The last tent on the hill was his. A thin plume of smoke swirled out of the center. He shared it with the brave druid enchantress who’d followed him here. My beautiful Nadrine. His mind filled with her delicate features, lustrous dark hair, sensual full breasts, and hourglass body. He longed to hold her, press her against his chest as he inhaled her spicy alluring scent. As soon as he reported his findings to Lord Fritiof, he would go to her.
With a light nudge to the horse’s flanks, Kailen made quick clicking noises, and his mount took off downhill. He stopped at the Titanian tent, jumped down, and strode inside as he drew back the hood of his cloak. With typical Titanian pragmatism, the furnishings inside the tent were basic and sparse: two cots, a couple of trunks, a multipurpose table large enough for four, and several rolled scrolls. They’d brought enough comfort to last through the present situation and go home.
Silence greeted Kailen inside the tent. Clad in simple white tunic and long breeks, Lord Fritiof Westerberg, leader of the Titanians, and his younger brother, Gustaf, studied a map. The brothers had the same looks—ebon hair, glittering eyes, and massive physique—their identical likeness always mystified him. Both glanced up when he entered.
“So, where are they?” Fritiof asked.
“Astarot’s forces are about thirty-six hours out. They approach from the east and should arrive tomorrow night.”
“The subcreatures are many, but slow as sloths.” Gustaf rolled the map and held it in a large hand. “Their timing is impeccable, though. They prefer to attack at night. What about the lieutenants of the horde?”
“I counted twenty.” Kailen unhooked the water canteen from his belt and took a long swig.
“Damn, that’s the full complement,” Fritiof muttered.
Gustaf paced to an open trunk and dropped the rolled map inside. “Astarot is no fool. He and his wizards maneuvered any and all available death magic to create their deadliest weapon until Hades shut off the flow. The daemon lord would be stupid to leave the lieutenants behind.”
“Have you demonstrated the use of the light sword for the shifters?” Fritiof asked Kailen. “Do they need to practice?”
“Bromm is quite proficient. I’ll check with him in the morning. If anyone needs a refresher lesson, I’ll handle it, Lord. I’ll also check with the elves.”
“Why must I always remind you I’m not your lord, Kailen? There are no ranks between us. I’m your partner and friend,” Fritiof argued.
“That goes for me too,” Gustaf added.
Sometimes, their open show of respect and affection embarrassed him. He knew what his role and duty should be. He’d come to the Titanians to protect and serve them in this fight.
Gently, he diverted the conversation. “Where are the young warriors?” He’d noticed their absence. This was their first time in combat, and all four adolescents shadowed their fathers wherever they went.
Fritiof gave a short laugh. “They’re in the next tent. Two are embroiled in a life-or-death chess match, the other two in backgammon. The adults have peace.”
“Well, if nothing else is needed of me… I will take my leave.” Kailen bowed and pivoted. As he reached the tent’s opening, Fritiof stopped him.
“Tell me the truth, friend. What are our chances?”
“We shall prevail.” He pulled the cover flap aside and stepped out.
Kailen grabbed his steed’s reins. Taking a deep breath of cold, invigorating air, he pulled the horse along as he weaved through camp toward his tent.
A tall, ethereal elf, his long white hair wafting in the afternoon breeze, and dressed in the traditional tunic of his kind, waved at him when he passed by.
“Welcome back, Kailen.” Two werewolves in human form called out to him. Their human form wasn’t strong enough to disguise the brawny physique and predatory intensity. They’d come to fight. He dipped his head in salute.
As he continued, he questioned his decision to walk instead of ride. He’d dreamed of Nadrine during his mission, had grouped the stars in the night sky and arranged her face in a sparkling constellation. He’d imagined her sweet body comforting his with its warmth as he loved her. The light of his fire cast shapes on the vivid fantasy.
Now he was teasing himself, delaying his gratification to the last possible minute. Why hesitate when his entire body thrummed with desire and… Gods, was he thinking love on the eve of battle? Was there ever a right time to indulge in tender emotions?
Khnurn’s warning from eons ago returned to him. The sorcerer had been specific: “Do not fall for anyone in the Seelie Court” or words to that effect. And he’d obeyed. But this was a different time and with a different species.
