by Denali Day
He felt her eyes upon him as he unrolled the thick bear pelt sack which would keep them warm through the evening chill. That, and the heat of their bodies pressed together. Should that excite him? No. Probably not. It would likely be a long, uncomfortable night for him.
When he finished, Hollen turned back to his bride. Her gaze jerked back to the fire. He regarded her. Her eyes, though stubbornly avoiding him, drooped with fatigue. She sat upright on her knees, determined to appear poised, but her shoulders sagged with weariness. This day had exhausted her. Not surprising. On top of her claiming, she hadn’t eaten in hours, and he could only imagine how exhausting being carried underneath Jagomri was.
“You need sleep,” he said.
“Am I to stay here, then?”
“Tonight we sleep beneath the Tanshi Tree. Tomorrow we go to my people.”
She looked at the furs he’d arranged and blinked. “Where will you sleep?”
“With you.”
She scoffed and turned back toward the fire. “I’ll sleep when you do.”
Hollen could understand her apprehension. After all she’d been through she must now think he’d throw himself upon her the moment she let her guard down. He held out a hand.
“Come, mu hamma. It’s late, and you’re tired.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” she snapped. “What does it mean?”
Hollen paused. “There’s no perfect translation in the trade tongue. It’s what a Dokiri rider calls the one he’s claimed. It means ‘my mated woman.’ ”
Joselyn’s chest fell and she stared hard. “And now you mean to mate with me? Like a stallion upon a broodmare?”
Hollen scowled. He didn’t care for that comparison. Not because of the ridiculous image it conjured, but rather because it implied a certain carnal impurity that tainted everything he’d ever wanted his marriage bed to be. Worse yet, she’d compared herself to a broodmare. She, the woman who, thus far, was everything he’d hoped for, likened to an animal. Indignation stirred within him.
“ ‘Mu hamma’ also means ‘my only.’ ” His voice was a low rumble. “You are not chattel, to be used and traded away at my whim.”
Her breath was coming faster now. She swallowed before muttering, “Only hunted and broken.”
She’s afraid of you, Hollen.
He took a breath, wrestling with the passion in his voice. “You are my bride. My Saliga. You are my purpose for all the blood I’ve spilled, and all that I will yet. You are my precious one . . .”
She frowned at him, perhaps unable to accept his words.
He sighed. “ . . .and I will not have you this night.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. She glanced again at the furs behind him.
“Come to bed. Or I shall carry you.”
That got him what he wanted, though he would have been just as content to have a reason to hold her again. She wobbled to her feet, moving a little too quickly. He lunged forward to steady her. She caught herself on his bare chest then froze. Her hands dug into his skin. All at once her body went slack, and Hollen had to catch her before she hit the ground.
Va kreesha!
He scooped her into his arms and hurried her to the furs. Hollen dropped to his knees beside her. He brushed the strands of hair that had slipped from her braid out of her face. He didn’t want to press his ear to her heart, which had only recently stopped bleeding, so he leaned the side of his head to her mouth and listened for breath. She was alive. She’d merely fainted.
He sighed. Mountain sickness took many forms. Some Dokiri hammas vomited for days, while others suffered fainting spells. He had a sudden image of her falling into the fire, her freckled skin scorching black. Hollen shuddered. Thank Helig it usually passed in a matter of weeks. He would have to keep vigilant watch over her until he was certain she was strong enough for her new home.
Hollen took advantage of this moment to brush his thumb along the delicate line of her jaw. When he reached her chin, he stroked a fingertip over the dimple that lay there. He longed to press his lips to that tiny hollow, to explore every inch of her. She smelled distinctly feminine. So sweet. He’d chosen well.
Joselyn moaned, her eyelids fluttering open. She stared at him blankly, as though she didn’t know who he was.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his face inches above hers.
