by Anny Cook
His knees cramped and he slowly straightened his long legs until they were flat on the floor. Sitting there with his back against the wall he listened intently to the storm suddenly intensify. In seconds the wailing wind was howling and shrieking around the corners of the building from the other direction. No one commented on the fact that the man who had gone to the roof had never returned. Trav hoped he had ID on him so they could identify him if they found the body.
He took a deep breath, then let it go as he pulled his legs up close to his body and wedged his size twelve Nikes flat on the floor. Damn, his ribs hurt! Tucking his bag beneath his bent knees, he leaned his head back and allowed his eyes to shut. He was so weary and a long way from home.
* * * * *
When rescuers finally arrived, it was a damp, bedraggled group that that greeted them with dull relief. The flooding was devastating and everything in the area except the building they occupied was gone or underwater. Helicopters airlifted them from the shredded tatters of the roof—children, women and finally the remaining men. Trav was the last one hauled aboard.
When his head cleared the doorway, he found a pistol trained on him dead center. Lifting his tired eyes, he saw the face of a man he could have sworn was a friend. “Welcome aboard, nest egg,” Marco said cheerfully in Cherokee.
“I’m not sure I want to,” Trav replied dryly in the same language. “It doesn’t sound as though the ride is going to have a happy ending for me.” He noted the safety on Marco’s weapon was on and flashed a glance at the others slumped in the copter. “You figure we’ve got ears?”
“Ears, eyes and itchy fingers.” Like an Old West gunslinger, Marco twirled his pistol over his finger and settled it in the waistband of his battered jeans. “Lucky for you, I’m the one that drew this little rescue mission. Llewellyn put out a contract on you, amigo. Big bucks. Dead or alive.”
Trav’s gut tightened. “Dancer?”
“Did a Houdini last week. Walked right out of a concert hall in Berlin under their collective noses, carrying his violin and guitar cases. On top of that, he was dressed in his western getup complete with black cowboy hat and boots. Llewellyn is pissed.” Marco settled back against the open doorway and pulled Trav up next to him with Trav’s bag between them. “They’ll be waiting for you back at the drop-off point. They have a pretty good description too. What happened to your hair?”
“I tucked it under my windbreaker.”
“Fuck! I thought you cut it off! Good thing you’re wearing a cap. That red hair of yours is like a beacon. You have somewhere you want us to set you down?”
“How far are you going?”
“Da Nang but they’ve got that sewn up good, buddy.” He stared at Trav with worried eyes. “You wouldn’t make it ten feet.”
Trav concentrated, pitting one option against another. “Drop me at the crossroads north of Quy Nho’n,” he said in sudden decision. “I’ll make my own way from there.”
Marco shook his head. “I’m not asking and I don’t want to know. But when we get close, you better make it look good.”
“No problem. I owe you a big one.” Trav settled back with his eyes closed and tried to work out a plan. When they passed the outskirts of Quy Nho’n, he slipped Marco’s pistol out of the man’s waistband and pressed it against his ear. In careful Vietnamese, he gave him directions to set him down. Marco shouted over his shoulder to their pilot and minutes later Trav pointed to the spot where he wanted to get off. Dropping down into six inches of floodwater, he splashed to the edge of the clearing before turning to face Marco. He hurled Marco’s weapon back into the chopper and disappeared into the jungle, his mind occupied with one burning question.
Where was Dancer?
Chapter One
Dancer was sprawled between the long, silky pale blue legs of his new bond mate, Eppie, with his head resting on her soft, full breasts. His tongue snaked out to flick one tight nipple and she whimpered softly. “Too much?” he teased. “Or not enough?”
Arching closer, she fisted her hands in his long golden hair, positioning his mouth exactly where she wanted it. “Harder,” she panted impatiently. “More.”
He took her nipple deep in his warm mouth, flicking the tip with his tongue while he suckled. Writhing beneath him, she lifted her hips, rubbing her clit against the hard length of his cock. She loved the way it slid up and down the slippery furrow between her legs, gliding over the soft, wet petals with enticing friction.
Just as it glanced over her vaginal opening, she reared up, wrapping her legs around his waist and captured the hot, engorged head. Happy to aid her efforts, he thrust forward, burying his cock balls-deep in her warm, welcoming pussy. Instantly, her schela, the ring of muscle high in her vagina, tightened around him, just behind the flared rim, locking him in place.
Dancer lifted his head and groaned.
Eppie moaned, as deep inside she clenched around him.
“Damn, I love your schela,” he whispered, thrusting deeper, rubbing across the field of sensitive nerves high in her pussy.
She shuddered and clenched again.
“Yeah! Just like that!” he moaned.
Abruptly they were still, savoring the snug fit, hot, wet and slippery. Eppie buried her nose against his damp shoulder and inhaled. She would know his scent anywhere, even in the dark, she thought with a smile. “I’m so glad you found your way to the valley,” she confessed happily. “I was so lonely without you.”
