The Horse Master of Shanhasson (Blood and Shadows)

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  She was healed, and more, she survived his fire, easily and gladly if her hungry mouth was any indication.

  Fiercest joy swelled in his heart. He sat up, cradling her in his lap. Breaking the kiss, he surveyed her condition. She was just as sweaty as him, now, her hair dark and tangled, her cheeks rosy, her eyes hot with fever. Her eyes had been beautiful before, but now thousands of sparks blazed in the deep blue depths, blazing like a midnight sky full of stars.

  “How—”

  He meant to ask her how she felt, but she pushed forward to kiss him again. She wrapped her hands in his hair, squirming in his lap. When he forced her shoulders back, drawing his mouth away, she moaned desperately. Lost in her need and the rush of magic, she had one thought only. She reached for the closure of his trousers.

  Seizing her hands, he flipped her around so her back pressed against his chest. He lowered her to the floor beneath him, using the weight of his chest to control her. “Patience, za'hira. A dra'gwar mating has certain rules.”

  She panted beneath him, but his control calmed her. “Rules? What kind of rules?”

  “Position, for one, at least this first time.” Surrendering to his own secret need, he locked his teeth on her earlobe and tugged firmly. Her body jolted beneath his, but not with fear or pain. “We mate like dragons. Necks winding sinuously, teeth and fire to dominate and conquer. Are you sure you want to attempt such a thing?”

  She pushed back against him, seeking and begging. “I want you. “

  Pinning both her wrists to the floor above her head with his left hand, he smoothed his other down her flank and around to knead her buttock. “Do you have any fear of me taking you from behind like this? Speak truthfully, za'hira. I'll find another way if this position disturbs you.”

  Breathing hard, she took more of her weight on her knees so she could push harder against him. “Why would this bother me?”

  He gave her more of his weight, effectively trapping her beneath him. “I have ultimate control in this position. I can hold you down and take you as hard as your body will tolerate. A dragon pins his mate. He must prove he's strong enough to dominate her, or she'll turn on him and kill him.”

  She laughed roughly, some of the darker sense of shame returning to her scent. “You don't have to worry about that, Master.”

  “A female dragon will also kill her mate if he doesn't give her enough pleasure. You have nothing to worry about there, either, za'hira.” He pressed his mouth to her ear, probing with his tongue until she moaned. “Imagine me filling you up, as deep as I can go, pounding into you hard and fast, and you can't move a muscle. Does that frighten you?”

  Her harsh, pleading cry was answer enough. Her body vibrated against his, singing tension tightening her muscles just from his words. Rising up enough to jerk his trousers open, he hissed at the feel of cool air on his heated flesh. Fire still blazed inside him, sizzling but not punishing, not with her magic gurgling inside him like some sacred font in the heart of the desert.

  Leaning back over her, he nudged her knees further apart and slipped his palm down the front of her body to cup her mound. So wet, already, so hot, so open. His fingers parted her easily, carefully testing her entrance. She was tight, as he feared, but he couldn't detect any scar tissue that might increase her pain.

  She moaned, a sweet cry indeed. Her body pitched against his, as much as he allowed, grinding herself against the heel of his hand.

  “Iyeh, ready yourself for me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, a strangled cry, aching need humming through her. A touch of fear as sudden pleasure soared inside her, fear he read in her scent, the barest shadow, a dip in the heady roses of spice and musk.

  “Shhh, za'hira. I'm here, and I allow nothing to harm you. Nothing.”

  She gathered beneath him, muscles readying for headlong, careless gallop in freedom and joy. Steadied, she whispered, “Master.”

  “Take your pleasure from me. Let it roll through you, a wave of fire that only I can give. Surrender to it as you surrender to me. Take it, za'hira. Now.”

  She climaxed, shuddering on his hand. Thick with spice, heated roses swamped his senses. Fire cloaked his vision with dark smoke and red haze.

  He tugged her hands further above her head, stretching her beneath him. Pressing his mouth to her ear, he shifted against her, gliding deeper between her legs. He tested her, letting her feel his size and need without penetrating. He must know if she had any lingering fear.

  “Give me something to bite!”