Immersed in those thoughts, he stopped at the post Nadrine had fashioned to hold the saddle and bridle. Murmuring ancient soothing words, he rubbed the stallion’s forehead as he removed the headgear. The spirited beast chuffed in response. Its ears swished back and forth with interest, his head bobbing up and down. Kailen smiled. He’d met the Alpha male soon after he teleported with Nadrine. As the sorceress conjured a spell to frighten humans away, Kailen studied the area, learning the valley’s pitch and rolling plains, the best ambush locations, and other strategic points. The chestnut stallion, leader of his herd, approached him then. After initial introductions and explanations about Kailen’s presence in this remote location, the stallion agreed to help without conditions, and a respectful relationship began.
“Thanks for your help,” Kailen murmured as he palmed the stallion’s crested neck, then grabbed the saddle and padded cloth. He pulled both down and dropped them on the post to air out. “I’m sure you’re in a hurry to join the herd.”
“And maybe he’ll enjoy this.”
Surprised, he turned. Nadrine flicked a large carrot between her fingers.
“How? Where?”
She released her tinkling laughter. “I did a quick teleport to the next town. They grow all sorts of items farther down. Look.” Nadrine held open a cloth bag, showing an assortment of tubers and other colorful produce. “Perfect for my vegetable-eating fae.”
Kailen cupped her cheek. “Why do you insist? I’m not fae.” He’d repeatedly explained his origins and race. But when their paths crossed, human myth and lore had given him a new identity. She knew him as fae and wouldn’t change her mind.
Passing him the carrot, Nadrine shrugged coquettishly. The neckline of her midnight-blue gown lowered. Supple, creamy skin above her breasts called to him.
“I’ve collected water for your ablutions behind the tent. I’m keeping your food warm. Come when ready, my lord.” She bowed and walked inside.
Behind him, the horse snorted and nudged his shoulder. The carrot’s sweet scent had reached its nostrils.
“Hey,” Kailen exclaimed and laughed in the same breath. He offered his palm, and the carrot disappeared in a huge chomp. “Okay, go. Join the others.” Kailen slapped his rump. His new companion took off toward the brook as Kailen walked around his tent.
Nadrine had been creative in his absence. Since she understood his penchant for cleanliness, she must’ve teleported to the human villages in search of physical supplies her magic could transport. A wide metal container filled with clean water had been propped above a small fire. Next to the water, she’d planted a hooked wrought iron bar. A rustic ball of soap hung from a sock, and a length of cotton had been folded on the bar. All this careful preparation meant she’d foreseen his return to camp.
Kailen tossed his cloak aside, unlaced his suede jerkin, and removed his tunic. He rolled his breeches down to his hips, and, taking a deep breath, he dumped his head, arms, and torso in the water. When he came up to breathe, his hair made an arc in the air. Warm rivulets sluiced down his bare skin. A stinging cold wind blew past him, and he moved quickly, soaping and rinsing himself. Tomorrow, he’d bathe in the brook when the sun hit its zenith at noon. He dried with the folded cloth and blotted his long hair as best he could. Invigorated and feeling much restored, he went inside.
<
br /> The scents of cooking spices combined with the soothing indoor temperature of his tent relaxed his tired muscles and ligaments. As he donned a fresh shirt, a luxurious lassitude and a strong need to lie down and sleep until the morning light was difficult to resist. Had he been alone, he would have passed out.
But he wasn’t.
She studied his every move. A light of pent-up desire and expectation danced in her dark eyes. He knew her too well, the signals of her body: extreme alertness, erect nipples pushing against her dress, and moist, parted lips. She’d waited anxiously for his return. If he fell asleep now, she’d toss and turn throughout the night.
He locked his gaze with hers. I’m not leaving you unsatisfied. Her shy, submissive pose acknowledged his message. Soon she’d be a tigress in his arms.
“Hungry, my lord?”
“I am. Smells delicious.” He sat by his plate and utensils and waited.
She beamed as she ladled the stew into his bowl and slipped it before him.
