When she didn’t place her hand in his, he reached over and took it, and was surprised to find her flesh icy cold. “At least you’ve already experienced the Shimmering—so you won’t panic during the ceremony.”
“Look, I didn’t want to tell you . . .” She licked her bottom lip and couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“Yes?” Finally she was going to tell him about the Zorash. They wouldn’t have to marry. Tension and excitement washed over him—as well as disappointment that, in all likelihood, they’d never see one another again. It surprised him that he wanted to know more about her. She’d held out on him for far longer than he’d expected, but once she’d understood that he fully intended to wed, she’d accepted at last that she had no choice. Either way, he would learn the Zorash’s location.
“I’m not who you think.”
“What?” He’d been so certain she’d been about to tell him where to find the Zorash that his tone came out sharper than he’d planned. Alarmed by his tone, his bodyguards leaned through the doorway for a room check, but Daveck waved them back to give them privacy.
“I’m not Lira. My name is Sandra and I come from a planet called Earth.”
She was making no sense. Stalling. He’d been so certain she was intelligent, surely she could have come up with a more entertaining or believable story. “Stop lying. It will do you no good.”
“You’re missing the important point. I’m not Lira. The woman you intended to wed left me her language skills, but Maglek’s daughter departed this body for the astral plane.”
He snorted his disbelief. “And after we wed, I’m going to grow a pouch and turn into a gangra.” He placed his palm in the small of her back and urged her toward the reception area where they were to wed. “My lady, please. No more delays.”
She planted her feet, but her weight was no match for his mass and she stumbled forward. “You must listen to me. You’re going to ruin our lives for nothing.”
How dare she insult him? He didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at her, but with determination, he kept them both advancing. “Are you saying marriage to me will ruin your life?”
“I’m saying . . . I’m . . . not . . . Lira. And only Lira can give you the information about the Kabash.”
“Zorash,” he corrected her automatically. “Now stop delaying. There’s no more time to waste. The high priest is ready. Your people and my men are all waiting for us in the tabernacle.”
He pulled her forward and she almost fell, glared at him, then gave in, showing some good sense in the end. Together they left her home and entered the private tabernacle built in the rear quarter of the garden. At least once she understood that for the good of his people he would stand as immovable as a mountain, she didn’t waste her limited strength or embarrass them with more antics before his men, who guarded their path, or the guests who milled in the garden, waiting for their arrival.
But once they entered the double front doors of the charming house of worship, she whispered, “You are impossible. You must listen—”
“Silence.” He squeezed her hand for emphasis. “I do not wish to air our argument in public.”
“It’s going to be very public when all the people of Farii are dying because of your mistake,” she hissed.
The high priest approached and finally, resentfully, she stopped talking. Her gaze focused past the priest to the sharcrit slabs by the altar and her face paled, alarming him. If she refused to take the marriage vows and accepted sharcrit instead, he would never learn what he needed. Besides, one woman’s death on his conscience was already more than enough for any warrior to bear.
Now that witnesses had arrived, it was too late to turn back. The high priest gestured for them to approach. Witnesses stood in their hooded robes, the distinguishing features of their faces hidden by black netting.
His men stood guard along the tabernacle’s stone-walled perimeter and the guests turned somber and silent. An organist played the traditional wedding song. Children threw flower petals in their path and incense scented the air with a sickening sweetness that forced him to take in air through his mouth in measured breaths.
Daveck had no idea what to expect from his bride. She might weep, beg, or try to flee, and he held her hand firmly, hoping to lend her his strength so she wouldn’t embarrass herself. Many women dreaded their wedding day, fearing the marriage bed and the Shimmering, but he already knew that was not her problem.
His glowering bride seemed to value her . . . independence. And the oddness of that notion disturbed him at a level he didn’t comprehend. Because women of Farii didn’t think that way. But if she was from Earth as she’d claimed, he imagined that she would certainly have different ways of looking at the world.
According to the ancients, the Zorash supposedly possessed many powers, but modern-day Farii scholars considered the ancient tales mostly legends. However, one of the early tales foretold of a time when the Zorash would go missing, creating climate-wide havoc. Supposedly, one otherworldly soul was the key to the Zorash’s survival.
Otherworldly—he’d thought the term referred to a high priest or the pure heart of a warrior. But now as he kneeled before the high priest and the man spouted the ritual incantations, Daveck wondered if Lira had heard of the ancient legend and tried to use it against him by coming up with such a fantastic tale.
Because if she spoke the truth—then he was marrying her for no reason. If she wasn’t Lira, she wouldn’t know where Maglek had hidden the Zorash. But there was only one way to be certain—complete the ceremony. And talk about truth checking—what were the chances that the daughter of his lying, cheating, selfish enemy was telling the truth?