She blinked, then gasped, shooting upward. The top of her head smashed into Hollen’s nose. Pain exploded. He reared back and swore. He climbed to his feet and brought his hand up to his face. Warm blood trickled from his nostrils. He turned back toward his bride who was watching him with wide eyes.
“Wha—what did you do?” she demanded.
Irritation shot through him at her accusatory tone. “Nothing! You fell and I carried you to the fur. Then you rammed your head into my face.”
He pulled his hand away and confirmed that he was, in fact, bleeding. Heavily. He staggered over to his pack and removed a water sack to clean his face with. He might have plunged his entire head into the nearby pool; its icy water would have been soothing. But the pool was sacred to his gods and not to be sullied with his blood.
“Why would I fall?” she asked, sounding more confused than skeptical.
Hollen dabbed a wet cloth at his chin to mop up his blood. “Mountain sickness.”
“Mountain sickness?”
Hollen returned and she drew her knees into her chest as he approached. “It’s common,” he said, dropping down next to her on the furs. She leaned away from him as he settled himself.
“The air here is too thin for lowlanders. It’ll pass. Until then you shouldn’t stand too close to fires…or ledges. Maybe rise a bit slower.” Propping his elbows on his knees, he pinched the cloth over his nose and waited for the bleeding to stop. “Sleep, woman.”
She didn’t move. Hollen turned to face her, his face still half covered.
Her gaze jumped from him to the furs. “Where will you sleep?”
“I told you, right here.” He pointed down at the bedroll.
Her shoulders tensed and her expression hardened. She started to speak when Hollen cut her off. “Even if I’d planned to force you this night, my desire would be well away by now.” He pulled the cloth from his face and showed it to her.
She winced at the gory sight, her eyes skipping back to him in retreat. He raised his brow in silent chastisement for her blunder, though his irritation was fading.
Joselyn’s expression cooled and she shrugged. “What’s a bit more blood to a savage?”
Was she . . .mocking him?
Just as he opened his mouth to retort, she flipped to her other side and ducked into the furs. She made herself comfortable, then fell silent.
Hollen scoffed, shaking his head. He was beginning to understand why his father’s hair had gone thoroughly gray so early.
7
Obsidian Wings
Someone was shaking her arm. Joselyn swatted at the offending party, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Wake up, mu hamma,” A male voice said. The shaking continued.
Joselyn forced her eyes open, squinting at the soft glow of light filling the room. No, not a room. A cave. She was in a cave. Memory came screaming back. She was a captive. The proclaimed wife of a barbarian who’d laid hands upon her and carved his mark into her flesh.
Hollen the Soulless crouched over her, his enormous hand still gripped her upper arm. “It’s late. We must go before the sun sets.”
Joselyn cringed and pulled her arm from his grasp. She glanced around, wiping the dust from her eyes. “You said we would sleep here tonight.”
“We did. You slept through the night and more than half the day.”
She shot up and Hollen jerked back, his hand rising protectively in front of his face. His nose was a size larger than it had been before. In addition, he had a dark bruise at his temple from where she’d smashed the rock into his face. Good. Neither attack had been fully meditated, but it was
gratifying to know that, despite his strength, she could still manage to hurt him.
He could hurt me far worse.
She fingered the space above her heart, confirming that no part of her ordeal had mercifully been a nightmare. The sting was sharp, and the ache went all the way down to her pounding heart. She swallowed. What would he do with her now?
When she’d woken the night before, with him hovering above her, she’d assumed the worst. But her clothing hadn’t been disheveled, and he himself was quick to order her back to sleep. He hadn’t raped her last night. At least the brute was honest. This was a new day, though, and he’d made no more promises to leave her unmolested. Her stomach was queasy. She had to find an escape, and soon. The first step would be getting out of this cave. She began to rise.
“Slowly,” Hollen warned.
She obeyed, not wanting to give him an excuse to touch her. Once she was standing steady, she eyed Hollen as he rolled up the furs. He was fully clothed again, a fact Joselyn was grateful for. She didn’t want to look at those grisly scars. More than that, his bareness made her uneasy, as though he were halfway to claiming her virtue as well as her freedom.
