Captive Dreams

by Angela Knight

  Suddenly the Dark Warrior flattened himself to the paving. Azherbhai took instant advantage of the opening and lashed out with his tail, sending Mykh tumbling toward the parapet. The Dark Warrior sprang to his feet and raised his hand for the spell.

  Tiger’s Paw sang through the air, reaching for the Dark Warrior’s leg. He cursed and spun to face his new enemy.

  Corinne showed her teeth in a snarl. “You have to face me now, windbag.”

  He cursed again and feinted with his staff. She matched him neatly and smiled, grateful that Tiger’s Paw was as light as Svetlhana had promised. “I’m a sorceress, remember? We’re evenly matched.”

  The Dark Warrior stared at her and the first traces of understanding crept into his eyes. “Why do you fight for him? He uses you like a brood mare, while I could make you queen of the world.”

  “Talk, talk, talk,” Corinne mocked. She attacked and a complicated pattern of attacks and feints ended when Tiger’s Paw nicked the Dark Warrior’s cheek.

  Azherbhai roared and attacked her from behind. His beak ripped a piece out of her skirt and she leaped away. Oh shit, some cavalry would be really useful about now. Svetlhana, come please!

  A feline growl split the air and Azherbhai snarled. Corinne came out of her roll and saw a great white tigress snarling at the turtle. Svetlhana was double the size of the largest tiger Corinne had ever seen in a zoo, but only two-thirds the size of Azherbhai. She growled again, showing her fangs, and attacked with a swipe of her paw. Her claws ripped though the air, drawing a trickle of blood from the turtle.

  “Remember me? Remember how we fought before? And how you hid in your shell like a coward while I danced on your back?” Svetlhana mocked Azherbhai. She leaped at his head and they fell into battle, hurling insults at each other.

  Instinct sounded the alarm, and Corinne spun to counter the Dark Warrior’s strike at her knees. The halberd and the staff pressed against each other, while the two sorcerers glared.

  “You can’t win,” the Dark Warrior warned. “Catalyst against catalyst, neither wins.”

  Corinne smiled mirthlessly. “No,” she agreed. “But neither can you.”

  “He won’t come for you. He doesn’t need you, now that he’s healed.”

  “Do you honestly think that you can defeat an author with words?” she drawled. There was no point in arguing a truth she’d known for a long time: Mykh would never find a happy ending with a sorceress. But if she stayed here fighting till doomsday, it would be worth it, just to ensure Mykh’s well-being. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Svetlhana rake her claws across Azherbhai’s throat then leap away, leaving his beak to snap shut on empty air.

  “Silly man,” Corinne taunted. “You can just talk forever and I’ll keep on listening. Sounds like a Mexican standoff to me.”

  Growling dire threats, the Dark Warrior attacked again but his staff was just a little too high. Thanking the gods for her sifu’s lessons, Corinne lunged.

  Her foot skidded on a bit of seaweed, sending her flat. Her enemy quickly brought the staff down for the death blow, as she tried to scramble out of position.

  EIGHT

  A black blur streaked across the terrace and the Dark Warrior screamed, a high piercing cry like tortured metal in a crash. He jumped back and spun around, limping on one leg.

  Mazur snarled at him and crouched deeper, ready to spring again. He was wet and muddy . . . and his fangs dripped blood, matching that flowing down the Dark Warrior’s leg. Corinne had never seen anyone quite so beautiful in fur before.

  Behind him, Svetlhana danced along the damaged balustrade to avoid Azherbhai’s raging beak, knocking chunks of stone into the harbor in his attempts to kill her.

  Eyeing Mazur, the Dark Warrior lifted his hand to cast a spell. Corinne sprang to her feet and threw Tiger’s Paw. He jerked away and it missed. He began the spell, staring at Corinne, before the halberd returned to her hand. She prepared shielding wards, frantically trying to protect both Mazur and herself.

  Suddenly a line of flames blossomed between Svetlhana and Azherbhai. The immense head immediately retreated into its shell. The Dark Warrior chanted faster, his eyes sweeping the skies for Khyber.