“What about your dinner?”
Nadrine moved slowly around him, trembling when her arm brushed his shoulder, then sat on the chair facing him. “I ate a little. Wine?” She moved two goblets forward and held up the full decanter.
“Please.” He took a spoonful as she poured, then closed his eyes with delight. “Nadrine, you are the best cook on the earthly plane.”
“And you are among the best of flatterers.”
He extended his palm across the narrow table, and she dropped her hand in his, acquiescing to his silent demand. As he caressed the base of her thumb, he continued chewing. Once he finished, he set the spoon on the side of the bowl and brought his goblet up to his nose. He sniffed, enjoying the bouquet, and sat back, swirling the liquid and admiring the depth of color.
“Nice. Plays well with the food.” He took a large sip.
“But… I know you don’t eat much when you’re on the road. You haven’t had enough to satisfy you.”
“Did you think I was finished? This is only a pause while I entertain several ideas for my satisfaction.”
“My lord?”
“Hmmm, that gets my attention every time.” He pushed back the chair, widening the space between the edge of the table and his hips. “Now that the stew has cooled, I want you to feed me.”
“Feed you?”
“Yes. Stand, Nadrine.”
Nadrine’s reaction was immediate. Her pupils dilated, she breathed faster, and straightened her shoulders. The movement thrust her breasts forward. Perfect.
“Remove your gown. Then come to me.”
Her lips remained parted as she pulled the laces off her shoulder. The loosened gown fell to the ground with a soft swish. In the light from the hearth, her glorious skin gleamed with muted shades of alabaster. She stepped out of the circle of her dress and stood before him. The tiny bumps on her smooth skin stood in excitement, as did her nipples. As her dark eyes focused on him, her nostrils flared and the tip of her tongue darted to her lips.
“My plate is behind you. We don’t want the stew to get cold.”
“No, my lord.”
“Why are you still standing?”
Quickly, she sat on his lap. Nadrine was proud of her body. Exhibiting her curves for him aroused her, and he loved that she behaved with such natural ease. She kept her back erect while she fed him, as the pose displayed her assets best. With trembling fingers, she exchanged the spoon for the goblet, waited for him to drink, then changed again. As she continued feeding him, she maintained a slow pace. Her eyes betrayed her sexual tension. The intensity of her gaze spoke of desire and need. He intended to satisfy both.
“Kiss me. Show me how much you want me,” Kailen said.
Nadrine descended on his lips, seeking with her greedy tongue what little wine lingered in the deepest recesses of his mouth. She lapped it all. The goblet slipped out of her hand and rolled on the floor. She drew his tongue into her mouth with the desperation of a woman at the edge of release.
Kailen grasped the back of her neck and murmured against her lips, “Give me everything, Nadrine, my sweet druid. Lay it all out for me.”
He pulled away and, narrowing his eyes, studied her expression, the flush of arousal covering her skin, her complete submission to his will.
The mating dance would last the night.
Kailen woke up with the dawn. Nadrine, wrapped within her cocoon of blankets, slept soundly. His masculine desires and senses came alive when she was in this state: warm, malleable, and sleepy, hair tousled, her reactions sweet, and honest as he awakened her to carnal play.
Today, he had no time for games.
Careful not to make any sound, he slipped out of the thick bundle of sheets and animal skins that served as a crude yet plush resting area. He’d left his day garments and water jug in one spot where they’d be easily accessible. He washed and dressed quickly and silently.
When he finished lacing his suede jerkin, his stomach churned and groaned, demanding nourishment. He ignored it. There would be plenty of food and qahwa at Bromm’s tent—his first convert to the delights of the dark, invigorating beverage. The wolf, close friend of Eachann, was an interesting character. He usually woke with the first light, and, despite his unhurried attitude about all matters in life, he’d turn ready for action at a moment’s notice.
Still a bit sleepy, Kailen grabbed his hooded cloak and stepped outside. The icy morning air was the final push out of somnolence. He tightened the hood strings under his jaw, wrapped his cape around his body, and strode downhill.