  Ah, an unexpected but delightful response to his unspoken question. “Who is your Master?”

  “You,” she moaned. “Jakon rav'Tellan.”

  Holding her wrists smashed against the floor, he sank into her slowly, torture with her shuddering beneath him. Fire roared in his ears, consumed his heart, and melted his very bones. “Take my body, za'hira. All of me. Take every inch, and trust that I will give you nothing but pleasure.”

  “Oh, Lady, please, hurry!”

  Gritting his teeth, he used a fistful of her hair to draw her with him as he rose onto his knees. He arched her back, wrenching her mouth around to find his throat, even while he remained sheathed inside her.

  “Take my blood, za'hira. Put your mark upon me. Taste my blood, my love, my fire, and bind yourself to me forever.”

  Her teeth sank into his throat, clamping with such force he could hardly breathe. Rubbing his left palm over her breasts, abrading her sensitive flesh with the calluses she didn't mind, he slid his palm down her stomach and held her tighter to him. No thrusting, just filling her up, rock hard and straining.

  He knew the moment her teeth broke his skin and she tasted his blood. Growling, he let the thunderous wave of fire crash through his veins, sharing it with her. Her spine bowed and she convulsed, her mouth and body clenching around him, sucking him down in a tidal wave of need.

  “Iyeh, my love,” he rasped, using his fingers to draw her climax out as long as possible, locking her hips to his. “Give me a deep, hard mark that will never fade.”

  Shaking, she sagged against him. He tenderly eased her back to the floor, pillowing her head on his left forearm. Seated hard and thick inside her, he breathed heavily. He gathered his control, desire, and most of all, his fire. “Now, za'hira, I will take your body.”

  She wrapped one hand around his biceps, the other gripping his hand. As soon as she was braced, he withdrew ever so slowly, relishing the torment, her ragged cry, and the incredible gripping heat of her body. His fire danced inside her, licking hungrily through her veins, through his, melting them flesh to flesh.

  Thrusting deep, he couldn't stop the roar from ripping out of his throat. Flames washed over them. Somma, so much fire, so much love. He wouldn't last long. He hammered his hips against hers, fighting to keep a rein on his body.

  Teeth sank into his forearm. Fire exploded upward, molten lava rushing through his veins. Fisting his right hand in her hair, he jerked her head back, baring her throat in a straining arc. Curling over her, he gripped her neck in his jaws and fought the beast inside him to keep from shredding open her throat. Blood filled his mouth, and he spasmed, drowning in fire.

  Blazing wings unfurled inside him, the dragon screaming with release, and the world erupted in flames.

  For a moment, Jake feared he slipped his skin entirely. Slowly, though, he realized he was still a man, still buried inside his woman. He crushed her beneath him, but she made no protest until he eased off her to stretch out beside her.

  Ah, the cool marble floor was a blessed relief against his steaming skin.

  She rolled toward him, but he stopped her with a hand on her chest. He pushed her flat on her back and sat up, determined to examine her for injuries.

  Blood trickled from the bite mark on her throat. Her fragile skin already showed bruising, and the imprint of his teeth looked vicious and raw. He leaned down and licked the mark gently, cleaning away the blood.

  Fingers scrambling on the til
e, she moaned, little aftershocks of pleasure shaking her body against his.

  “I should regret such violence done to your precious flesh, but I must admit I love seeing my mark in your skin.”

  “You touch it, and fire roars through me all over again.” She touched the bite she’d left in his neck, and his eyes rolled back in his head. She laughed softly. “I guess that answers my question. You feel it too.”

  She lifted her head as though to lick her brand in his flesh, but he kept her pinned to the floor. “Later, you can torment me to your heart's desire, but first, I need to make sure I haven't injured you.”

  “I'm fine.”

