by Cara Bristol
Meloni peered up at him with unblinking eyes. “Perhaps you should wait outside with your brother.”
Garat folded his arms. “I’m staying.”
“Then let me examine her.”
He ground his teeth and straddled a chair at the foot of bed.
The healer probed her neck, pressing his fingers to her pulse. “Her heart rate is weak.” He swept his gaze the length of her body, and, fortunately for him, did not linger on her breasts or the cleft of her womanhood. “She is undernourished.”
Meloni tilted her head back and opened her mouth. “Hmm….”
Garat clenched his jaw so hard it ached.
The healer studied her nails.
“Is that discoloration normal?” Garat had to ask. His fingernails weren’t spotted. Maybe that’s how the Sharona’s were? When he’d mated long ago, that part of the female anatomy had not been the object of his focus.
“No.”
“What are they?”
“Lesions. They’re in her mouth, too. She’s been poisoned.”
The drink! Garat leaped to his feet, grabbed his pack, and pulled out the empty canteen. “She’d been forced to drink this.”
Meloni raised the flask to his nose. He did not recoil from the odor, but his features hardened. “That’s it. Do you know how long she’s been taking it?”
Garat shook his head “What is it?”
“A toxic amalgamation of herbs. Individually, mildly poisonous. Mixed together? Ultimately lethal. They starve the body by making one nauseous and unable to keep food down. If enough is ingested for a long enough period of time, it causes irreversible harm to internal organs.” He took another whiff. “The tincture is also tainted with the malevolent spirit of the one who mixed it. There is such dark intent attached to the poison, it is a miracle she has survived. Her spirit must be exceedingly strong and filled with the Goddess’s light.”
Meloni recapped the flask and set it on the table. “This explains why she has not recovered from the EID blast. She is so weakened by the toxin, even a small jolt would disrupt her system.”
“She will recover though? From the blast and the poisoning?” She has to live. She has to.
“Without knowing the quantity she ingested and for how long, I can’t give you any guarantees. I’ll reverse what I can. You may remain in the room, but please keep your distance and do not speak.” He straightened in the chair and took a deep breath then released it in a slow hiss. He placed one hand on Reena’s forehead and another on her chest.
Raising his face skyward, Meloni closed his eyes and chanted in the ancient sacred language of the Goddess. Garat could not understand the words, but their resonance caused goose bumps to break out on his skin while he flushed, hot and cold at the same time.
Reena’s unconscious body began to shake.
Chanting continued. Sweat pearled on Meloni’s temples, trickled down his neck, and his face assumed a grim intensity, as did Reena’s. The healer jerked but did not break contact when an oily dark wisp floated out from her nostrils, drifted upward, and dissipated.
Reena’s pinched expression and twitching body relaxed. Meloni’s chin slumped to his chest for several worrisome seconds before he lifted his head and removed his hands. “It is gone.”
“She’ll be all right?”
He nodded. “The worst has passed, although she still has a long recovery ahead of her. She will drift in and out of consciousness for the next few days. Try to get some soup down her during the more wakeful periods. She’ll need nourishment and rest to fully recuperate.”
After the healer cleaned and bandaged the jagged wound on her wrist, Garat covered her with a warm fur hide. Meloni took possession of the canteen. “I’ll dispose of this. It still contains traces of malevolence. I’ll bury it under the light of a full moon so no harm can come to anyone else.” He strode to the door then halted. “Be warned. This is not at an end. When the one who did this discovers she was unsuccessful, she will try again. Evil never rests.”
Chapter Nine
Reena sighed and snuggled in her bed. As her illness progressed, a persistent chill had pervaded her bones. The heaviest robe, the thickest blanket could not banish it. This morning? So comfortable and cozy. Her blanket, though unusually heavy, was oh so warm, and so was the pillow beneath her head. But hard. What kind of feathers could make a pillow so firm yet still tickle her nose? She rubbed her cheek against it, absorbing the unusual, pleasant scent. Musky, and earthy. Like woodsmoke or fresh evergreen. Or a combination of both.
