
He was a fool.
And now they were facing down a Zytellian dreadnaught with the Leader of the Zytellians armed, and likely running loose, on his ship.
He gritted his teeth, repressing his anger and the bitter feeling of betrayal that boiled within him, and turned his attention to the more pressing problem. He looked over at Ama.
“Open the channel.”
Chapter Ten
The dark-haired woman on the screen glared at Barrak as if he were nothing more than an animal. Which he was, he supposed, to her way of thinking.
“Where is Tiryl?” she demanded haughtily.
Barrak pushed back his annoyance at her tone. He was unaccustomed to being spoken to as an inferior, although over the past few days he had unfortunately grown more used to it. It still made his hackles rise.
“She is my prisoner,” he answered.
“Let me speak to her.”
“No.”
Her eyes went wide with outrage. “I will speak with her at once, or my soldiers will board your vessel!”
Barrak took a deep breath and decided to bluff. “Tiryl is my prisoner,” he said again, “until we reach Terra. There she will become my life-mate.”
The woman looked as horrified by the thought as Tiryl had. Evidently Zytellian women never bound themselves. “She will never agree to such a thing.”
“She already has,” Barrak said.
He was aware of Ama’s sidelong glance and ignored it.
“Such a fate would be worse than death for a Zytellian,” the woman said. “She will kill herself before she allows herself to be bound in such a manner.”
Barrak thought of the missing blade with a quiver of unease. It had never occurred to him that she might rather kill herself than mate with him. The thought of her lying on the deck, dead by her own hand, clutched at his gut like a cold hand.
He shook the thought off. Tiryl was not a coward, and she wouldn’t kill herself, regardless of what this hard-eyed woman thought.
“She has already agreed to bond with me,” he repeated. He heard the doors to the bridge slide open behind him but didn’t bother turning around. “I hope this will be the start of a new and better relationship between our peoples.”
The woman glared at him. “I do not trust you, Terran. We will board your vessel and see for ourselves that our Leader is still alive and well. And then we will take her home…after we destroy you.”
“You will not board this vessel,” a voice said from behind him.
Barrak turned abruptly to see Tiryl standing just behind him. She wore one of Barrak’s dark green robes, which she had obviously pilfered from his wardrobe. His silver knife glinted in her hand. He guessed she’d used it to bluff her way past the guards, and his respect for her grew. A woman armed only with a knife ought not to be able to escape past two men wearing blasters.
He hoped she hadn’t harmed his men. But the fact that she had escaped in order to communicate with her people was definitely not a good sign.
Ama took a step toward her, but Barrak held up his hand, and Ama hesitated. Tiryl walked up and stood next to Barrak’s shoulder.
“Leader?” the woman said doubtfully. “Are you…well?”
“I am fine,” Tiryl said. “As you can see, the Terrans have not harmed me, and they have even clothed and armed me. But I am no longer your Leader.”
The woman looked horrified. “What do you mean?”
“I have agreed to life-mate with this man,” Tiryl said evenly. “I will be a princess of Terra, which makes it impossible for me to continue to lead Zytellia. A Zytellian Leader cannot serve two peoples.”
“But-but—” The woman pressed her lips together to stop her stammering. “You know as well as I do what that will mean to the Zytellian Empire.”
“Yes. Civil war while each faction struggles to win control of the government. Which means you have work to do within the boundaries of Zytellian space, Admiral. You do not have the time or the resources to attack Terra any longer. Since you have command of a dreadnaught, and since you know what has happened to me, while everyone else in the Empire must guess, you may be able to win the Leadership.”
The woman nodded slowly, and Barrak could almost see the wheels turning her mind. “An interesting idea. Thank you, Tiryl. I will consider it.”
The transmission ended, and a view of the vast gray ship replaced the woman’s face. Barrak watched as it slowly and grandly turned away from them, then dwindled rapidly as it raced for Zytellian space. Only when it had disappeared did he let out the breath he had been holding.
He noticed that Ama and the rest of his crew were staring at Tiryl in shock. She looked back at them and placed a hand on his arm. He placed his hand over hers.
“I spoke the truth to the Zytellian,” he said. “Tiryl has agreed to become my life-mate. And a princess of Terra.”