  He frowned, noting the darkening red skin on her knees and hips. “Forgive me, za'hira. The hard marble floor was a most inappropriate way to take you as my mate.” He sighed, his heart heavy. “For years, I dreamed of loving you. I knew you'd been hurt badly, so I was determined to lie on my back and let you have your way with me, at least the first time. I wanted to let you accept me at your own speed. Instead, I claimed you like a dragon in rut. After the Shadow you already bore—”

  “I loved it.” She interrupted, cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes blazed, swirling and sparkling with his fire. Every strand of her hair glowed as if lit with soft golden candlelight. “How could I fear the Shadow with your fire blazing in my heart? I love you.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers, regret thickening his voice. His heart hurt so badly he couldn't breathe. “My love, my heart, I beg your forgiveness if I hurt you or frightened you in any way. You trusted me, and I took you as dra'gwar. Somma, I could have killed you. I could kill you next time.”

  She lifted his head and gently nibbled on his bottom lip. Her teeth scraped his skin, a spark to ignite him all over again. “You gave me trust where I had only fear. You gave me love where I had only pain. You gifted me with your blood, fire, and body, when I knew only suffering and taking and shame. I was broken, Jake. A broken rose, maimed and ruined and afraid, so terribly afraid. And you healed me.”

  Suddenly, she pushed him over onto his back. Pleased with herself, she sat on his chest and smiled down at him with enough wicked lasciviousness to curl his hair. “I'm going to nibble on some manly bits this time.”

  Arching his brow, he struggled to keep from laughing. Or groaning, when she wriggled on him and licked her lips with anticipation. “I shall need my whip to keep you in line.”

  She shuddered. “Oh yes, my Horse Master. Please bring your whip.”

  SO BEGINS TWO SEPARATE LINES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY OF SHANHASSON.

  A son of Shadow lives far to the north, simmering in resentment. He wants Shanhasson and vows to one day seat his own sons on the High Throne. Meanwhile, High Queen Angelina raises her children of Fire in Shanhasson, hoping the Light of Our Blessed Lady’s love is enough to keep them safe.

  Who will win the High Throne? Find out in the Shanhasson trilogy. A preview of The Rose of Shanhasson follows below.

  The Rose of Shanhasson Excerpt

  By Joely Sue Burkhart

  ONE

  Blessed Lady above, why have You forsaken me?

  Scanning the chilly gray waters of Dalden Bay, Shannari searched for even a small sign of hope. She stood on the holiest ground in the Green Lands and had offered ceaseless prayers throughout the night for naught. Our Blessed Lady’s silvered full moon mocked her with its silence.

  The thick bayside air tasted like tears. Shoulders drooping, she swallowed the choking lump of misery. She rubbed her aching, dry eyes and turned away from the mist-covered bay. Power pulsed with the gentle moonlight, resonating in her blood. Her skin tingled with the sweet melody, her heart aching, yearning to use that inborn gift.

  If only I could find some way to restore my magic...

  But no. That was another failure entirely. My heart is dead.

  Waiting at the last column, the High Priest took her chilled hands between his own. Father Aran’s snowy white hair and beard gleamed against his scarlet robes. “Our Blessed Lady has heard your prayers, Your Majesty.”

  Shame clawed her chest and she dropped her gaze. “Please, don't call me that.”

  “I’ve known since your birth that you would be the next High Queen. I saw the Rose Crown on your head even in the cradle.”

  “So you say.” Shannari jerked her hands free and clenched them into fists at her sides. “You also told me of the great power I would have as the Lady’s Last Daughter. Yet here I am, my magic crippled, my country surrounded by enemies, and betrothed to Prince Theo, the one person who most wants me dead.” Her voice broke. She would never forget the malice in the Crown Prince’s eyes, nor the suffocating horror that had come over her when he’d touched her. “I’m trapped.”

  The High Priest flinched. “The mistake was mine, Your Majesty, I—”

  “How can I refuse to marry him now without starting a civil war?”

  “Our Blessed Lady wants Her tainted son removed from the High Throne at all cost.” The High Priest stared through her, deeper, seeing beyond to some future that made his eyes flash with hope. “A way will be provided.”

  Shannari refused to let that gleam of hope move her. She’d seen the same look in his eyes too many times to no avail. Seeing a possible future and knowing the Lady’s prophesy didn’t make it happen.

  “Dark at times, clouded with Shadow and fraught with peril, your path is steep and treacherous with ravines on either side. If you fall, all the Green Lands will fall with you. This I know in my heart. Yet hope comes, though from where I cannot See.”