Still, Lira had qualities he’d never seen in a woman. She had unusual courage—sweet Zorash, she argued with him like an equal. While he admired her spirit, he frowned. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to the next few decades of fierce arguments—but if he didn’t go through with the ceremony, there wouldn’t be much time left for any of them.
Finally the priest finished and handed them the ritual wine. Daveck held the cup to Lira’s mouth and she sipped, her eyes seeking his over the brim. Her wine-stained lips might have looked tempting enough to taste, but her eyes glared unbridled fire. But when he placed the wineglass in her hands, she offered a sip to him, doing her part.
She wasn’t going to object. Until that moment he hadn’t been certain. Oh, she was still clearly raging with anger, but she would live, and relief lightened his shoulders . . . and his heart.
“You will now seek the Zorash’s blessing and become one in the Shimmering,” the high priest intoned.
Daveck stood and helped Lira to her feet. Together, they walked out of the tabernacle toward the pavilion that had been set up in the garden for their wedding ceremony. If he’d thought her hands cold before, they were now icy.
“Aren’t we staying to dine?” she asked as they strolled past the guests who helped themselves to food from tables laden with food and drink.
“We have other obligations.” His tone thickened.
She must have noted the heat in his voice because she drew herself up so straight her spine cracked. “The Shimmering is part of the ceremony?”
“That’s an odd way of putting it.”
“It’s an odd custom. Are you saying every man here can project a force field at will?”
“The Zorash gives only Sanroyai warriors that power and we employ it to protect our women during vulnerable moments.”
Banking her annoyance, she grinned. “Like during lovemaking?”
He nodded.
Her voice turned low and husky, provocative. “You mean we’re finally going to consummate the marriage?”
“The Zorash demands husband and wife must become one in body and spirit.”
“I understand our bodies becoming one. Tell me
about the spirit part.”
They walked down a stone path lined with flowering shrubs and past sculptures made of flower petals. None of the guests dared approach. His men, inconspicuous but armed, guarded them from a distance.
“Earlier, during the attack when I created the Shimmering, you didn’t join me. This time you will.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No woman does . . . not until her wedding day.”
She gave him a compassionate look. “Did Ciel survive her wedding day?”
“She did not. We were attacked and I didn’t have time to explain what she must do. She panicked, touched the force field and . . .” Blood. So much blood. At least she’d died quickly, but he’d never forget her look of pain and horror or the damning accusation in her eyes before they’d closed for the final time.
Lira wrapped her hand in his. “Your men will protect us. You’ll have all the time you need to prepare.”
Her words stopped him, drew him right out of the past into the present. She was trying to comfort him. It made no sense and yet . . . it was true. This woman he’d forced to wed, this woman who appeared horrified that she had no choice, was trying to reassure him when it should have been the other way around. He swallowed hard, wondering if the Zorash was signaling him that he was on the correct path to be so lucky.
He peered down into her eyes. “Do you not fear the joining of our bodies?”
“Of course not.” She grinned at him, her head at a cocky angle. “Unless you’re into kink.”
“Kink?”
“Pain. I’m not into pain.”
“The first time can hurt but I will go—”
“Damn. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“What?”
“I’m a . . . virgin?”
“You don’t know?” He stared at her. Either Lira was a mental case or . . . he sighed. He’d find out soon enough if she was lying to him.
She shrugged. “We’ll be fine. This body is . . . responsive. Wait until you see the size of my chest,” she teased.
“Are you trying to make my heart explode?” If she’d intended to shock him into forgetting his past marriage disaster she was succeeding. He’d never heard of a woman quite so forward. But then he was a simple warrior who was regaining his balance and confidence.
“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of an explosion right here.” Looking straight into his eyes, she palmed his growing kaladon with a boldness he was beginning to appreciate.
She felt good. Too good. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her wrist to tug her away. “You must stop.”
“Why?”
“Someone might . . . come along.”
She chuckled. “I’ll take the chance. And if I’d known how cute you are—”
“Cute?” he snorted.
“—at just the mention of sex—”
“My lady, you’re doing a hell of a lot more than talking.”
“—I’d have married you sooner.” She returned to stroking him boldly, clearly enjoying herself. His kaladon strained, and thinking about anything besides having her naked became a huge effort. Still, he tried to keep up the conversation.
He sputtered, “I gave you no choice about the date.”
“Maybe you should have,” she purred—and winked at him.
“For once, we’re in agreement.”
Chapter Eight
DAVECK LET OUT a whoop and scooped her into his arms, carrying her toward the pavilion. Heart thumping, Sandra placed her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest.
Making love in Lira’s body was going to be . . . interesting. Making love to Daveck . . . excited and intrigued her.
The man seemed one giant bundle of contradictions.
One moment he was demanding and arrogant, the next tender and uncertain, but she suspected that while making love, the real Daveck would show up. Would he be gentle with his “virgin bride”? Would he take the time needed to ensure her enjoyment? Or would he be so eager to enjoy his own pleasure and to complete his mission that he would show no concern for her?