If only every morning could be like this. She hugged her pillow. Soon an attendant would arrive to rouse her for breakfast, but maybe she’d feign sleep. Naughty. She smiled.
Then sobered. Yes, she’d been naughty. She had displeased her cousin by refusing further treatment. What had occurred after that? She crinkled her forehead, trying to remember. She’d poured out the tincture, and then…then…
A Lahon had burst from the foliage.
Then muscle cramps and searing pain. Paralysis.
Her eyes flew open. Rough-hewn walls, large, rustic furniture filled her field of vision. Gone were familiar accoutrements and luxuries. Instead of finely woven fabric, a furry animal hide covered her, and, supporting her head, was hard flesh covered by a thick mat of…of, hair. A man’s chest.
She bolted upright with a shriek.
The Lahon sprang up without a sound.
“Help!” She tried to scramble from the bed, but he hooked an arm around her waist. “Let me go! Help!”
She slapped at his shoulders, his chest, his face. Neither blows nor screaming fazed him a bit, and she found herself flat on her back, her cries silenced by his calloused hand, her arms restrained, her lower body pinned by his heavy, muscular thigh, and something sizable and rigid poking her leg.
She stared into dark eyes. Be careful what you wish for—you may get it. She’d longed to see a Lahon up close and personal. It couldn’t get any closer than this. She could detect the pores on his face, discern that his green eyes were composed flecks of fern, moss, and teal, and that a muscle twitched in his square jaw. Long, unbound dark hair fell against broad shoulders.
Her heart fluttered like the wings of a frantic bird. What had happened? How had she gotten here? Where was Honna? And…and her robe? Oh Goddess. He was naked, too. That, that, thing digging into her leg was his…his manroot.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled. “If you promise you won’t scream, I’ll release your mouth.”
Reena nodded.
Slowly, he lifted his hand.
She raised her gaze to signal he should release her wrists, too.
“Not yet,” he said, and settled his free hand next to her shoulder, bringing his hairy, muscular body even closer.
She worked her parched mouth. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
That didn’t answer the question. She surveyed the room and gulped. This had to be his dwelling. It was larger than a mating hut, and more comfortable, even if the furnishings were roughly crafted and huge. They would have to accommodate a man his size. He had one leg stretched out, and her toes only skimmed his shin.
“I’m in the Lahon settlement? H-how long have I been…here?”
“Two days.”
“That long?” Pink morning sun slanted through tilted shutters covering the window.
He nodded. “I’ll let you up, if you will stay put. Understood?”
She shifted her gaze. The room was small, but the door looked very far away.
He shook his head slightly. “Don’t try to run. You won’t get two steps.” He released her.
Reena rubbed her wrists, even though he hadn’t hurt her. Or maybe he had. The left one was bandaged. What had he done to her? She glanced at the Lahon.
“You cut yourself,” he answered her unspoken question.
How? She brushed her thumb over the bandage while peeking at her uninjured wrist and crystal
. Unchanged. Praise the Goddess. This would not be a good time to fall under the effects of the fever.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Her head snapped up. “Other than being here, you mean?”
He grinned, revealing a mouthful of white, even teeth, and her stomach fluttered with a pleasant sort of queasiness, much different from the way it churned and rolled when she was ill.
“Yes, other than that,” she replied. “I’m thirsty. Could I have some water?”
“Of course.” His expression sobered, and contrarily, she regretted her brusqueness. She missed his smile. He shifted to a sitting position to reach for the ewer on the bed stand. The freedom from his weight felt like a lack. She scooted upward to rest her back against the wall and pulled the fur hide as high up under her armpits as she could get it. The Lahon handed her a pewter mug.
She flicked her gaze to a half-empty bowl of congealed soup next to the pitcher.
“Do you remember me feeding you?” he asked.
“No.” Clamping her elbows to her sides to hold the rug in place, she grasped the vessel with both hands and gulped down the entire contents. Then it struck her. What if he’d drugged her?
