Pure Surrender

by Aja James

  Aella toed the weapon in question with her booted foot. It was heavy. She bent down to pick it up, but even with both hands holding the long shaft she could barely lift it, much less wield it.

  She looked down at the dead warrior, whose face and body were covered with blood and dirt, hidden by matted knots of long hair.

  “He looks strong enough,” she surmised, “but he must be a lot stronger than he looks because this spear must be half my weight.”

  Dali nodded.

  “Between the business end of the spear and the amount of force it carries with every strike, one touch is all it takes to kill a man. With this spear, he dispatched the enemies one by one, sometimes two or three at a time with a mighty swing, and also managed to keep them at bay from dealing him mortal wounds.”

  “Well, someone dealt him those mortal wounds,” Atalanta said. “Because here he lies. A glorious warrior’s death.”

  Dali didn’t touch the man, but she hovered closer over him to assess his body with her eyes.

  “It wasn’t any one blow. He was wounded repeatedly before finally going down. All of the wounds were inflicted from a distance, because no one could come close enough when he wielded the spear. Mostly javelin, dagger and arrow wounds shot and thrown from afar. He has too many to count. He should have been dead long before he received all of them.”

  “The attackers look like Sarmatians,” Deianeira observed, looking around her at the fallen soldiers’ clothes and insignia. “And the caravan…”

  “They are Han,” Dali said. “They were traveling from the Tarim Basin to Gansu Province. It was not a military caravan…”

  But Aella was no longer listening. All she heard was “Han.”

  She knelt beside the fallen warrior and gently smoothed the matted hair from his blood and dirt streaked face.

  She fell back on her heels with a gasp.

  It was him.

  Yun.

  Even beneath all the grime, tattered clothing and wounds, she recognized him.

  Her heart inexplicably flailed and thrashed in her chest, as if it was suffering its own mortal wounds as the knowledge of Yun’s death slowly sunk in.

  She didn’t even know him. One brief encounter was all they’d shared. It had been three years since.

  And yet…

  She never forgot him.

  Whenever she passed through a trading post near the Han borders, she looked for him. And most nights when she closed her eyes, she could clearly see his face, dark eyes looking down at her as he levered on his arms above her, his full lips swollen from the kiss she took.

  Just one kiss.

  He’d managed to ruin her for all other men with just one kiss.

  It wasn’t until fat drops of tears plopped onto his face that Aella realized she was crying. She didn’t even know him. What was wrong with her?!

  But then a miracle happened—his mouth partly slightly on a faint breath, and his eyes rolled once behind closed lids.

  Aella swiped an arm impatiently across her face and dried those confounded tears before her comrades could say a word.

  She put two fingers against Yun’s neck and felt the faintest flicker of a pulse.

  “He’s still alive,” she breathed. “He’s alive.”

  Louder she said, “We must take him back to our healer. There is still hope.”

  “But we cannot bring a man into our tribe,” Deianeira reminded her reluctantly, “You know our laws.”

  “We can if we bring him as a stud,” Aella retorted immediately. “He will be my partner until I release him.”

  Atalanta reared back with surprise.

  “You, Aella? You would claim a man for your own? I have never known you to bed a man twice, and only for fleeting pleasure. I thought you never wanted to have children? A stud is for procreation. You will keep him until you increase?”

  “Aye,” Aella answered without hesitation.

  “But he is not even conscious to consent,” Deianeira argued. “You cannot simply—”

  “First we heal him,” Aella cut in impatiently, “then I’ll make sure he consents.”

  “If he can be healed,” Dali said grimly. “His wounds are many. How will we get him back to the tribe? He cannot ride, he cannot walk.”

  “We’ll make a makeshift plank to drag him on,” Aella inserted.

  “You want to drag him for two dozen miles?” Atalanta exclaimed. “He’ll be dead long before we arrive!”

  “He won’t die,” Aella stated with unwavering determination.

  “I won’t let him.”

  *** *** *** ***

  Between Aella’s stubbornness and the warrior’s incredible strength of body, they finally arrived back at the Amazons’ stronghold after two long days and nights of traveling painstakingly across the steppes.

  They did what they could for him on the arduous journey. Atalanta wasn’t as skilled with medicine as the Amazons’ healer, but she knew about binding broken bones and carried balms in her saddlebag to prevent wounds from festering. Aella had cut away his clothes—there were so many layers! And all of them were soaked through with blood.

  She left his trousers on but bound the wounds in his legs, two arrow gouges on each thigh, a fifth on one calf. His upper body was a complete mess, but she thanked every deity she could think of that none of the projectiles had punctured internal organs. Probably due to his skill, not luck. They were all flesh wounds. A few cracked ribs, but nothing broken.

  He must have iron for bones. He was nigh indestructible.

  But he had one more obstacle to overcome before Aella could summon the healer.

  “Katiari,” Aella greeted her queen using the honorific “protector” with fist over heart, bowing her respect.

  “Arpada,” Queen Hippolyte acknowledged in return with a nod, calling Aella “leader of warriors.” She sat regally on her throne of furs in the largest yurt at their current camp site.

