The Darkest Warrior

by Gena Showalter

  "Not yet," he croaked. Hands on her hips now, he forced her to her feet, and positioned his mouth over her aching femininity. "Need a taste of you first."

  He flicked out his tongue, wrenching an agonized groan from her. The pleasure...she let her head fall back. He licked and devoured while he prepared her with his fingers, moving one in and out of her. Then two. He scissored them, stretching her. And it was good, so good. All she could do was hold on to his horns and enjoy the ride, rocking, rocking, back and forth. Back and forth. Soon, incoherent words left her. Her muscles were tensing, readying for climax--

  But he didn't let her have it. He stopped before the moment of no return, wringing a frustrated shout from her. Then he drew her to her knees once more, positioning the tip of his erection where she needed it most and feeding her another kiss, letting her taste the very pleasure he'd roused in her.

  Gillian pressed down...slowly...slower, giving her body time to adjust. His fingers had prepared her, but his shaft...it was so big even the tip seemed to fill her up.

  Sweat glistened on his brow. "Taking me so perfectly, wife."

  The roughened tone caused a tide of arousal to drench his length, allowing her body to slide farther down. When Gillian perceived a white-hot burn, she stopped. Centuries had passed since she'd had--no! She'd never had a man inside her. What happened in her childhood did not count. Puck was right. This was her first time.

  His grip on her flexed, as if he wanted to yank her down but resisted the urge. "Killing me, lass. Never felt...so good. But I need... I need..."

  When he needed, she would give, always.

  Gillian pressed down once again...the burn intensified...down. Finally, she had taken all of him. Puck expelled a breath.

  One minute passed and--yes! The pain faded, and her muscles went lax.

  Roaring, Puck thrust his hips up, and...oh! Oh! She'd had another inch to go, and it felt incredible. A stream of ecstasy sluiced through her.

  Now he impaled her. Sweat slicked their chests, friction sparking every time she inhaled.

  "You good, lass? Tell me you're good."

  "Mmm. Very good." She moved. She had to move. Balanced on her knees, she rose up, up, then slid back down. Amazing. So she did it again, and again, tentatively at first but soon gaining confidence and speed.

  "That's the way." He tightened his grip, guiding her up and down with more force, even forward and back. Missing his hands on her breasts, she cupped them and pinched her nipples. "The sight of you... The feel of you."

  Nerve endings crackled, pressure built deep inside her...deeper still. "Puck," she cried. "Please."

  *

  My woman needs me to finish her.

  Desire consumed Puck, so intense he had no perception of Indifference, had lost sight of the world around him. He could only focus on Gillian, his wife, a live wire of pure energy and raw passion, so hot and tight and wet as she rode him.

  Moonlight bathed her, golden skin flushed, the runes in her hands glowing. Those whiskey eyes were alive, the kindling an unstoppable inferno.

  Pride puffed his chest. I did this. Me.

  With her head thrown back, her hair a dark stream framing her face, she was a vision. A goddess without equal. The incarnation of carnality.

  "Let me," he said. With his cheek, he nudged her hands away and flicked his tongue over one nipple, then the other.

  Breaths heaving, she rode his shaft faster, faster. Tension stole over him, collecting in each of his muscles, threatening to explode, or kill him. He'd be happy either way, would die with a smile.

  "You are mine." His voice was thick and low, as much a growl as anything. "Say it."

  "I'm yours. Yours. All yours."

  That's my female. "Gonna make you come so hard, lass." He thrust up even as he drove her down, down, at the same time giving her nipple a little bite.

  "Puck!"

  Must taste my name on those lips. Mouth on her mouth. Tongues dancing together. He reached between their bodies and strummed where she ached most.

  "Yes, yes!" Her entire being shook, her inner walls clenching around his shaft as she climaxed.

  Puck became frenzied, pounding in and out of her...pounding...she felt so good, so right. Nothing had ever felt better, or more perfect. The pleasure was irresistible. Would he blow?

  Heat at the base of his spine, radiating around his hips, collecting in his testicles. His body readied. Soon he would...he would...

