by Joy Nash
Finally, she gave up and lay still, heart thudding with a dull rhythm. He held her in place as his gaze tangled with hers, then traveled past the shuddering rise of her breasts to the arc of her belly and the dark curls below. The thought came to her that being under Derrin’s control was a world of difference from being under Michael’s. The intimate scrutiny sparked a tingling, burning ache between her legs. She trembled with desire, not shame. Her body was coming alive, not going numb.
She flushed under his open gaze. The intensity of last night’s lovemaking had shaken her to the core, but at least in the darkness she’d been shielded from seeing his reaction to her surrender. Now, awash in the slanting rays of the morning sun, she felt unbearably exposed by the completeness of her body’s response to her lover. But, oddly, she had no desire to break free of his hold.
Derrin didn’t release her, and Gina lay still, barely breathing. The fire spread from her loins to her stomach, then to the tips of her breasts, ignited by her lover’s attention as it caressed the length of her body. She felt a fine tremor run through the muscles of his arms. His heated gaze caught hers.
She struggled to take her next breath. Overwhelmed, she shut her eyes and twisted her face away.
He released her and rolled to one side, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand traced a line across her cheek. “Gina, are you embarrassed?”
She forced herself to answer. “A little.”
“Why? I love looking at you. You’re so beautiful—even more than I imagined.”
“You imagined me like this?”
Derrin rolled onto his back and laughed. “Of course. I’ve thought of little else since we left the Fire Clan. And even before.”
Gina sat up. “You weren’t picturing me naked the day we got caught in the storm. You were miserable to me!”
“All I could think of that day was throwing you down on the trail and ripping your clothes off. If you hadn’t been so angry, I would have done it.”
Gina laughed. Her self-consciousness fell away. Derrin was her friend, after all, the best one she’d ever had. Now he was her lover as well. Maybe she didn’t need to protect her heart from him. Still smiling, she reached her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.
Derrin rolled her onto her back and pressed the length of his body to hers. His fingers roved over her breast, gently scraping the hardened peak. His teeth followed, drawing on the sensitized nipple with a series of sharp tugs. Gina moaned and clutched handfuls of his hair. The unbearable ache between her legs had returned. She rubbed her clit against the hard muscles of his thigh, seeking relief.
“I hated fighting with you,” she said.
His cock pulsed hot and heavy against her thigh. She lifted her hips. Derrin rocked forward and filled her. He loved her with slow, agonizing strokes, pulling wave after wave of response from her body. Gina shuddered. She gripped his shoulders and shut her eyes.
“No, Gina.” His voice was husky and cajoling. “Don’t close your eyes—look at me.”
Gina fought the urge to obey, unwilling to reveal to Derrin how completely she’d surrendered to his erotic onslaught. What would she see in the shadowed mists of his eyes? Triumph? Or the self-absorbed expression she’d seen so often on Michael’s face?
Derrin moved again, deep inside her, tearing a moan from her lips. His fingers stroked the cleft between her buttocks, circled the opening there.
The tempo of his rhythm increased. “Look at me, Gina. Please, look at me.”
She drew a trembling breath and met his gaze. There was nothing of triumph, nothing of selfish gratification in his expression. Instead, she saw all he offered her. His strength, his heart, and—most precious of all—his vulnerability. His inner self stripped naked before her, given freely. Her heart split open.
It was a gift beyond her wildest imaginings. Could she offer him anything less?
The endless waves buffeting her body intensified, a storm reaching its full fury. She met each thrust. Derrin’s eyes darkened. He called out her name and she spun out of control. Her heart pitched toward the center of the maelstrom, all reason, all resistance gone.
His hips bucked with frenzied power. Still locked in his gaze, Gina felt all her senses rush into the place of their joining and explode, flinging her into the center of the storm. She cried out as the world dropped away, gripping the anchor of Derrin’s body.
Her name tore from his throat. His body went rigid, then sank atop her. She welcomed his weight, his ragged breathing, the wild pounding of his heart.
She closed her eyes and clung to him.