Joselyn scanned the meadow. It appeared her captor had already packed everything up for their departure. Even the altar’s black surface shone again, wiped clean of their collective blood. The furs she’d slept on were the last bit to be gathered. When they were secured, Hollen turned and offered her more of the same dried meat and cheese from yesterday. Now that she was no longer in a state of full terror, she snatched the food from his hand. It wouldn’t serve to be weak with hunger.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“I would like my comb,” she said, fingering her braid which was bedraggled from sleeping.
“Your comb?” A mischievous smile lit up his face.
Joselyn’s ears went hot. “The comb you let me use last night.”
“Peace, woman.” He lifted his palms in mock surrender. “I did mean to make it yours. It’s put away now. Besides, it would be pointless to bother before a flight. You might as well wait until after we arrive.”
“I’d prefer to fix it now.” Joselyn’s nerves were frayed enough at the thought of meeting more men like this. She’d not be presented to them like a wild animal, frightened and unkempt.
Hollen belted his axe, then swung his heavy pack over his shoulder. He turned away. “No.”
Brute.
When they reached the meadow’s edge, Joselyn refused his assistance in scaling the ledge at the opening. She regretted it at once. She had to pull her skirts up high in order to climb over. She must have looked ridiculous, heaving herself onto her stomach and then half crawling up the stone surface. Her humiliation peaked to see Hollen smirking down. She glared, her only weapon. He shook his head with a smile and led them on through the tunnels.
When they reached the tall and narrow cave that let out into the sky, Joselyn slowed her pace. Where was the wicked creature who’d carried her into this mess?
“Jagomri.”
Joselyn caught sight of the beast as it responded to its master’s voice by lifting its serpentine head. It’d been huddled in a dark corner, completely camouflaged by its inky scales. Its horrible yellow eyes appraised her, and Joselyn’s breath seized in her chest. She stopped walking. Hollen glanced back at her.
“Come. You need not fear my mount while I am near.”
“And when you aren’t?”
“Never approach a gegatu without its master.” His eyes fixed upon her. He was giving her an order that carried a grim warning.
She shuddered and looked back at the monstrous creature. “What kind of madness possesses a man to pit his will against a dragon?”
“Wyvern.”
“What?”
“The gegatu are wyverns, not dragons,” he said. “Wyverns only have two legs.”
Joselyn had never heard the term ‘wyvern’ before. The sigil of her house was a golden four-legged dragon. When the great beast abducted her she hadn’t put much thought into the specifics of its anatomy. It crawled about using its spined wings like additional feet.
“Does it . . .breathe fire?”
Hollen looked like he wanted to laugh. “No. He prefers his meals raw and breathing, the bastard. His tail is barbed with paralytic venom.”
Joselyn gaped. “Why would you ever approach it?”
“The Dokiri are masters of the sky and mountains. We are charged with no small task in keeping the lowlands safe from the underground. The gegatu make our duty possible.”
Joselyn kept her distance as Hollen climbed up and secured the pack to the beast’s saddle. The creature barely seemed to notice, preferring instead to keep its icy gaze on her. She shuddered. At any moment she’d see its forked tongue wet its lips in hungry anticipation.
Hollen jumped down and landed with a dull thud in the fine gravel. He walked the length of the great serpent until he reached its head, then clicked his tongue. The wyvern lifted its skull to the height of its master’s chest. Though Hollen’s hands were massive for a man, they were dwarfed by the creature’s scaled jaw as he hooked his fingers beneath, taking hold. Hollen extended a palm to Joselyn, and beckoned her.
She shook her head more from fear than defiance. She didn’t like his beast. Every instinct told her to run, to hide, to do anything to avoid its attention. Still, after everything that happened last night, Hollen couldn’t mean to feed her to his mount.