“So was I,” he replied with deep content. “I just didn’t know I needed you until I got here.” He brushed his lips along her collarbone, alternating light nips and soothing flicks with his rough tongue.
“But?”
A light frown flittered across his face when he tilted his head back to look at her. “I wish Traveller was with here in the valley with me.”
She sighed. “I know you miss him. Don’t you think he’ll find his way to Mystic Valley too?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted in a troubled tone. “I hope he found my letter and the other papers I left him. If he did, then I know he’ll try to follow me.”
“Well then, that’s all you can hope for.” She crossed her ankles low on his butt and clutched his firm, muscular hips between her strong thighs. Wrapping her arms around him, she rubbed his back, massaging the tight knots just below his shoulders. “In the meantime, I need you, mate of mine. I want you.” She slid her hands through the long cool golden strands that flowed like warm silk around them and murmured in his ear, “You make me whole.”
Moving with her in a rhythm as old as the tides in the sea, he filled her and retreated, thrusting his thick cock deep in her passage so that he touched the very heart of her until the waves of her internal orgasmic contractions broke his control and he joined her in scalding-hot, jetting climax urged on by the suckling of her mhital on the fat head.
In Lost Market, just down the trail from their isolated bonding cottage, Eppie’s sister, Wrenna, was daydreaming about her own bonding possibilities if Traveller found his way to their closed hidden valley. She stared out through the wide doorway, standing open to allow the faint breezes to flow through her pottery shop.
Clusters of colorful adobe domed homes and shops baked in the heat of the open village clearing. On three sides, heavy forest shielded the village from the rest of the valley. On the fourth side, Lost Market faced the wide sleepy river that trailed across the valley from the far northern cliffs near Rebaccah’s Promise to the dark, mysterious Shadow Lake, bordered by the steep cliffs on the southern wall.
Reaching out with a light mental touch, she searched out Cougar and Gazelle, her youngest sibs at seven years old and the only male-female twins in the family. She found them playing and exploring out in the Deep Meadow.
Next, she located Panther and Llynx, skipping stones across the river. It seemed harmless enough but you could never tell with them. Llynx was a magnet for trouble and Panther was ever the thinker. If one didn’t have a bright idea, the other d
id.
Falcon was in the cool family library, laboring over his journal. Papa believed that Falcon was a natural historian. Perhaps when he was older he would be an Archivist down at the Talking Wall.
Out under the shady trees on the back patio, Hawke was working on his hand loom while keeping Robyn company. Wrenna silently nodded with approval. Hawke was a quiet, solitary, taciturn sixteen-year-old who was expected to soon become the youngest warrior in the valley.
Without bothering to track down the rest of her sibs, she settled into her task for the afternoon—small, squat clay jars destined to hold salves and ointments prepared and dispensed by her brother Llyon in his healing practice. When she ran out of space on the tray she kept for curing, she realized that she had made twice as many as Llyon had requested while she was daydreaming.
Well, perhaps it wasn’t exactly daydreaming. Mulling over the events of the past moon since her bond-brother had arrived wasn’t really daydreaming, except when she wondered what his brother, Traveller, was really like. Her sister Eppie had asked Dancer to describe Traveller but it wasn’t until he had shown them a small picture of Trav that Wrenna was completely heart-struck. Dancer had called the picture a photo and smiled as he gently ran a calloused fingertip over the glossy surface. Since Dancer didn’t smile very often, Wrenna was happy that the picture brought back good memories but she wished she was comfortable enough with her new bond-brother to ask for a closer look.
When she stared absently at the tray of jars and then shook her head, her loosely secured topknot listed precariously to one side. Ruefully she stared at her hands, strong pale blue fingers covered with cream-colored clay. Even after she wiped them on the tan smock covering her bright yellow meerlim, they were too dirty to touch her hair. With a deep sigh, she studied the small pots. No doubt Llyon would eventually use all of them but until then, she would have to find some place to store them after they were fired. Maybe Ciara, the herbalist at Dai’s Hamlet, would take a few. She sighed when she thought of the long walk down to Dai’s Hamlet just so she could find out what colors Ciara would need.
“Wrenna? Are you out here?” Wolfe pounded on the side of the dome with a heavy hand. “Can you come in, please? Cougar threw up all over me and I need help getting him cleaned up…”
She rushed over to the shop door, skidding to a halt when she caught the full meaning of her sib’s monologue. Ewww! Wrinkling her nose, she stared at the regurgitated blueberries covering his bare chest and filthy sharda. “You’re trying to tell me there was more than that in that boy’s belly? Where did he fit it?” she demanded.
“Exactly the problem,” Wolfe retorted. “He must have cleaned every bush in the Deep Meadow. Wait until you see him.”
She followed him back into the house, biting her lip to keep from chuckling. Wolfe was the most fastidious of all her siblings. She couldn’t even imagine how he’d tolerated the mess long enough to fetch her from her pottery shop. “Go on, Wolfe, and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll take care of Cougar.”
“I’ll send Falcon to help you if he’s in our room,” he promised before turning away toward the bathing room he shared with his older brothers.
