by Joy Nash
“Our…our dream?”
“The first one we shared. I had but a small taste of you then, but now—”
“Those dreams were real?” He heard the dismay in her voice. “You were really there?”
“Yes,” he said. “Those joinings were as real as this physical one.”
“But…how can that be?”
“We bonded during the Na’tahar. I could not prevent it. Now our minds are linked.”
“I’ve felt you,” she said. “I sensed you tried to keep your mind separate, but there were times…”
“I can no more keep myself from you than the river can keep itself from the sea.” He bent his head, blew a stream of air over her glistening folds.
Her buttocks flexed. “Oh, God.”
He slid one finger, then two, into her tight sheath. His thumb circled the hard nub hidden in the slick folds.
Gina’s hips bucked. She gripped his hair and pulled. “Now,” she whispered on a ragged breath. “Come inside me now. I want to feel you there.”
He raised his head and gave a tight smile. “Not yet.”
His tongue began a slow journey up her body, while his hand continued its pulsing strokes. By the time his mouth claimed Gina’s lips, his own breath was coming in gasps.
The tempo of his fingers increased. Gina clutched his shoulders and pressed against him, panting.
“I can’t take much more of this, Derrin. I need you.”
“I need you as well, Gina. More than you know.”
He eased his hand from her body and shifted, coming over her, supporting himself on his elbows. His aching erection settled between her thighs, bathed in soft, slippery heat.
With one hard thrust, he drove himself into her.
She let out a strangled cry. He withdrew until their bodies barely touched.
“No!” She grasped his hips and tried to pull him back.
He teased at her entrance for a brief moment, then surged forward again, burying himself in her welcoming heat. Sharp currents of pleasure raced along every nerve in his body. He braced himself and thrust deeper, again and again, letting the endless waves of sensation overtake him.
He stroked hard, his buttocks flexing, his arms rigid as he pounded into her with all his strength and all his longing. The slide of his cock in her slick passage was a sensation he craved more than breath, more than sanity.
Gina’s breathing hitched. “Derrin. Oh God, Derrin, I want—” A tremor pulsed through her core as he surged into her.
“Let go, Gina.”
He picked up his pace, moved faster, more urgently, wanting—needing—to hear her cry of release. He bent his head and nipped at the sweat-slicked skin of her shoulder and neck. “Let go.”
She stiffened, even as he stroked into her. “No. You don’t understand,” she said on a half-choked sob. “I never…came this way. I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. You can do it for me.”
He doubled his effort, driving her without mercy, drinking in each whimper, each gasp, each moan. Now that she had welcomed him into her body, she would have no choice but to surrender to his will, as she’d had no choice when he’d entered her mind. He would drive her to her peak, and follow after.
Her frantic whimpers and writhing body told him her climax was near. As was his own. A place lay ahead, just beyond the crest of a mountain of exquisite sensation, a haven where Derrin’s past, his doubts, and his duties held no meaning. A place he wished for more than anything else.
He looped his arms under her knees and pulled her legs higher, changing the angle of his invasion. “Now, Gina.” He plunged deeper, touching her womb.
“Now. Throw your heart to me.”
She shattered beneath him, her fingernails tearing a path across his shoulder. The pain merged with her cry and vibrated through every muscle of his body. Her hot inner spasms milked his cock. The exquisite torture threw him into the chasm, into an endless gulf of stunning bliss.
He landed in a place he’d never dreamed he would find.
Home.
Chapter Sixteen
High Lord Forlik fac Dallor was no longer a young man, yet he had never felt the full weight of his years as he did this night. A lone crystal cast its glow over the polished stone of the council table, chasing the shadows to the far recesses of the room. It did little to erase his unease.
Reports from Sirth and the Eastern Plains littered one end of the long table. At the opposite end, Forlik bent over maps of the Galenan coast and countryside, searching for a pattern, some clue he could use to avert the impending doom. He found nothing but a bone-deep weariness.
In less than a fortnight, the Blight had swept from the forests between Katrinth and Sirth into the rich farmland of the Eastern Plains. This morning, a courier had brought news of massive crop failures at the larger estates. A very small portion of the spring grains would be harvested, and the outlook for summer was even bleaker. The Plains had seen little rainfall. Seeds had been sown in dust, only to rise in great clouds and disappear with the winds.
Reports from the coastal towns were little better. The Congress of Lords had counted on the bounty of the sea to replace what had been lost on the farms. But two days ago, a warm current had swelled the tides and left thousands of rotting fish on the shore. Fishermen running smaller boats had seen the amount and quality of the fish they brought in plummet. Only the larger, seagoing vessels still managed a decent catch.
The jeweled sleeve of Forlik’s robe dragged across the parchment as his finger traced the path of ruin. The Congress would need to release large portions of the emergency grain stores, even before winter. And if conditions did not improve…
The prospect was grim indeed. He ran a palm over his sparse hair, then straightened and started to pace. An enemy that could be seen—a human enemy—could be fought. But this? Forlik was not a superstitious man, but even he had to admit the rumors circulating about the city held a ring of truth. Lotark had hurled a curse at Galena.
“The One God is displeased, my Lord.”