A stillness fell over the crew. For long moments no one spoke, while Barrak held his breath, awaiting their reaction. At last Ama walked slowly across the deck plating to Tiryl…and knelt in front of her. “My Princess,” he said formally, dropping to his knees. “I pledge my loyalty to you, as I have to Barrak.”
At Ama’s example, the rest of the crew, male and female, dropped to their knees, pledging their fealty.
“Please,” Tiryl said, holding out her hands. “I am not your princess yet.”
Barrak smiled at Ama as the man rose to his feet. He had been concerned his people wouldn’t support his action. He should have known he was wrong. His people were loyal to him and always would be.
“You saved our lives today,” Ama said. “You cast your lot with us when you could have used your power as Leader to destroy us and return to your own world. For that alone, we owe you our loyalty.”
“Thank you,” Tiryl said in a tone perilously close to humility. “But I did not want to return to Zytellia.” She paused and glanced at Barrak, then added in a soft voice, “I am where I want to be.”
Chapter Eleven
Terra was not precisely what Tiryl had expected. She had envisioned it as an ignorant backwater, as a vine-entangled jungle with outposts carved out here and there—much as she envisioned all planets other than Zytellia, she admitted to herself with a touch of shame.
Compared to the swarming mass of humanity on Zytellia, Terra was sparsely populated. Having lived in the concrete canyons of a planetwide city all her life, but for her brief visit to Zytellia’s moon in childhood, she was impressed by the amount of green vegetation she saw as their flyer descended, but it looked more like a carefully tended park than the untamed jungles of Zytellia’s moon. At least the royal realm did. Vast acres of neatly trimmed emerald grass, dotted with ornamental trees and flowering shrubs, spread out in all directions beneath them. Barely visible in the far distance was a brown line of sand, and beyond that, slate-blue water dotted with whitecaps. An ocean, she thought, intrigued. There was little aboveground water on Zytellia, and she had never before seen an ocean.
The water disappeared from sight as the two-person flyer descended to earth in front of a vast structure, which looked as if it were made entirely of blue crystal. Its multifaceted walls and towers reflected the sunlight like a sapphire sparkling in the sun. Accustomed as she was to the starkly functional architecture of Zytellia, Tiryl stared at it in amazement as she stepped from the flyer, at Barrak’s side.
Even more amazing were the plants that grew everywhere, in lavish abundance. In her duties as Leader, she had set foot on scores of Zytellian worlds. But she had almost invariably visited cities, since Zytellian women ruled those
worlds, and Zytellians loved city life. Even for recreation, Zytellians preferred the sexual delights of indoor “pleasure palaces” to communing with nature. The air of a Zytellian city was always smoggy and acrid.
She drew fresh air, sweet with the fragrance of blooming flowers and new leaves, into her lungs, and realized she’d been missing something all these years.
As they walked toward the crystal castle, she fell into step next to Barrak, surprised at how natural it seemed. Among her people, men always walked a step behind women. This had always seemed like the normal way of things to her. From her earliest girlhood memories, boys had always bowed to her, on those rare occasions when they had crossed her path at all. But of course here men and women were equal. Men and women alike bowed to Barrak, but because of his rank rather than her gender.
Odd though it seemed, she could no longer think of him as inferior. Walking next to him somehow seemed like the right thing to do.
“Are the flowers always so beautiful here?” she asked.
Barrak shook his head. “It is spring.”
“Spring?” She thought for a moment. “Ah, the season when days begin to get longer. The days are growing warmer, then.”
“That’s right.”
“On my planet the length of the days is irrelevant to the climate. We control the weather at all times.”
She didn’t realize that she sounded slightly condescending until the corner of Barrak’s mouth quirked slightly, whether with annoyance or amusement she was uncertain. “We are able to control the weather as well,” he said. “We simply choose not to, most of the time. Weather is one of the joys of nature.”
Sorry that her words had sounded more arrogant than she had intended, she shot him an apologetic smile. “I believe you may be right. This…spring…is lovely.”
“It is a time for new life,” he said softly.
A time for new life. Those words resonated in her head as they stepped into the enormous castle, through doors that were as crystalline as the rest of the structure, into her new life.