  Puck roared until his throat cracked, his voice going hoarse. He came and came and came inside her, his entire body bucking under the onslaught of bliss. And still he did not stop thrusting, did not stop jetting into his wife as she milked him, as if greedy for more--for all of him.

  He'd waited so long for a woman to be his and his alone, had craved having the same female in his bed again and again. And yet, when he'd experienced multiple nights with another, he'd found the whole thing lacking. This? With Gillian? Not nearly enough. He wanted every night. Every morning. Every moment in between.

  He hadn't known it at the time, but he'd waited for her, had craved her. Only her. A woman strong enough to feel when he could not. A woman unwilling to let him shut down his own emotions, who knew the rarity of joy, who would settle for nothing less.

  Finally, when she'd wrung him dry, he collapsed, Gillian remaining draped over his chest.

  *

  That was...so...so...amazing! A revelation.

  Gillian marveled. She'd just had sex. Wicked, mind-blowing, delicious sex. The kind in novels and movies. The kind she'd always wanted, but feared she'd never have, and she'd loved every second of it.

  The right man had made all the difference, just as she'd suspected.

  With Puck, pleasure had possessed her, driving her to new heights. And it--this--had forged a bond as strong as their vows. It must have. Gillian had never felt closer to her husband.

  She lifted her head and caught Puck grinning. The sexiest grin she'd ever beheld. Also the most beautiful. His entire face lit up, warming her inside and out. And...and...and...

  A tear suddenly slipped from the corner of her eye, surprising her. Ugh. Was she going to cry every time she had an orgasm?

  It was just, this was another first. This beautiful act had once been a living nightmare because of bad, bad men. Finally, she was free!

  Puck had owned her. Not her memories. Not her past. Puck. He'd owned all of her.

  As a teenager, she remembered thinking she needed to have normal sex with a normal guy in order to feel normal herself. Puck was anything but normal. He was extraordinary and exactly what she'd needed.

  And he's mine. For now.

  How can I ever let him go?

  Gentle, so gentle, he wiped her tears away. "What is this, my sweet wife?"

  Pretending she wasn't feeling all kinds of vulnerable, she said, "I'm just... I'm happy. Not bad for my first time, eh?"

  He combed his fingers through her hair, his need to touch her as strong as her need to touch him. "Woman, you have remade me." A pause, then, "I will hear your praise now. Tell me you'll replay this encounter. Tell me you'll remember your soft feelings for me, no matter what happens between us."

  Remember...because he'd ditched his terms and planned to divorce her, after all?

  Has to be this way. You know it.

  Just...don't go there. Not yet. Chest constricting, she lifted her head, cupped his stubbled cheeks in her hand. "As if I could ever forget my soft feelings, or you. You are my..." What? Husband, yes. Life? Maybe. Family? Love?

  I think... I think I do want his love. I think I want to love him back.

  A war cry cut through the night--William's war cry.

  In a blink, Puck had pulled out of her and maneuvered to his feet. She groaned, regretting the abrupt loss of him. Actually, regretting the loss of him period.

  No time to waste. As she stood to unsteady legs and righted her skirt, then pulled on the rest of her clothes, Puck tied his pants and weaponed-up. Perfect timing.
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  A blur of darkness slammed into him, propelling him into a tree.

  Puck and William tumbled over the ground in a violent clash, one over the other. Somehow they managed to both injure and disarm each other.

  Not that the fight was any less brutal without weapons. They began to use claws and teeth to inflict maximum damage.

  "Stop," she commanded. "Now!"

  "I thought I could deal with this." With his eyes glowing red, William looked like the incarnation of wrath. "For the first time in my life, I was wrong."

  "She's my wife." Puck might not have red eyes, but savagery etched every inch of his face.

  "Not for long."

  Puck charged, head-butting William and reminding her of Peanut; only, Peanut had no horns. The protrusions gouged William's torso. Merciless, her friend grabbed her husband by the base of the neck and twisted, breaking his spine.

  For one terrible minute, Puck was motionless. Just enough time for William to work himself free, and punt the other man in the face.

  Her stomach protested. "I said enough!"