Chapter Seventeen
The song continued, lilting strains that caressed with a feather’s touch. Balek exulted. Another soul had fallen to its promise. Life traded for sanctuary. Breath given in exchange for peace. Each tiny soul strengthened the delicate mosaic of his power.
The golden mesh crept across the land.
Ariek strode across the upper plaza, cutting a diagonal across the shadow of the Stronghold. His boots echoed on the broad cobblestones. Ducking down one of the smaller side streets leading out of the square, he made his way past the staid palaces of the Upper City, barely glancing at their chiseled stone façades and sparkling multi-paned windows.
Following a path he could have walked in his sleep, he emerged from the press of town and swung onto a road leading to the high bluffs. Here, the villas of the wealthiest Galenans overlooked the sea. At the end of the road, he veered to his right and strode up a stone staircase. The gleaming black doors adorning the villa’s main portal were carved from a single piece of wood carried from the rainforests of Loetahl by one of his father’s ships. He lifted the clapper of an enormous bronze doorknocker, cast in the shape of a horse’s head. It fell with a thud.
The door swung inward to reveal a tight-faced elderly man, his back frozen into a vertical line. A tailored dark blue coat was devoid of the merest wrinkle. The man fixed a disapproving stare on Ariek, but moved to one side to allow him to pass.
“Master Ariek,” he acknowledged with a slight bow.
Ariek grinned, prompting a further scowl from the butler. “It’s nice to see you again as well, Rorric. Would you be so kind as to tell me where my mother passes this day?”
“The Lady Kalana is walking in the gardens.”
Without a backward glance, Ariek strode through the entry hall past the grand staircase and through the doors leading to the ballroom. He let himself out one of the glass-paned doors opening onto a broad marble terrace and paused, his gaze drawn to the wide expanse of sparkling water stretching to the horizon. Though he, like his father, preferred the family’s country estate on the outskirts of Sirth, his mother chose to spend most of her time here in the capital city. Both villas overlooked the sea. Ariek wouldn’t know how to live without the sound of the surf in his ears.
He spied his mother’s trim form, encased in a yellow silk gown shot through with pure gold thread. He’d always thought his pretty, buxom mother mismatched with his wiry father. The difference in their ages, as well as their personalities, was great. His father kept a close eye on his fleet of ships and his horse breeding and didn’t shrink from the dirtier aspects of either. His mother, in contrast, disliked the least bit of dust or grime. She lived for fine food and clothes, expensive jewelry and an active social life.
Lady Kalana strolled through the searose garden, stopping every so often to smell a bloom. She expected him—he came every Lotark’s Day at this time. He took the stairs from the terrace to the gardens two at a time, his cloak billowing behind him as he descended. His mother turned toward him, a smile lighting her delicate features.
He was struck by her beauty, barely dimmed by the passing of the years. He thought of his hook-nosed father, ensconced in his estate near Sirth, and wondered if his mother had a lover in the city. Most noble wives did—he had personal experiences with such liaisons. Then, since the thought was disturbing, he pushed it aside. He returned his mother’s smile and fell
into step beside her.
“Ariek. It’s good to see you.” Lady Kalana placed a small white hand on Ariek’s arm. “I’m glad at least one of my sons bothers to visit me.”
He shrugged. “Mother, you know Berak is weighted down with business regarding Father’s imports and Galek is training with his troops on the Eastern Plains. I’m but a short walk away.”
“And you know even if they lived here in the villa, they wouldn’t seek my company. You’re the only one who does.” She gave a delicate pout.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Ariek teased. “You’re a beautiful woman. Last month, after I accompanied you to the market, several people asked whether I’d found a girl to court at last.” He grinned. “I told them you were my sister.”
Lady Kalana laughed delightedly, her blue eyes sparkling. Ariek knew his own eyes matched his mother’s, a mirror of the sea. “But truly, Ariek, when will you bring a girl home for me to meet? It’s time you looked for a wife. I want my garden filled with the laughter of my grandchildren.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Lady Tirania’s daughter is of marriageable age…”
“Mother.” Ariek looked out across the waves, his chest suddenly tight. “I’m but a third son. Not the best prospect for a girl of good family.”