Forlik turned, his face set in the careful mask that enabled him to retain the position of High Lord. He knew only one man who would dare intrude unannounced at so late an hour.
Solk, the Heir of Lotark, stood with regal stiffness in the doorway, his golden robes falling in perfect folds around him. His hands were clasped in a gesture of humility.
If Forlik had been in a better mood, he would have laughed.
The high priest inclined his head with conscious grace. “My Lord Forlik. Forgive my intrusion.”
Forlik gave an inner snort as he nodded. “Your Grace. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“A dark hour has fallen upon Galena, my Lord. Lotark is displeased with his children. They have turned away from his teachings. In his anger, the One God has withdrawn his protection.” His lips pressed together in a thin, straight line. “There is only one remedy.”
Forlik leaned back against the table and folded his arms across his chest. “Which is… ?”
“Penance. Penance and a return to the Old Ways. The Congress of Lords must renounce the Hierarchy. This Blight is the wizards’ doing.”
“How so?”
“The spawn of Tarol have taken the privileges of Lotark into their own hands.”
Forlik regarded the High Priest evenly. “There are many who would say such talk is naught but superstition, Your Grace. Many believe wizardry is our lone weapon against the Blight. Have you forgotten the crystal cure for the Madness Balek brought to the people last year? You predicted the entire populace would be deranged by now, yet that has not come to pass.”
Solk frowned. “The holy works of the True Believers turned back that crisis. Their sacrifices can save us once again, if it be Lotark’s will. Yet all efforts are for naught if the evil of wizardry remains in our midst.”
Forlik fought an intense surge of loathing. Solk delighted in inflaming the masses against the Hierarchy and the Congress. Privately,
Forlik would have liked nothing more than to burn the Temple of Lotark to the ground, with all its Servants inside. But he was too well aware of the power the Temple held over the common folk to act on his inclinations. Solk was a vastly powerful man. He could precipitate a riot among the peasants with alarming ease.
But the commoners were not the only ones who clung to the Old Religion. While Forlik and the most of the Lords on the coast did not put much stock in divine retribution, many aristocrats from the Eastern Plains held Lotark’s wrath to be a very real possibility. Forlik had walked a fine line between the two factions for almost a generation.
He assumed an appropriately reverent expression. “What do you suggest, Your Grace? The feast of the Bride’s Rising will be upon us in a fortnight. Surely this is an unpopular time to talk of sacrifice. The people will not react kindly to a cancellation of the usual revelries.”
“No. The feast will go on as usual, as a demonstration of faith in the midst of uncertainty. The Season of Atonement follows. The Temple will command the True Believers to fasting and prayer beyond the usual observances. It is to be hoped that the noble families will embrace the devotion.”
Forlik’s mouth twisted. “It will be done. I pray Lotark will hear our supplication and send relief. If not,” he added, “at least the asceticism will be good for our dwindling food supply.”
Solk drew himself up to his full height. “You jest, Lord Forlik. It does not become you. The devotions are necessary to our salvation, yet they will be useless if the Hierarchy is not abolished.” He cast a withering glance at the crystal of illumination glowing on the council table. “True Believers have no use for wizards and their abominations, my Lord. When the people realize their lives depend on the destruction of this repugnant cult of evildoers, I can assure you they will take action in the name of the One God.”
The high priest turned and left the chamber without waiting for a reply, his precise footsteps echoing in the long hallway. Forlik stared at the empty doorway. Never before had the Temple issued such a direct threat. Solk knew full well the Hierarchy was too powerful a group for the Congress to wish away.
Was the high priest so sure of the mobs, then? Did Solk really imagine the True Believers could destroy the Stronghold? Forlik’s shoulders sagged. Faced with the twin threats of starvation and political upheaval, it would be a miracle if the city survived intact.
Unless a cure from the Stronghold saved it first. Forlik rolled up his maps. High Wizard Rannac lay on his deathbed, and it was common knowledge that Balek would be elected his successor. Balek had devised a cure for the Madness. Perhaps a cure for the Blight followed.
It was the only hope of avoiding bloodshed.
* * * * *
Gina woke to the first wash of dawn. Rolling over, she closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the furs, relishing the luxurious texture on her bare skin. She felt happy and alive in a glorious way she’d never before experienced.
Then the last remnants of sleep scattered and the memory of the night before rolled over her like a small earthquake.
Oh. My. God.
She sat up abruptly. Morning mist blanketed the valley, filling it to the very edge of the cliff, leaving Gina with the odd sensation of being adrift on the rocky perch. She shut her eyes and forced herself to take a long, deep breath.
She dared a look around. Derrin knelt nearby, nursing a new fire. He hadn’t bothered to dress. His muscled back and bare buttocks looked so enticing she had to hold herself back from throwing herself at him.
He sent her a cautious smile over one shoulder. “Good morning.”
She clutched the furs to her bare breasts, keenly aware that it was much too late for modesty. He’d licked and sucked just about every part of her body last night.
The thought unnerved her. “Oh, God, Derrin, what have we done?”
“You don’t remember?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were guarded by shadows. “It couldn’t have been very good, then.”