  She knew all too well the dark prophesy of doom waiting for her people if she failed. Other children grew up on nursery rhymes and fairytales; she’d learned a destiny of blood, and darkness, and death with her mother’s murder. Death loomed closer than ever in these dark times.

  Inwardly sighing, she joined her waiting father, King Valche. Surrounded by guards, they walked toward the village curved along the shoreline. Chittering raucously, gulls fought for scraps on the beach of sand and broken shells and the stench of rotting fish made her stomach churn.

  Vessels ranging from local fishing boats to sea-worthy trading ships lined the docks. From crates full of rare spices from the jungles of Mambia, to exotic furs from the frigid ice of Jjord in the extreme north, exotic goods from all over the world came through this port,. Without Dalden Bay, Allandor’s tables might miss the sea’s natural bounty, but the largest blow would be felt in the merchants’ pockets.

  Shannari ran through her options again and came to the same conclusion. Surely an alliance with Allandor’s greatest enemy was worth the risk to herself if it would save the Green Lands. Shivering, she rubbed the nape of her neck. She had the nasty feeling that an invisible axe loomed over her head.

  “I despise Stephan,” King Valche muttered beneath his breath. “I hate his clingy, sneaky ways, how he always cozies up to Theo, oozing snake oil promises.”

  “Tell me any other way, Father, and I’ll do it.”

  King Valche sighed heavily and ran a hand through his silvered hair. “We need him, slime or no.”

  Dressed in Allandor’s regalia of midnight blue trimmed in gold braid, he presented the perfect image of control and regal civility. Ruefully, Shannari wondered what image she projected in her leathers and chain mail, sword within easy reach at her side. Her father had begged her to wear a court gown to emphasize her lineage and legitimate claim to the High Throne. Nevertheless, Last Daughter of the Blessed Lady or not, she went nowhere unarmed, even when escorted with a full contingent of guards. She’d learned that lesson at a very young age.

  “Let’s try polite conversation first and see where we stand with Stephan,” King Valche said. “Maybe he’ll surprise us. Maybe he’ll take a stand against Theo for once and do what’s right.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Stephan knows nothing but taking. The only bargaining chip we have is Dalden Bay.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Lightly, she touched the hidden scar on the left side of
her chest above her breast. “I’ll marry him if I must. Anyone’s better than Prince Theo.”

  A silent warning shrilled in her head and ice chilled her blood. Her heart pounded as adrenaline surged through her. Crippled and stunted her magic might be, but she knew a warning from the Lady when she felt it.

  Struggling to maintain a normal demeanor, Shannari looked about them, her hand nonchalantly stroking her sword hilt. While the docks were busy this early in the morning, the main cobblestone street was deserted. The appointed meeting place, the best inn in Dalden Bay, towered above the smaller shops and houses of the villagers on the corner.

  Flanked by guards, she couldn’t identify a visible threat, but the chill increased. Her teeth chattered and her fingers cramped on the hilt. Danger approached, but from where?

  An alley opened up on her right. As they walked past, the shadow of deadly intent raised the hairs on the base of her neck. If I raise the alarm, the assassin might slip away only to try again. I have to stop him now.

  Choking back a cry, she took another step, waiting, waiting...

  Behind her, steel whispered in the crisp dawn air. Shannari whirled and drew the sword. The nearest guard reached for his, too, turning too late. Slipping around him, the assassin rushed the last few steps, closing quickly so she couldn't entirely block his thrusting blade. She fouled his aim and the knife slammed into her right side.

  An iron fist of pain exploded in her ribcage. Grunting, she took a quick step back to gain some space. Thank the Lady for chain mail. Swinging the sword in a hard arc, she slit the assassin’s throat.

  Blinking in shock, the man fell to his knees, his hands wrapped around the gaping wound in his neck. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly and he pitched face first onto the ground.

  Eventually, she would fail. A knife would find her back, this time slicing her heart beyond repair, just like her mother. She would never forget the dark pool of blood spreading on the floor, her beautiful mother shattered like a porcelain doll.