Lady Kalana’s expression showed what she thought of Ariek’s excuses, but she didn’t press further. They continued their stroll down the garden path, halting at the stone wall edging the cliff. Far below, waves crashed in a white froth against the rocks. A gull called. Ariek picked up a rock and flung it into the sea, trying to erase the mental image of Danat’s red curls tumbling across her pillow. The deep green of her eyes was an endless, lush forest drawing him in…
He cast a sideways glance at his mother, who stood looking at him with poorly masked concern. He forced a smile. “Let’s not spoil the afternoon discussing my marriage prospects.”
“As you wish.”
A flash of sunlight caught on a golden crystal hanging from a chain at her throat. He started. “Mother, you wear the Madness antidote—are you…”
Lady Kalana glance down at the charm, then waved her hand. “It’s not what you think, Ariek. You know Rorric would summon you if I fell ill.”
“There must be some reason you wear such an ornament.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your father. A preventive measure, he said.” She unclasped the chain and dangled the gem between them. “Don’t you remember me asking you if they were used as such? I told Vaaltor what you said—that the antidote wasn’t engaged unless the Madness had already entered one’s mind—but he paid no heed. He insists I wear it.” She frowned. “Though I must confess, Ariek, I find this crystal rather unsettling.”
“Unsettling? In what way?”
Lady Kalana caught the stone in her palm. “It’s hard to describe,” she said, peering at it fretfully. “There’s a chill vibrating around it, like the shattering of thin ice on a pond. I feel my soul turning numb.” She shivered. “I know it’s foolish. It’s just a stone.”
Ariek took the antidote and held it up to the sunlight. He knew his mother to be extraordinarily sensitive to the delicate power fields encircling crystals. He suspected she could have been a sorceress.
He sank his mind into the crystal. It flared, then took on a steady glow. He explored its structure, tracing each line of symmetry from center to outermost edge. There was nothing remarkable about the pattern, and that in itself disturbed him. How could a crystal so simple suppress the Madness? What was it about this stone that had so alarmed his mother?
A numbing of the soul. He’d felt an instinctive response when his mother had said those words. Ariek steadied himself and drove deeper into the crystal’s structure, seeking… What? He couldn’t say. He searched, goaded by an intuition, a fleeting sensation.
“Tarol’s blood!”
“Ariek, what is it?” Lady Kalana gripped her son’s arm. “What do you see?”
Ariek bit back a second oath. “Mother, may I borrow this crystal for a while?”
“Of course, but…is something wrong?”
He forced a smile. “No. I simply wish to study it further. These crystals are hard to come by, even in the Stronghold.” At her nod, he pocketed the stone.
He walked in the garden at his mother’s side, reining in his impatience until he was able to excuse himself without rousing her suspicion. It was only when he stood alone in the street outside the villa that he dared to contemplate the implications of what he’d seen.
Buried deep within the crystal’s simple primary structure, he’d discovered a second crystal lattice. It was submerged in the first, well camouflaged, yet Ariek could sense its power—subtle, but at the same time utterly compelling to anyone who accepted its control. The same force he’d felt once before, in Balek’s workroom, while linked with the crystal Derrin had called the webstone.
It was a power beyond reason, beyond logic.
Insane, insatiable power surging through an impossible web of five-fold symmetry.
Chapter Eighteen
Pure fury raced through Solk’s veins. High Wizard Balek—Spawn of Tarol!—dared to enter Lotark’s house on the eve of a holy day, demanding a private audience. If it were not for the fact that the man had clothed himself in ceremonial white, Solk would have had him thrown into the back alley.
“Your Grace,” said Balek, bowing from the waist as humbly as any supplicant. “I know my presence here is highly unusual, but I come regarding a matter of great import.”
“Go on.”
“I am very much saddened by the enmity that exists between the Temple and the Hierarchy. I’ve often thought we should put our differences aside and work together, for the good of—”
Solk did not bother to hide a flash of irritation. “Master Balek. Surely you have not come here on the eve of the Bride’s Rising to discuss ideology.”