  They’d recently migrated a hundred miles southwest from their previous location, the move triggered by Sarmatian attacks. This was a good location to settle for a while, given the warmer climate, green mountains and numerous lakes and rivers.

  But territories were often in dispute, even when a tribe had only temporary claim. The Amazon queen had been occupied with one negotiation after another. Aella could see the weariness in her eyes.

  “We can debrief your visit to the Sarmatians later,” Hippolyte began without preamble. “I can tell from the furrow in your brow that it hadn’t been a pleasant expedition. Let’s postpone the bad news for now. I have had enough for one day.”

  Aella dipped her head. She could wait to give the bad news as well.

  The queen leaned forward slightly and propped her chin on one fist, focusing her keen blue eyes on her finest warrior.

  “I hear you’ve finally settled on a stud for your firstborn,” she said with an affectionate smile, though only the lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes gave her away.

  Hippolyte was sterner with Aella than all other Amazons, and Aella knew that it was because she was her mother. As queen, she took care to never show favoritism. On the contrary, she demanded and expected more from Aella than anyone else.

  But there was never doubt that Hippolyte loved her daughter, and was very proud of her First General.

  “When will I meet this wonder among men? The one who finally caught our Whirlwind’s discerning eye?”

  Aella cleared her throat and glanced toward the slightly open flap of the tent.

  Immediately, Dali, Deianeira and Atalanta carefully carried the pale Han warrior into the yurt on a makeshift stretcher.

  “You selected a dead stud?” Hippolyte queried with pursed lips and one raised, golden brow.

  “Are you planning to resurrect his manhood posthumously to impregnate yourself? I thought you had higher standards, child.”

  Aella cleared her throat again and said in Yun’s defense, “He has been severely wounded, my queen, from a battle of epic proportions
. Single-handedly, this warrior defeated hundreds of soldiers who attacked his caravan. When he is healed, you will see his worthiness for yourself.”

  Hippolyte crooked her fingers to have the women bring him closer for a better look.

  “Rather pretty beneath the grime, don’t you think?” she observed.

  It wasn’t a compliment.

  Everyone knew that Aella preferred robust, muscular men with hair on their chests and jaws who fought hard and fucked harder.

  She had a reputation for wearing men out from night and day orgies and breaking furniture and establishments in the process. She always left behind bags of coins to pay for damages in the trading posts and village towns she visited to satisfy her sexual urges.

  Not a single man left her bed without a huge, satisfied, stupefied and thoroughly exhausted grin. And they didn’t really walk. They limped.

  She broke men in the way she did untamed horses. With relish, stamina and a maelstrom of passion.

  “He’s a lot stronger than he looks,” Aella muttered.

  “Hmm,” the queen said noncommittally.

  “He beat me in single combat,” Aella blurted, though she hated to admit defeat, “and he did it easily.”

  Hippolyte regarded her daughter with the all-knowing gaze that only mothers could have.

  “You are infatuated.”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily use that word,” Aella hedged.

  The queen narrowed her eyes.

  “You know this is dangerous, Amazon,” she warned, pointedly reminding Aella of who she was.

  “You will use him and send him away after you are carrying fully. There must be no attachment. You know that.”

  “I know,” Aella stated, but she couldn’t help the frown that creased her brow at the thought of letting Yun go now that she’d found him again.

  “Does he know the arrangement? Has he agreed?”

  “Uh…”

  Damn it! Not the most convincing response.

  But when Hippolyte turned those piercing omniscient eyes on Aella, she found it impossible to lie.

  The queen let out a deep breath, not quite a sigh. But Aella knew that she was exasperated.

  It wasn’t their way to drag random wounded soldiers into their camp. Rules were rules. Only claimed studs could live among them for a time, and he had to know exactly what was expected of him:

  One, service the Amazon warrior who claimed him; two, stay away from all other females in the tribe; three, leave without a backwards glance when she was safely increasing; four, accept responsibility for the eventuality of a male child from their union. Amazons only kept the females.

  “He and I have an understanding,” Aella finally replied.

  It was vague enough a response that she wasn’t outright lying.

  Yun might understand when he woke up and was intellectually coherent that she’d saved his life and expected just a tiny favor in exchange. And if he wasn’t amenable to it then she’d convince him with her irresistible feminine wiles. If that still didn’t work, then she’d tie him up and keep him in her yurt until he capitulated.

  Because the punishment for an unauthorized male living amongst the Amazons was death. That was simply not an option for Aella.

  Queen Hippolyte scrutinized her First General for a while longer, and Aella fought not to fidget.

  “Very well.”

  Aella surreptitiously released the breath she’d been holding.

  “Take him to the healers and recuperate his strength. As soon as he is able, I will question him myself.”

  Aella sucked in another breath as Hippolyte said—

  “He had better give me the right answer. For both his and your own sake, child.”

  “Some say they are the size of castles. That they have giant bat-like wings, snake-like scales thicker than the most impenetrable armors, enormous eagle claws that can crush stone parapets, and monstrous jaws that open to unleash hellfire upon the world… Dragons. They do exist. And I intend to create my own with the right ingredients…”

  —From the secret journal of the Vampire Sorceress Circe

  Chapter Ten

  Gentle fingertips were stroking deliciously across her scalp, smoothing the hair back from her face.