“More?”
She hesitated, still thirsty. If he was going to kill you, why poison you now? He’s been feeding you soup for two days. He could have killed you anytime. And the water didn’t taste at all bitter. Not like the herbs. But Reena shook her head in refusal. Beware. He is the enemy.
Wasn’t he?
For sure, many Sharona, like Carinda, were convinced the Lahon posed a threat. Or simply hated them like Honna. However, others—the ones who’d birthed daughters—viewed them with fondness. Perhaps the fever had affected their good judgment.
“What do you remember about what happened?” he asked.
“We’d gone for water. Is my cousin—the other Sharona who was with me—here, too?”
“What else do you recall?”
The Lahon had appeared out of nowhere and tackled her. Shot her. The cramps had been terrible—worse than those caused by her illness. Why honey coat it? He knew what he’d done. “You attacked me. Knocked me down and struck me with a blast of some sort.”
He stiffened. “I did not attack you. You were hit by an electrical impulse disruptor. When I tried to push you out of the way, we both fell. The blast rendered you unconscious, and I brought you here.”
Hazy memories hindered efforts to piece together the order. Had the sizzling pain come before he’d charged from bushes or after? The only thing she could remember clearly was that he’d grabbed her.
If she’d been hit…then— “My cousin! What happened to Honna?” Reena clutched her throat.
He did not reply. So close, his warm arm pressed against her bare shoulder. Underneath the blanket of silence, an icy fear crept in. “What about my cousin? Tell me, please.” She braced for bad news.
“The other Sharona is the one who shot you.”
“You lie!”
“I saw her do it.”
Never. Whatever he’d seen, it hadn’t been Honna.
She had an EID.
No! You are terrible for thinking such a thing. You are letting him plant ideas in your head. Reena massaged her temples.
“Why do you think I tried to push you out of the way?”
“Why did you?” she countered, not at all convinced that was what he’d done. “I mean nothing to you.”
“You mean more than you know.” He rubbed his chest as if it pained him, drawing her attention to its muscled expanse. So broad. Hard, she knew from having lain on him. And furry like the animal hide that had covered them both. He fit Honna’s description perfectly: hulking, brutish, hirsute, smelly. However, his hairiness did not disgust her, and neither did his scent, which beckoned her to lean into him. But she wouldn’t give in to the urge. She would maintain her distance. Insist he keep his.
Not that there was much space between them right now. As soon as she got up, he would get no closer than an arm’s length. “Honna did not attack me. It must have been somebody else.”
He sighed and slipped out of bed. Standing, he towered even taller than she’d estimated. The hair matting his chest and legs did not extend to his back or his buttocks, although they were as tautly muscled as the rest of him. In grabbing a pair of pantaloons from a chair, he half-turned.
His turgid manroot, long, thick, and ungnarled, jutted out. That’s what touched my leg.
In the process of pulling up his breeches, he intercepted her gaze. As his eyes bored into hers, his nostrils flared. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t look away. In awe, she watched as his manhood thickened and lengthened more. She gulped. How did something that big fit? Her womanhood ached and pulsed.
He made a noise in his throat and yanked on his clothing, but it could not disguise the thrust of his erect manroot. He snagged a tunic from the chair and tossed it to her. “Put that on.”
“Where is my robe?”
“You don’t have one.”
“Why not? Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
What did that mean? While she wrestled into the huge borrowed garment, he paced and raked his hands through his hair. Once clad, she eased out of bed on quivering legs. It would be a long trek to the palace. She could do it, one step at a time, provided he pointed her in the right direction. She wasn’t sure exactly where the Lahon were in relation to the palace.
“How far off the Trail of Rapture is this settlement?” she asked.
He halted. “Why?”
“Because I must return home.”
“You can’t go back, Reena.”
She inched away. “What do you mean I can’t—wait, how do you know my name?” Then the answer came to her. The cracking branch! “You were in the brush. You heard Honna use my name.”