“No, Your Grace. I have not.” The wizard’s expression was grave, but his eyes gleamed like a forbidden crystal. “I am a wizard, true, but I respect Lotark’s law. I’ve come to warn you.”
“Warn me? Of what?”
“Blasphemy. An abomination committed here, in the House of Lotark.”
Solk’s gaze narrowed on the man. “How so?”
“The sanctity of the Temple has been desecrated.”
The high priest drew in a sharp breath. “That is impossible. Lotark’s Temple cannot be violated—even by the black forces of wizardry. The One God is jealous. To mock Him in His house is to suffer immediate death.”
Balek’s expression shifted from earnest sympathy to the amused gaze of a father surveying his child’s folly. “I only wish that were the case. I bring you proof. Proof that the Bride of Lotark has taken a lover, a wizard named Ariek. He visits her chambers at will.”
The blood drained from Solk’s face. His hands grew cold and trembled, fisting into the folds of his robe. “Wizard filth…you lie,” he rasped.
Balek produced a scarf and draped it casually over his arm. The Mark of Lotark shone in blue thread on the white silk. “I found this in the young man’s workroom.”
Solk snatched up the cloth and examined it. It was genuine. The Bride did not wear such items during ceremonies—it must have come from her chamber.
A black fury descended on him. “The blasphemer must pay for this outrage with his life.” He eyed the wizard suspiciously. “But you… Why would betray one of your own kind?”
“I count as my ‘kind’ men who are honorable, not any who would defile what the people hold as sacred.”
“This man. Show him to me.”
Balek drew a flat crystal from the pouch at his belt. He cupped it in his palm, then extended it toward Solk. The high priest hesitated but an instant. Surely Lotark would not condemn him for making use of wizardry in so grave an instance.
A face appeared on the glassy surface of the crystal. Solk stared at the image, an old memory tugging at the corner of his mind. “I remember this man. He worshiped the Bride at the a
ltar a year ago.” His mouth twisted. “He will pay for his deeds. Before the sun sets on tomorrow’s feast, he will be dead.” He drew himself up to his full height and swept from the room.
Balek smiled at the priest’s retreating form. “No, Your Grace,” he murmured. “I very much doubt he will be. A wizard of the Hierarchy is not so easily defeated.”
* * * * *
Derrin watched Gina’s face. They had taken leave of White Otter and Kaila in the morning amid tears and good wishes for their joining. Now, at midday, they’d reached the start of the canyon trail that would carry them to the village of the Tree Clan.
Waves of green-gold grass carpeted the canyon floor, diamonds of light sparkled on the surface of the wide, shallow river. Steep walls of stone rose on either side, sometimes carrying the forest with it, other times casting off the trees to reveal layers of brown, red and tan. A brilliant slice of blue sky arched above.
Gina’s eyes swept closed. The sunlight dusted her expression with gold, and her lips parted. His heart contracted at the sight.
She turned to him. “I never dreamed such a place existed.”
“I know.” Then, since any further words seemed inadequate, he pulled her close and kissed her.
Gina’s stomach growled. Loud. She buried her face against his shoulder. “How embarrassing.”
He chuckled. “Let’s find something to eat. I can’t have you scaring away all the game, or our traps will be empty in the morning.”
She swatted him on the shoulder. “If the traps are empty, I’m sure it won’t be my fault.”
She set to breaking off the furled tips of the ferns clustered at the edge of the forest, gathering them into her skirt. Derrin, still smiling, made his way to the water’s edge. He searched a jumble of rocks, lifting each stone and pulling tiny shelled creatures one by one from their hiding places.
After they’d eaten, Gina made several trips into the forest to gather deadwood and edible plants, while Derrin set about making up the camp. He’d chosen a grassy site well above the stream, with a sheltering wall of rock rising behind it. He cleared a large area, laying the long sheaths of cut grass in a pile nearby. The afternoon grew hotter, and he found himself sweating. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it to one side.