Heat flooded Gina’s cheeks as she remembered just how good losing herself to him had been. “Very funny.”
“I would have sworn you were enjoying yourself,” he continued in a conversational tone. He glanced at his shoulder. “I’ve got the claw marks to prove it.”
Claw marks?
Gina stared at the angry red lines. Her face grew even hotter. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I—”
“I’m not.” Derrin left the fire. With two swift strides he closed the distance between them and kissed her, hard. “Do you regret our joining, Gina?”
“No!” She stared at him, stricken by the pain she could feel flowing from his mind. Their lovemaking seemed to have intensified the mental connection between them—or maybe Derrin had stopped shielding his emotions from her. She wasn’t sure which thought unnerved her more.
“I don’t regret it,” she said slowly. “It was wonderful. I never knew it could be like that. It’s just…” Just that she hadn’t been ready for it. Wasn’t sure she ever could have been. And now that it was done…
Tears stung her eyes. “It will be so hard to leave you now.”
Derrin stood and paced back to the fire. He picked up a dead branch and snapped it in two, then threw the pieces into the flames and sighed. “It will be no easier for me.” He returned and sat beside her. “Gina, we have no idea when we will be parted, but neither does anyone else. Did Deehna know Red Hawk would be taken from her so suddenly?” His eyes, gray and piercing, held hers. “If you were to cross the web today, I wouldn’t regret what we shared.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts, still hidden behind the furs. She gripped the skins tighter. Derrin’s lovemaking had been amazing, yet at the same time it had terrified her. He’d shattered every one of her defenses. She’d been so vulnerable, so open. Everything she’d promised herself she’d never be again. He could hurt her now, worse than Michael ever had, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.
She cast about for something to say. “Where did these furs come from?”
“I went back to the village after you fell asleep. I borrowed these from Kaila.”
Her head jerked up. “Kaila. I was supposed to give her dress back! She’ll wonder where I am, and if she knows you’re gone, too—” Gina grabbed for the dress, but Derrin snatched it up first.
“She won’t be wondering,” he said casually as he shook out the wrinkles and folded it. He set the garment aside, out of her reach. “She knows where you are, or at least who you’re with and what we’re doing.”
“What? You told her we were going to—” She choked, then tried again. “You talked to Kaila behind my back about this? Were you so sure I’d say yes?”
“I let Kaila know my intentions, but it wasn’t behind your back. You were there.”
Gina stared. “What are you talking about?”
“My flute song told her. It was more than a simple melody I played for you two nights past. It was a question. Kaila and White Otter knew what I asked, even if you didn’t. As for being sure of your answer—” He gave her a wry smile. “I hoped, but I wasn’t certain at all. Kaila must have been, though.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your hair. A Baha’Na woman always leaves her hair loose when she joins with her partner for the first time. And the dress. It is a first joining dress.”
Derrin’s words settled into Gina’s brain slowly, and a few heartbeats passed before their full import hit. When it did, she felt as if she’d been tossed into a raging river heading for a steep waterfall.
“Derrin.” Her voice held a dangerous note, and she enunciated each word. “Are we—” she swallowed hard “—married?”
He avoided her gaze. “I’m sure Kaila would say we are.”
“But…but…” she sputtered. Married! She didn’t want to be married! After Michael, she’d sworn she’d never be trapped that way again.
Derrin dropped to one knee before her and gripped her bare shoulders. His gray eyes glittered with an emotio
n much less complicated than love. It was the same emotion that had ruled both of them last night. Gina’s reaction came swiftly and completely, an erotic response so raw and wild it threatened to shatter her. Her first impulse was to strangle the feeling, return it to the murky depths of her psyche from which it had risen.
His fingers dug into her flesh. “Gina, I didn’t want to join with you the way Galenan men take their women—as a servant or an afternoon’s dalliance. I wanted to follow the customs of my mother’s people.” He searched her eyes. “But you’re not of the Baha’Na and I’m a wizard of Galena.” He released her. “Our joining is what you want it to be.”
He half turned away and Gina understood he was leaving the choice to her. She’d been mistaken. She hadn’t given him everything. There was still one small part of herself that she had kept safe. She could keep it from him, or she could accept him completely, along with all the risk and pain such a love brought.
Was there really a choice at all?
“I love you.” They weren’t the words she’d meant to say, but once spoken, Gina found she had no desire to call them back. Her heart had already chosen, without asking her blessing.
He turned back to her and she placed her palms, fingers splayed, on the hard muscles of his chest. “I love you,” she repeated, savoring the words as they left her tongue. Her hand stroked his skin, dipped to his flat belly and lingered. His breathing quickened and the muscles in his stomach tightened. Her fingers quested lower and closed around his cock. It was already hard, and very, very hot.
Only then did Gina realize the furs covering her had dropped away. Derrin’s gaze was fixed on the taut peaks of her breasts. She smiled and eased onto her back.
He followed, coming over her. He caged her body, filled her vision. He caught her wrists in his hands and spread her arms wide, pressing them into the furs. Gina felt a small stab of panic at the restraint. Michael had held her this way once when he’d been angry at her. She’d felt used. Humiliated. She tried to free herself, but Derrin didn’t allow her to cover herself.