He exhaled. “Yes.” He paused. “Also, I saw your portrait in Queen Ellynna’s receiving chamber.”
Her jaw dropped, and she bumped into the sharp edge of fear. “You met with the queen?” She forced nonchalance into her voice and feigned interest in the furnishings as she sidled toward the door. “What about?”
“A matter of concern to both our peoples.” He moved just as casually to block her pathway.
She shifted in the opposite direction. When he moved, too, the tattoo of her heartbeat shot up. It wasn’t imagination that he was preventing her from leaving! The door, oh so close, seemed a mile away. He folded massive arms across a wall-like chest, a stout barricade between her and freedom.
“Mating?” she queried, her cheeks heating. What other joint concern could they have? She resisted peeking at his pantaloons.
“Water.”
“Water?” She crinkled her forehead.
“The Sharona have it; the Lahon don’t.”
She glanced at the bedside table. The ewer contradicted his words.
“We have water for the moment, but a temblor has redirected our underground stream, and the aquifer is drying up.”
“That’s why the spring was reduced to a mere basin?”
“Yes.”
“So how can the Sharona help?” Their settlements were so far apart, she didn’t see how they could assist. How could the Lahon live without water?
“We can build an aqueduct from your water source to our settlement.”
“That’s possible?”
“It would be if your mother, the queen, would agree.”
“Perhaps…perhaps…I can speak to her. Intercede on your behalf.” She gauged the distance to the door.
“I wish it were that simple,” he said, his regretful tone and firm set of his jaw confirming her worst fear: she was his prisoner. Every horror story she’d ever heard flooded her mind. And no one knew she was here.
She moved to the bedside table. Her hand shook as she picked up the ewer, poured a measure into the pewter mug, and downed it. Raising the heavy pitcher as if to pour herself another ration of water, she flung it at his head and bo
lted for freedom.
Chapter Ten
Honna gulped the herbal tea. Third day calm, third day charm, so the chant went. Taken on the third day after the last mating, the herbal remedy would prevent conception. As much as she would have liked a daughter, she could not allow the inconvenience or temporary incapacitation of pregnancy to delay her plans. Fortunately, that unpleasant business was out of the way, and she’d be better able to concentrate.
Eventually every body capitulated to the warrior’s curse. The flesh was weak. If there had been a medicine to prevent the fever, Honna would have gulped it down. The only known prevention caused the body to starve itself—the same toxin she’d been giving to Reena.
Her cousin should have been dead a long time ago, but she’d hung on, so Honna had dragged her along on the manhunt in hopes the arduous trek would weaken her and hasten her death. Once again, Reena’s stubbornness had thwarted Honna’s plans. With every passing day, her cousin had appeared to get stronger. How was that possible? The problem had tumbled in her mind night and day. Then the obvious hit her: Reena had been skipping her medicine. No telling how many doses had been missed. The only option left was direct action.
Reena and the barbarian had dropped like rocks, convulsed for a while then gone still. A quick check had verified the absence of a pulse and heartbeat. Toll the bells, her cousin was dead! Of the savage’s condition, she was less sure. He’d looked dead as he’d lain crumpled on the ground. After the revolting physical experiences, Honna wasn’t about to handle him to find out. She’d touched her last barbarian. Worse, he’d reminded her of the first Lahon she’d lain with who’d impregnated her, except this one appeared even more hardened, rougher, hairier. More revolting. However, his presence had handed her the perfect alibi: he’d attacked them, and the poor, weak, sick princess hadn’t survived.
He had leaped out of nowhere and charged at her. What else could he have intended but harm? If she hadn’t killed Reena—he would have, so the truth needed only embellishment. With his brutish strength he’d wrestled away the weapon and rendered Honna unconscious. Upon awakening, she’d discovered her cousin’s naked, violated body bleeding out of every orifice. To provide proof, she’d stripped Reena of her robe, and, with a sharp rock, sliced her arm to stain the garment.