  Then Dragon’s Breath sliced through the Dark Warrior like a chain saw through kindling. His remains drifted to the terrace as ashes, destroyed by the same dragon magic that had claimed the Gray Sorceress and the banquet musicians. As Corinne’s sifu had taught, The dragon always attacks from an unexpected direction.

  Mazur roared his approval.

  Mykh had come to rescue them. He didn’t have to: it would have been safer for him and Torhtremer if he’d saved himself. But he was here. Corinne’s throat went tight as she blotted away tears with her sleeve.

  Khyber dived out of the sky and blazed a fiery trail from the Dark Warrior’s remains to Azherbhai. He circled then returned to etch a blazing noose around the turtle, who hissed in frustration from within his shell’s protection.

  The Imperial Dragon finally landed on the terrace, wings held high and trumpeting victory. Svetlhana sat down and started cleaning her whiskers, rather like a society matron repairing her makeup before a party.

  “How dare you kill my catalyst?” Azherbhai erupted. “He has served me well for three centuries!”

  Svetlhana yawned, displaying a magnificent set of teeth, and inspected her claws. Corinne rested the halberd on the paving and leaned against it, catching her breath but ready to move again in an instant. He came back, he came back, he came back, her heart chortled.

  Mykh joined her quietly, Dragon’s Breath still drawn and Mazur at his heels.

  “You knew you upset the equilibrium when you let him learn immortality,” Khyber answered calmly. “Do not begin weeping now that balance is restored.”

  “It will be years before I have another catalyst!”

  “At least a century, by my calculations.”

  Azherbhai whipped his head around in a fury, missing Khyber but knocking out a section of balustrade. Corinne winced as she heard it tumble down the cliff and into the water. “I will return,” he vowed hoarsely.

  “As will we,” Khyber agreed. “As will the Imperial Phoenix, if it comes to that. Be glad that you still have wintertime and the north.”

  The Imperial Terrapin lifted his snout to the sky in a storm of angry clacking and dived abruptly off the terrace, setting off a froth of water that washed away all traces of the Dark Warrior. Mykh cleaned Dragon’s Breath with a scrap of silk and sheathed it.

  Svetlhana leaped onto the balustrade to avoid the wet floor then sauntered over to Khyber. “Miss me, big boy?” she purred and tilted her head suggestively. She was an enormous tigress but she looked delicate and feminine next to the big dragon.

  To Corinne’s astonishment, Khyber flushed, traces of red rising under his scales. “Indeed I did. Many times, in fact.”

  Svetlhana patted his snout with her paw. “Poor darling, do you need a kiss to make it better? Or would you rather,” her voice deepened, “fly with me?”

  “Need you ask?” Khyber returned dryly.

  Corinne shook her head, their love twisting a knife in her heart. She returned Tiger’s Paw to its stand, before she could start crying over what she’d never find with Mykh.

  “Perhaps not, but it is such fun to tease you.” Svetlhana rubbed her cheek against his. Khyber’s eyes closed in bliss as she purred loudly. “You are a wicked lizard with such lovely scales to scratch me. Let us go now before I remember how to be good.”

  She sprang aboard Khyber’s back who crooked his head to watch her, a wicked smirk touching his mouth. She circled carefully and lay down with her chin tucked into the crook of his neck. She began to knead his shoulders and he rumbled approval, then leaped off the balustrade. He pulled out after a shallow dive that ended a hair’s breadth above the harbor and climbed, his immense wings flapping as he gained height. A gleeful yowl floated back to the island. Cheers echoed from the crowds ringing the harbor.

&nb
sp; “Victory is ours,” Mykh said softly.

  Corinne turned and found him standing just behind her. A trickle of blood on his arm showed where he’d tumbled against the balustrade, but he looked well otherwise. And entirely too sexy for a girl’s peace of mind.

  “Yes, we did win,” she agreed slowly, trying to think of how to get away before she lunged at him. She edged slightly away from him. Mazur’s ears twitched and he cocked his head to watch them.

  “And if you ever do that again, I’ll wring your neck!” His heart stuttered as she sidled away from him.

  “What?” Corinne gaped at him.

  “Attack the Terrapinheart, of a certainty! I died a thousand deaths when he lifted his staff above you.”