Thank God, Lira’s virgin body was reacting to Sandra’s eagerness to make love. As Sandra thought about tearing off Daveck’s clothes, her breasts swelled, her nipples hardened, and moisture seeped between her thighs. And she couldn’t wait to see Daveck’s reactions to her voluptuous breasts.
Daveck carried her past the pavilion’s tent flap, yanking it closed behind them. Scented candles surrounded a circular mattress with soft tangerine-colored sheets. Fruits, cheeses, and sweetmeats sat in a variety of bowls, dishes, and trays on a sideboard. A frosted crystal decanter held wine, and beside it were two long-stemmed glasses with fragile etchings.
Daveck sat on the bed, keeping her in his lap. “Would you care for something to eat?”
“No, thanks.”
“How about some wine?”
“After.”
“Wine might make . . . this go . . . easier for you.”
She released a low chuckle and tugged his head down toward hers. “I’m not expecting any trouble.”
“You aren’t?” He gazed at her with confusion in his eyes. “But your mother died when you were born. Did someone tell you what to expect?”
“From you?” She shook her head. “But you’re going to be good to me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She nibbled along his jaw, breathing in his delicious scent, a mix of male essence and tangy heat. “Can’t you feel what’s happening between us?”
“You mean the Shimmering?”
She shook her head. “I’m talking about chemistry. Passion.” She nipped his neck and let her hand slide to his jaw. “You want me.”
“Yes.”
“And I want you. It’s simple. Really.”
His hand clasped hers. “There’s nothing simple about you, and I’ve never heard of a bride acting so boldly on her wedding bed.”
“You’re shocked but you don’t really disapprove.” She pressed herself against his kaladon and he couldn’t deny the evidence.
He shot her a mocking glance but spoiled the effect as he began to smile. “So now you can read my mind?”
“If you didn’t appreciate my feminine side, you wouldn’t be so”— she swiveled her bottom against his hard sex—”aroused.”
“For a lady who grew up without siblings or a mother, you certainly know a lot about men.”
“But I did have a mother and—”
“Don’t start.” He kissed her lips, stopping her from saying anything about her life back on Earth. She sighed into his mouth, disappointed that he refused to believe her. But then if their situations were reversed, she wouldn’t believe her story, either.
And once his tongue found hers, she no longer cared so much that he believed he was kissing Lira. His mouth might have angled down boldly over hers, but his tongue teased and taunted. He took his time, kissing her with a thoroughness that revved her pulse, heated her core, and made her fingers unfasten his shirt—seemingly of their own accord.
Unfamiliar with his wide, knobby buttons, she twisted around to face him, straddling his thighs. She fumbled at first, but then figured out she had to twist the buttons sideways through loops to free the fasteners. And all the while she worked on his shirt, he continued to kiss her—as if he had all the time in Farii.
Finally, she unfastened the last button and smoothed her palms over his chest. He possessed only a light dusting of hair that stretched between his pectoral muscles and then narrowed at his hips. Flattening her palms over his warm flesh, she learned that his abs were cut like a six-pack and he carried no spare flesh on him.
But it was his heat that impressed her most. That and how his flesh rippled under her touch. The man had one fantastic body a
nd touching his smooth skin pleased her as much as his kiss. If he’d been an athlete on Earth, he’d have been offered a slew of endorsements. If he’d been an actor, he would have had plenty of work. And if he’d simply walked down the street, female heads would have turned.
But it wasn’t just his good looks that had her eager to make love. He possessed a presence that exuded . . . a noble determination, and she was certain that whatever he attempted, he would do to the best of his ability. And right now, all his delicious attention was focused on her.
A simple knotted cord held up his pants. When she reached to untie the knot, one of his big hands captured both her wrists, stopping her from exploring further.
And then it was his turn to remove her vest. But he simply parted the V to expose her breasts. Half dressed, sitting on his lap, the outside curves of her breasts squeezed by the material, she felt decidedly wanton.
When he released her hands and cupped her breasts as if testing their weight, she grinned. “Nice, huh?”
“Very nice,” he agreed, using the pads of his thumbs to circle her nipples.
“Umm. You feel good.”
“You like my touch?” he asked, sounding surprised and pleased.
“Even better, I’d like your mouth right there.”
He didn’t need a second invitation. He drew her nipple into his mouth, pulling hard. His deep, lingering tug caused her to go slick with desire.
She squirmed, again reached for the tie on his pants.
He tweaked one nipple with his teeth, the other with his fingers.
“Ah . . .” she released a soft moan and when she could think, she realized he’d once again captured her wrists in one hand. With his free hand and his mouth, he played with her breasts. And she’d never felt anything so lovely in her entire life. “Oh . . . oh . . . my . . . ahh.” She spread her thighs and pumped her hips, invited him to delve lower.
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