  Mmm.

  Aella luxuriated in the feeling. It felt so good.

  She arched her neck to provide better access.

  “She’s coming to,” a faint voice said. “Thank the Goddess! But she still looks so pale…”

  Aella didn’t want to wake up, if opening her eyes meant that her present feelings of contentment and warmth would cease.

  She turned her face to the side, her cheek rubbing against soft fabric over hard muscle that radiated such a sensual, fragrant heat that she wanted to roll around naked in it, submerge herself in it, until she carried it within her always.

  Earthy, fresh, passionate rain.

  That’s the scent she was cocooned in. The smell of her long ago homeland in the Eurasian steppes.

  “See if you can get some water into her,” the soft voice urged. “She needs to stay hydrated at least…”

  Strong hands tilted her head back, bringing a flask to her lips. Cool, delicious, sweet spring water trickled into her mouth and down her throat.

  It tasted like home.

  After a few sips, she turned her face away from the flask, too weak and tired to take more. But the persistent hands held her firm, urging her to keep drinking.

  She shook her head and tightened her lips, getting stubborn, remembering a similar but different situation from her past.

  “Kiss…” she rasped incoherently, torn between memories and reality.

  “Kiss…”

  “What is she saying?” the female voice said, “is she still delirious?”

  Aella pushed weakly at the flask that kept coming to her mouth, managing to keep it away from her face.

  “Kiss…” she repeated stubbornly, keeping her eyes closed, not wanting to awaken from the dream world of her bygone homeland.

  At last, soft, full lips pressed against hers, making her sigh with utter peace and contentment.

  She parted her mouth to experience more, and sweet spring water trickled inside.

  Aella smiled inwardly.

  Her brilliant kisser was feeding her water from his own mouth! If this was his method of getting her to take in fluids, she’d drink until she was full to bursting.

  She flung an arm around his shoulder to hold him to her while she lapped at his lips and drank from his mouth. And when he left her briefly to take in more water before coming back to her, she nuzzled his jaw and kissed his neck.

  Oh Goddess! How she wanted this male that held her enthralled. He made her feel utterly alive. No one else had ever, would ever, make her feel this way.

  She held onto him as tightly as she could, though her limbs remained uselessly weak.

  She wouldn’t let him leave her again. She wouldn’t!

  “Ah… I’ll just go relax in the spring for a bit, and take that much needed bath, shall I?” the female voice offered shyly. “I’ll be within shouting distance if you need me.”

  Aella barely heard her retreating footsteps. She didn’t care whether she was alone with her male or surrounded by a slavering crowd. All she cared was that he was with her, holding her.

  Feeding her life-giving water from his delicious lips.

  “Kiss…” she insisted again, trying to pull him closer.

  She felt more than heard his sigh, a release of sweet breath over her face.

  And then, his mouth was back upon hers.

  Oh, heaven!

  But this time, it was even better.

  This time, he fed her his hot, satiny tongue.

  Aella moaned as she devoured him.

  She would never let him go this time.

  Never again…

  *** *** *** ***

  193 A.D. Altai Mountains, Amazon stronghold.

  When Cloud regained consciousness and opened
his eyes a sliver, a pair of violet blue eyes gazed down on him, framed by long, gold-tipped lashes the likes of which he’d never seen before on another human.

  Except the once.

  The dragonfly girl.

  Well, she wasn’t a girl any more. She hadn’t been a girl the last time he’d seen her at the trading post his contingent was passing through. She’d been a full-blooded woman then.

  As she was now.

  She was more beautiful to him than the xian nǚ in the Celestial Palace.

  How could she be with him? Was he dead and his spirit returned to the heavens?

  But she would never belong in his world, he knew that. Even when he was weakened and delirious from fever and wounds, he knew that.

  She was a mere mortal, forever bound to the human realm.

  The corners of her perfect lips tilted in a smile.

  “There you are, gorgeous. Welcome back to the living.”

  What did she say? He couldn’t understand her words. He’d learned a few phrases during his travels over the last few years, keeping an ear out for her language ever since their…memorable encounter.

  He only guessed at her meaning by listening to the tone of her sultry, low voice, and reading the slightly mischievous, squarely admiring and heavily relieved look on her face.

  He tried to sit up, and she helped him, her hands surprisingly firm and strong on his body.

  His completely unclothed body. Throbbing and burning with unhealed wounds, wrapped in bandages and covered barely by a thin scrap of animal hide.

  Her hands on the naked skin of his arms and chest as she helped him sit up burned hotter than his innumerable wounds, until he barely felt the wounds at all.

  Only the hands that touched him.

  No one had touched his naked skin before. Apart from his hands and rarely his face. Decorum in his society forbid it. Only paid women and wives were allowed to touch a man’s naked skin.

  And from what he’d heard from his comrades, even husbands and wives sometimes kept at least their undershirts on. If any naked skin was touched, it certainly wasn’t seen. Not in broad daylight and not by strangers.