The harsh air was closer to frigid. However, the snow layer had retreated during the night. Undaunted, the spring grass had won the skirmish in most areas. He frowned, thinking of the coming battle, the destruction such a major struggle would inflict on this peaceful, idyllic valley.
A distant neigh reached his ears. His new friend, surrounded by his herd, greeted him from the stream. Later in the day, Kailen would remind the stallion how an evil, indiscriminate and cruel, was on the march. The herd had to move out, descend closer to the humans, before the daemon army arrived by nightfall.
“Kailen.” Bromm’s salute changed the course of his thoughts. Sitting by the front of his tent, his feet crossed over a footstool, the blond wolf waved. Contrary to the current fashion and deviating from his brethren werewolves, Bromm didn’t sport facial hair. The clean-shaven look gave him a youthful appearance while softening the underlying ferocious wolf. Women flocked to him by the dozens. Kailen returned the salute, picking up his pace. Steam swirled out of Bromm’s cup. Kailen hoped for qahwa, but it was too damned cold to be choosy. Whatever the beverage was, he wouldn’t refuse it. It was hot. That was enough for him.
“Good morning to you.” Kailen dropped his hood as he approached.
Bromm stood. “Here. Take my chair. I’ll bring out another. I suppose you’d like a cup of your amazing discovery.”
“You know my tastes. But I didn’t come to trouble you.”
“No trouble. Actually, I need to wake up the four sleeping fools inside. I made the qahwa. They’re in charge of breakfast.” He chuckled as he entered the tent.
A string of expletives followed Bromm as he came back out. He grinned, offering Kailen a large cup of the invigorating beverage. Without further comment, Bromm flopped down on his chair, brought the tip of his nose close to the rim of his, and inhaled.
Kailen sipped, enjoying the burst of flavor in his mouth and the warmth traveling down his throat and into his body. His stimulating discovery had been a hit with the magical species.
He returned to the memory of one of his more exotic explorations.
The last time he’d visited Khnurn, he’d overheard caravan travelers talk about the White Nile, which was enough to pique his interest. As soon as matters with the mage were resolved, he’d followed the route south. When the river narrowed, he’d turned east. Curious about the Solomonic Dynasty, he’d cut through the less-traveled roads of northern Abyssinia. There, he ran into a
humble goat herder. The man, awed by Kailen’s silvery looks and believing him godlike, offered the flavorful dark elixir as a peace offering. When Kailen reached the Arabian Peninsula, he learned the name of this marvelous concoction was qahwa, or wine in Arabic. He was sure other names existed, but he opted for this one because it was short and easy to remember. Now it was part of their supernatural culture. It wouldn’t be long before Europeans discovered it.
“Recognize it?” Bromm broke into his musings.
“Bacon?” He sniffed. “I don’t eat it. Smells divine, though.”
“Yes, sir. And a few other items. Lachlan, one of my mates from Blackstone Manor, went on the hunt, so to speak. He foraged around the villages until he picked up everything we’d need.”
“But folks in these parts don’t have means or resources. Their food supply has to be limited.”
“Gods, did you think we’d leave them wanting?” Bromm released an exaggerated huff. “We left generous coin for what we took. On my honor.” He pressed a hand against his chest. “They can handsomely replace what we took.”
Masculine voices came from behind Kailen. He glanced over his shoulder. Soren and Roald Westerberg, the younger Titanians, near replicas of their fathers, jogged in their direction.
Chuckling, Bromm held out his mug. “Peace didn’t last long. Interesting how the warrior spirit develops. The older cousins can’t wait for the battle horn to sound, any more than their younger counterparts. Soren especially. Two days straight, he asked when you’d return. Fritiof didn’t know how to pacify him.”
“We shall bring them to weapons exercises.”
“Of course.” Bromm stood. “Even if they don’t need the light sword.” He pulled back the tent’s front flap, tied it to a side post. “Wilhelm, get ready for two more.”
A loud groan came from somewhere inside. Bromm laughed as he repeated the same process with the other flap. A rather large interior with rolled sleeping blankets, trunks, and hearth came into view. Five shifters, one a cook, ambled about in different stages of dressing.
The Last Danann (Titanian Chronicles, #2) Page 2