Wrenna went into the main bathing room and silently surveyed her youngest brother. Cougar stood naked in the empty bathing tub, his pale blue skin covered in goose bumps, shivering and filthy. His twin, Gazelle, sat on the toilet, slow tears running down her face while she mournfully held his hand. “All right, it’s not that bad,” Wrenna said kindly. “Cougar, step out here on this bathing sheet and let me wipe the worst of it off you and then we’ll run a warm bath and finish cleaning you up.” She studied him seriously for a moment. “Are you finished? Or is there more where this came from?”
He moaned. “No more.”
“Is that a wish or a fact?”
“Truth,” he muttered. “No more left.” He clambered out of the tub and stood while Wrenna wiped him down. When she judged that the worst was off, she motioned for him to get back in the tub and she started filling it with warm water.
“Gazelle, you stay with him while I run this out to the laundry tubs. Then you can tell me what happened.” Bundling up the bathing sheet along with his sharda and the dirty washing cloth, she carried it out to the laundry shed and dumped it in the soaking tub. His sandals she figured were a lost cause but she dropped them next to the tub and returned to finish cleaning up one seven-year-old who she suspected would stay away from the blueberry bushes for a while—at least until next year.
When Cougar was finally clean and dry, she settled him in his bed with Gazelle to keep him company while she went back to the kitchen to prepare him some wachaz tea to settle his belly. Wolfe, fresh from his bath, stalked past her with the bundle of his sharda and bathing sheet. His shiny black warrior braids were gathered up in a twist held by two carved skewers but the glassy chinkas on the ends still clinked musically when he moved. By the time he returned from the laundry shed, the tea was nearly ready.
“Cougar’s sandals aren’t worth messing with,” he observed shortly as he pulled the skewers from his hair, allowing his braids to slither down his back. He tucked the skewers in the waistband of his sharda and went to the sink to wash his hands. “I tossed them in the trash heap. They were his old ones, anyway.”
She nodded while she added a healthy dollop of honey to the tea. “I thought as much but he was waiting by the tub, so I just left them. I have plenty of hot water here. Do you want tea?”
He shuddered. “No thanks. I don’t think I could face anything right now. Do you think he’ll be okay?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I think so. You’re the one with healer talent. Why?”
“He was violently ill. I’ve never seen any of us get that sick.” He took the mug of tea from her and led the way down to the room the younger boys shared. Gazelle was curled up next to Cougar, holding his hand and both were sound asleep. Wolfe set the mug on the bedside table and fetched a light coverlet to spread over them.
“Well, I guess he’s okay,” he said doubtfully. “Gazelle seems peaceful enough and she would be making a fuss if he wasn’t.” In the way of all of the twin sets in the family, Cougar and Gazelle shared the bad times as well as the good.
“He will be fine. Can you help me for a few minutes out in the shop? I need you to move a curing tray for me.”
Wolfe shot her a knowing glance before slowly shaking his head. “You made too many again, huh? What was it this time?”
“Oh, just thinking. So much has happened in the last moon.” She sighed quietly. “Dancer came and bonded with Eppie and then we had that terrible bonding storm. Llyon and Tyger finally swore a covenant bond. Homer died trying to kill Silence. It seems like it’s been several moons instead of just one.” She led the way out to the spacious dome perched on a low rise above the river. Completed only the week before, as a gift from the villagers, she still got a little thrill every time she looked at it. “I guess you didn’t find Falcon. He never came to help.”
“Hawke dragged Falcon out to the back patio to help him make a new loom,” Wolfe replied absently. “He damaged Hawke’s old one. You know how attached Hawke was to that loom just because Tyger gave to him. When Tyger gets past what he did to his own great loom on his bonding night, I’m pretty sure Hawke’s going to ask him to take him as an apprentice. I looked around for one of the others but they were all busy. Arano’s still out at Silence’s house helping her sort through Homer’s belongings. I don’t know what’s taking so much time. Surely he didn’t have that much stuff!
“As usual, Arturo is training the third-level boys out at the field. You know that Panther and Llynx are still grounded for breaking old Marta’s window. Well, Arturo caught them down by the river and sent them home so now they’re weeding Mama’s garden.” He shrugged. “Hawke’s keeping an eye on them.”
“You would think with fourteen of us, there would be more help available,” she grumbled impatiently. “Ah well. The little twins will probably
sleep for a while. After you move that tray for me, I’ll clean up and start dinner.”
He easily lifted the tray and carried it across to the shelves where she kept her curing items. “This all right?”
“Great. Would you mind very much going down to the smokehouse and bringing something back for dinner?” She looked around at the mess in her shop with a vague glance. “I’ll be in as soon as I clean up.”
“Not a problem. What do you want?” he inquired while he casually picked up various items and set them in place with the ease of long familiarity. At one time, he had considered apprenticing with Wrenna but potting wasn’t in his future. He enjoyed it as a relaxing occupation for his free time but it wasn’t going to be his life’s work.