“Come, Joselyn.” Hollen’s tone brooked no argument.
She crossed her arms and crept forward, stopping just out of Hollen’s reach. Hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the wyvern let out a vibrating hiss.
Hollen shot forward, keeping hold of the beast and catching Joselyn by the arm. He pulled her in front of him and suddenly she was chest to nose with the terrible creature. The monster’s mouth cracked and fangs the length of her hand came into view. She tried to lunge away, but Hollen wrapped his other arm around her, then hooked it to the other side of his mount’s jaws.
Now she was locked in, a savage at her back, a monster at her front. Her instincts placed their bet on the savage. She straightened, locking her knees and digging her heels into the gravel. She pushed into her captor’s chest. She needed space between herself and the serpent.
“Be still,” Hollen ordered, his tone calm but forceful. “I want him to scent you.”
“Why?” she cried. She craned her head backward. Hollen stared into the beast’s eyes.
“He must know that you belong to me.”
Joselyn tried to slink below Hollen’s arms, hoping to slip out underneath. “Please let me—”
“—Shh.” Hollen squeezed her between his arms. “He won’t harm you, mu hamma. Not while I’m here.”
The beast sniffed. Hot air blew over Joselyn’s breasts. The warmth penetrated even the heavy wool of her dress. A dry, snakelike tongue jutted through its teeth, vibrating bizarrely. It ran from the hem of her skirts up to her neck, and Joselyn squeezed her eyes shut in disgust. She cowered and pressed her face into her captor’s leather armor.
Hollen made a peculiar clicking noise with his throat, and Joselyn’s eyes popped open. The beast no longer looked at her, but rather at its master. Hollen’s hands, which still gripped the wyvern’s jaws, began a sort of massage in the space just behind bone. The black slit pupils in the creature’s eyes dilated widely. It answered its master’s clicking with a stuttering trill of its own.
Hollen pressed Joselyn snugly up against the creature’s snout, and she sucked in a breath. Her arms shot to the sides, eager to get as much of herself away from it as possible. Hollen continued his curious rubbing for several long moments before he finally released his mount.
“Wait for me at his side.” Hollen nudged her. She needed no further prodding. She darted away.
Hollen continued to hold his beast’s gaze a few moments and its eyes, black with dilation, eased back to their normal, yellow state. This man was a savage to be certain,
but he was so much more than that to be able to stand so confident next to this winged monster, to expect its obedience. He released it and walked back to Joselyn.
“What was the point of that?” she asked, temper rising.
“To make him understand that you’re my equal, not his prey.” He tested the tension of the saddle straps.
Joselyn scoffed. “I suppose he might be confused on that point, considering our introduction.”
Hollen laughed. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Joselyn crossed her arms over her chest. His flippant attitude wasn’t charming. It wasn’t. “If you’re certain he won’t harm me when you’re here, and I’m not to go near him alone, then why try to reason with him now?”
“So he’ll allow you on his back.” He tossed her a pair of gloves, then held his arms out to her. “Come. It’s getting late.”
Joselyn hesitated. Were the beast a horse she’d have mounted alone, refusing his help, but the saddle sat well above her head. A sudden image of it whipping its long neck around to snap at her came to mind. Also, the saddle wasn’t made like that for a horse. It had stirrups, but they didn’t dangle beside the understraps like she was used to. These stirrups comprised adjustable leather loops corded next to each other like a tunneled cage pointing back toward its barbed tail. The beast wore no bridle.
Hollen was waiting for her to take his arms. The wyvern was her only way out of this suspended prison, so she stepped into her captor’s arms and he hoisted her up, settling her into the leather.
She’d expected him to guide her up its back, not to lift her entirely. Joselyn wasn’t a large woman, but she wasn’t petite either. How easily he’d lifted her. Later, if he tried to force himself upon her, she’d be doomed. She couldn’t think about that now. First she had to survive another flight, this time astride the ancient creature.