  They ignored her, too busy rolling across the ground once again, striking at each other. Their growls blended together. Blood sprayed.

  Gillian's heart rate accelerated, her breaths growing hectic. "I mean it. Stop!"

  Ignored again.

  William grabbed a dagger by the blade, the metal slicing his hand as he hammered Puck's temple to punctuate his next words. "You took advantage of her."

  Puck deflected the next blow and delivered a brutal uppercut to the underside of William's chin.

  "He didn't take advantage of me. I begged him for it." She vaulted between them and held out her arms. "Please, stop this."

  If something happened to one of these two men...

  William darted around her to swing at Puck. Her husband blocked before delivering a punch of his own--one loaded with magic he couldn't afford to waste. William flew backward, crashing into a tree, splitting the trunk in half.

  As William came barreling back, ready to slam into Puck once again, Gillian jumped between them a second time. But William couldn't stop, his speed too great. Noticing her, however, he flashed past her, successfully avoiding her and smacking into Puck. Another violent clash ensued.

  Argh! If she inserted herself into the fray, one of them could injure her, and both men would blame the other. The fight would definitely end in death, then.

  Having heard the commotion, Galen and Pandora burst past the line of trees. When they caught sight of the in-progress battle, they stopped--and grinned.

  Amusement? Really? Gillian's anger sparked.

  "Twenty bucks says William takes home the gold," Galen said. "And Puck's family jewels."

  "You're on," Pandora replied. "Puck's not letting Willy win his girl. I've seen the way he watches her."

  Twenty dollars. No offers of help. Anger turned to rage. Tingles along her nape. Thoughts derailing. Oh, no, no, no.

  She reached for the vial of syrup hanging around her neck. Too late. Must...kill...everyone!

  Gillian grabbed hold of Galen, lifted him over her head and slammed him into Pandora. Red suffused her vision as she followed the pair to the ground. Punch, punch, punch. Kick, kick. The abuse she inflicted on one, she then inflicted on the other.

  They tried to fight back, to escape, but they were no match for her superior strength or speed. Blood sprayed her face, and she grinned. The pop, pop of breaking bones rang in her ears, and she laughed with maniacal glee.

  "Gillian. Lass." Puck's voice seemed to call to her from a long, dark tunnel.

  He was near. Her husband. Did she want to kill him? No, no. The thought repelled her.

  "That's my sweet lass." Soft fingers stroked the ridges of her spine. "Calm down, a chuisle. For me."

  A chuisle. Or "pulse." But...the endearment made no sense. Why would Puck call her a pulse? Unless he meant...she was his pulse, the very reason his heart beat.

  He already loves me?

  Maybe, maybe not. She definitely loved him, she realized. No longer did two different Gillians battle for supremacy inside her--all of her wanted Puck.

  She'd fallen for him, all right. Head over heels, nothing held back. She loved his strength, and ferocity. Loved his calm, and his cunning. Loved who they were together.

  But he was more than the love of her life. He was her life. When he smiled, she melted. When he looked at her, she desired. When he neared, she lost focus of anything else.

  So, he could rest easy. Puck Connacht remained undefeated. He'd won her loyalty as well as her heart.

  And now that he had himself a loving queen, she could help him unite the clans!

  Problem: she wasn't supposed to receive a happy ending, unless the Oracles were wrong for the first time in Amaranthian history.

  She'd told herself she could overcome anything, even the prophecy, that she would fight for what she wanted. Too, she'd told herself she couldn't risk dragging Puck down with her. He was a born king, and he might grow to resent the woman who kept him from his dreams.

  She couldn't do both. Had to pick one or the other.

  His happiness mattered to her--far more than her own! And his leadership mattered to everyone. The maze was a creation of Sin's and a peek inside his mind. He was diabolical, crazy and straight up evil. He had to be stopped. According to the Oracles, only one Connacht would govern Amaranthia. So, that Connacht had to be Puck.

  Also according to the Oracles, only William could win the Connacht crown on Puck's behalf. But...what if Gillian found a way? What if she killed Sin? Would Puck grow to resent her for that, too? After hearing affection in his voice when he'd spoken about young Sin, she thought he might not be too eager to shack up with his brother's killer.

  Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

  The chance of one prophecy being hogwash, and the other golden--not great. So. She had to proceed as if both were true or both were false.

  Okay. If William dethroned Sin and presented Puck with the crown, Puck would have to divorce Gillian. No matter what, he had to deliver his brother to the Sent Ones.

  He might marry a (different) loving queen, and unite the realms. If that happened, Gillian would...what? Stick around in Amaranthia to watch? Never! She'd rather pack her belongings, say goodbye to her clan, Peanut, her home and go. Because, if she stayed, she'd end up killing Puck's new wife.

  Take what's mine and suffer.

  William expected Puck and Gillian's desire for each other to vanish as soon as the bond got cut. Would it? Would Puck ever want her again? Should he?

  The clans hated her and would never accept her as queen. And okay, okay. She was one hundred percent willing to put in the work to win everyone over. Safer villages, havens for widows, orphans and former stable members, as well as inter-clan schools. No more sending preteen boys to war or training preteen girls how to please a master.

  That's my campaign promise. Unlike most politicians, Gillian would actually follow through.

  Would other clans forgive her for mistakes she'd made in the past?

  No happy ending...

  Dang it, her mind kept getting stuck on that one thought.

  "Lass, come back to me." Puck's gentle voice called to her, wrapping her mind in peace. "That's my darkling."

  Darkling? I'm racking up the nicknames tonight.

  Light filtered through the storm clouds in her mind. Blinking rapidly to focus...focusing...she groaned. Galen and Pandora lay on the ground, their eyes closed, blood splattered over their skin and clothes.

  "Did I kill them?" she asked in a soft tone.

  "They live." Puck stood at her side, petting her, offering comfort.

  When her gaze found him, she nearly lost her last meal. One of his horns hung at an odd angle. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his nose broken and his lower lip split, the lower half of his face covered in dripping crimson. He had gashes in his neck and chest, and his pants were tattered.

  "Did I do this to you?" she aske
d, her chin trembling. Gently she traced her fingertips around one of the worst gashes.

  "This? This is nothing."

  "I'm fine as well, thanks," William snapped.

  Gillian turned and found him standing at her other side. He was in as bad of shape as everyone else, a cut arching from forehead to chin. Bits of his throat were exposed, and one of his ribs poked out of his chest.

  "I'm sorry," she rasped. More than he could possibly know, in a thousand different ways.

  He said nothing to her, just moved his narrowed gaze to Puck. "You don't have to worry, Pucker. I said I'd help you regain your crown and I will. And you will keep your end of the bargain. You will cut her loose as soon as the crown rests upon your head."

  Next he concentrated on her, and she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. "Whether you want me or not, you need to be free of the bond. You won't know your own mind--or heart--until it's broken." Then he did something she would have sworn he'd never do again. He stalked away from her, and just like Puck, he never looked back.

  36

  Mumbling curses under his breath, Sin paced inside his suite. A common occurrence nowadays. The Oracle had escaped. Not that her location mattered. He'd marked her with a magical tracker her first night in the dungeon--after drugging her, of course. She had no idea he could find her in an instant.

  He believed she planned to find and help Puck. To retrieve her, Sin would have to face his brother.

  Not ready.

  The Oracle's final taunt clanged inside his head.

  The day will come, the day will come soon, riding on the wings of fury. Vengeance against you will be meted.

  Puck might mete vengeance, but he wouldn't prevail. How could he?

  If the newest prediction was true, Puck would fail to kill him. Because Sin would find his "ladylove" afterward. And then, only then, would he lose his head.

  Don't want to kill my brother, but I can't let him kill me.

  Sin slammed a fist into the wall, cracking stone. His knuckles throbbed as dust coated the air. Blood dripped from torn skin, staining the fur rug his mother had picked out...however long ago.

  Every crimson drop reminded him of the night he'd cursed Puck. His brother had entered the war tent, soaked in the blood of their enemies, proudly clasping the Walsh king's sword.