  “I’ll fight the Terrapinheart any time I need to, especially when you’re not available,” she blustered.

  Time to set some rules, three thousand years of kings told him.

  “No, you will not. You will be my wife and my love and far too busy in my bed to so much as dream of fighting.”

  Mazur snorted and began the lengthy task of cleaning himself.

  “Love?” Corinne stammered. A smile teased the corners of her mouth.

  “Love,” he insisted. “That is, if you care for me and will remain here, far from that strange world.”

  “Oh yes!” She hurled herself into his arms, buried her face against his corselet, and began to cry. He hugged her close and patted her back, her warmth starting to convince him that she truly was alive and his. His stepfather, Iskander, had always said it was ever a woman’s way to sob for happiness.

  Then an alternate explanation occurred to him. “Are you afraid that I would hurt you, as that other one did who put such dread of bracelets into you?”

  “No! I’m sure you’d never hurt me the way Dylan did. You took the ropes off me the first night when you were furious. So I’m sure you’d never hurt me, no matter how angry you became.”

  “We had a bargain,” Mykh reminded her.

  She shrugged. “Bargains never mattered to Dylan, only his own pleasure. You’re not Dylan.”

  “What the hell did he do to you?” Mykh glared. He would return through the void and destroy this lout.

  “Mykh, are you feeling violent?” Corinne stared at him.

  He nodded curtly. “Even so strange a world would be well rid of such vermin.”

  “Oh Mykh, that’s so sweet! But you don’t have to. He’s doing a hundred years hard time for postal fraud. There’s lots of big bad boys in that prison who’ll either teach him manners or kill him. Let’s talk about us instead.” She ran a fingertip over his lip and he stroked it with his tongue. She shivered and went on hastily as he began to smile. “I’ve been obsessed with you for years, even when I didn’t know it. I’d be glad to be your wife. And your love.”

  “Beloved,” he rumbled and kissed her, hot and sweet like the obsession for her raging inside him. The leather breeches confined his rod too closely, as it yearned for her sweet sheath. A long time passed before he lifted his head. Women always want to hear the words.

  “You’ll be my queen and my consort,” he promised.

  “Forever? You’d pledge that to a sorceress?”

  “You are my sorceress who gives me fertility, who does not steal my soul as an evil sorceress would, when I look into your eyes. I trust you with my heart and my people.”

  “Oh Mykh, that’s so sweet! And I do love you, too. And we can visit your sisters and their families . . .”

  He stopped her mouth with a kiss. She answered him passionately until he broke it off to throw his head back. He roared his triumph to the sky and hugged her. She laughed, then giggled as he picked her up and spun her around, setting her skirts flying. He lifted her higher and she stretched her arms over him, like a sheltering dragon. He grinned up at her and whirled again, his hair wrapping around them.

  A faint whiff of sulfur warned them and he turned, still holding her. Khyber swooped out of the sky in a steep dive that would make a peregrine proud. Svetlhana clung to his back, her eyes closed in bliss and her nose pointed to catch the wind.

  A rumbled “Again, darling,” drifted back to the island.

  “Yes, again,” Mykh growled and turned for the stairs leading up. “I will have you again. Now, my little sorceress.”

  Corinne blushed and clung to him. He had almost reached the first step when she stopped him. “Mazur! Oh Mykh, please stop. We’ve got to help Mazur.”

  Mykh halted immediately and set her down. They turned back to the black leopard, who lowered the hind foot that he’d been cleaning and stared back at them, refusing to admit any embarrassment at the posture.

  “Are you hurt?” Mykh asked.

  “No, of course not,” Mazur chuffed. “Dirty and a foul taste in my mouth from that wretched beast. But nothing more.”

  Corinne knelt to hug him, while Mykh dropped to a squat beside her. Mazur accepted it as his due then stiffened, signaling that he was ready to move onto other things.

  “Thank you for saving me, Mazur,” Corinne said sincerely as she straightened up.

  He shrugged, looking as reluctantly proper as only a cat can. “My pleasure, Great Lady. Now go; it is almost high tide. Sport with him in the Goddess’s Dance.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  Mykh caressed the small of Corinne’s back as he watched. The old tales spoke of the white sorcerers, who were allies of the Imperial Dragon and Tigress and always did good. She was his white sorceress, protecting him and his people with her magic. She had ridden him in joy, thereby casting out the evil memory of the Gray Sorceress rising above him. She had looked into his eyes and healed him, not stolen his soul. She cast spells that would assist, like the gift of Mazur’s language. She was a cunning warrior who had taken him by surprise, as no other had done in years. And she had battled the Dark Warrior to a standstill.

  She moved into his touch, making his heart sing. He would never again let her stray far from his protection. His heart had stopped beating while she fought the Dark Warrior, worse agony than he’d felt at Tajzyk’s Gorge. Every syllable of Khyber’s summons had been pulled from aching lungs, while his fingers gripped Dragon’s Breath until they burned.

  “A good bath and a few fish to clean my mouth are all I wish,” Mazur admitted.

  “May I help with the bath?” Corinne offered.

  Mazur immediately sat at attention, his tail twitching eagerly.

  A few words and the flick of her fingers turned Mazur’s fur immaculate. He looked down at himself, checked his whiskers scrupulously, and started to purr.

  “Good enough?”

  “My thanks, Great Lady. Now I have fish to catch.” His eyes slid toward a very large bass flopping on the marble but snapped back to the humans.

  Mykh laughed with Corinne. “As you wish, friend.” He slipped his arm around her waist and took her up the stairs to the crest. She gaped at the structure rising there.

  “It’s your tent,” she stammered. “Your old tent from your mercenary days. Why? How did it get here?”

  “The wizards fetched it over while you slept. As for why . . .” He looked for the right words. “It is the tent of Mykhayl Rhodyonovich, not the High King’s. Among my mother’s people, a man and a woman are married when they enter his tent together. Concubines,” his mouth twisted but she needed to know, “are toys best kept elsewhere.”

  “It’s where I first saw you,” she murmured. “You were standing inside, worrying about Lily. And I had to know you better so I wrote about you.”

  “Beloved.” He claimed her mouth in a long kiss, sweet as the passion he felt for her. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her inside.

  Everything there was as he had commanded it to be, exactly as he had last used it. The bed platform with its furs and silks, the thick rugs underfoot, a few broad cushions for seating, a low table offering a beaker of ale and goblets for drinking, the hanging lamps—all were the comfortable, and blessedly magic-free, possessio
ns of a successful mercenary captain.

  Mykh set Corinne down on the bed platform and kissed her again. Her slender hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. His tongue twined with hers like the life they would live together. She sighed into his mouth, sharing her breath, and he gave his back to her.

  He stroked her hips and thighs, remembering how tightly they’d wrapped around him. Desire singed his fingertips when he slipped his hand under the silk and fondled her strong limbs. When his hand finally rose to her woman’s bud, she moaned louder and her hips pushed against his touch. He played with her yoni in all the ways that she liked best and taught her a few more that pleased her well.

  Then her thighs tightened on his wrist and her hips danced merrily as rapture overcame her and her hot liquor washed his hand. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and sniffed, filling himself with her unique scent.

  “Corinne, beloved, look at me.”

  “Yes, Mykh?” she mumbled, her blue eyes blinking up at him.

  “Do you see this, your woman’s nectar?”

  She blushed fiery red but nodded.

  “Every sorceress can bind a man to her with one taste of her nectar,” he said slowly, turning his hand over slowly. “I knew that when I seized you. Yet I took you to the Tasting Room and drank deep and long. I must have loved you even then, the woman whom I had agonized over for years. Why else would I have done so much to claim you then tied myself to you for life, by drinking your nectar?”

  He licked his hand in a single long sweep from wrist to palm to fingertip, before throwing his head back to savor the magic rising through his veins in response. When he looked at her again, her eyes were enormous blue pools while her breasts rose and fell in passion’s ragged rhythm. He offered her his hand and she licked it delicately as he shivered.

  “Mine,” she whispered, “as I am yours.”

  Mykh swooped down on her and claimed her mouth. She responded fiercely like the tigress she was, and soon had her hands under his corselet. He growled his approval but quickly sat up. A few moments saw the corselet thrown into a corner, followed quickly by his boots and trousers.