Strong arms grasped Clara and she saw Bracus’ eyes open and lifting his head, he roared in a primal surge, throwing three of the guard off his back and dropping Clara as he did. But Clara did not fall, instead, she was turned in one fluid motion and it was Matthew.
Moving away only a little, the fray behind them like white noise, he kissed her and the whole world melted away. It was only Matthew in a searing fire, washing away every other sound, noise and tactile sensation except his lips and hands that roamed her body. Matthew was raggedly panting, his hands moving everywhere they could, her shoulders, her waist, skimming the sides of her breasts, moving to each side of her jaw, his hands overlapping into the hair by her temples, his lips eating at her like a man starved.
She was torn away from him and she only needed to see Matthew’s expression to know who held her.
The two men roared at each other and Bracus shoved Clara behind his back and charged Matthew, who used his momentum against Bracus. Taking the sprint full tilt, grabbing Bracus’ forearm and swinging him in the direction he was running, stepping out a laced boot and throwing him as he tripped, Bracus flew several feet into a landing roll.
He popped up off the ground and swung around to charge when President Bowen yelled, “Clara! Leave the circle.”
Clara needed no urging, she lifted her skirts and skimming the ground she ran the five feet to the edge, both men chasing her down. She did not turn but kept running.
They were upon her in no time, one grabbing each arm. And she looked at them both, fear choking her.
Suddenly, Philip was there and spoke directly to Bracus, “My brother, have a care, would you tear her asunder?”
They all stood there quietly, Matthew’s chest heaving, his grip on Clara almost bruising in its intensity.
Clara watched sanity gradually begin to seep into eyes that but a moment ago had been wild.
Bracus loosened his hold and his hand dropped from her arm. Matthew loosened his crushing grip but did not drop his hand.
President Bowen strode over and bowed. “I cannot apologize enough for this, Queen Clara. We have not had a rite in many years.”
Bowen was visibly tense but it was Clara that spoke, the royal guard at her elbow and surrounding Philip, Bracus and Matthew, “I gave my word that I would cooperate in this, and I did. I have not suffered injury.”
However, it was the oddest thing she had ever partaken in.
She could feel Matthew’s warm presence at her back and Bracus’ eyes never left her. She would have quite a path to hoe with these men.
Bowen said, “We have seen what has happened here,” the clans people murmured amongst themselves but he continued and the conversations died away and he held up his hand, “There will be two that will court Queen Clara. We will put this to a vote. As we are all aware, a secure union between our peoples is very important, a select guarantees offspring and other benefits.”
What were those? Clara wondered. She felt a trifle insulted, as if she were a special oyster in the field that they would cross breed for a rare color, she spoke, “President Bowen,” all heads turned to her. “There were four of the Band that had an unusual reaction to my person. In that group, two were most profound. A vote is acceptable but it does not predetermine who I shall choose.”
There was a great silent heartbeat and then Bowen, with grudging admiration said, “As the Queen says, so shall it be.”
The tension in the gathering area was suddenly much less and Matthew released her.
The crowd was loud, many voices discussing all of it. Finally, Bowen called for silence and a show of hands were required.
The names were read:
Joseph: there was a smattering of hands but nothing significant.
Philip: twice the hands of Joseph.
Bracus: half the hands were raised.
Matthew: the remainder lifted their hands until every hand was in the air like tree limbs of flesh.
Bracus and Matthew would travel back with she and the guard, and a courtship would begin. Clara had a brutal choice ahead of her: two of the Band and her childhood friend. Her heart and her duty on opposing sides.
****
Clara was at the portal to receive her guests of the clan, thrilled to see Anna and Lillian, as she was sure that Matthew and Bracus were more than ready to see their kinsman, Jack.
The guards slid the heavy door aside and the group entered, Lillian coming to Clara and folding her in a fierce hug, the taller woman engulfing her. It had been a month since the rite and Lillian was showing, her precious bundle but a small bump beneath her skirt, Jack hovering about her, fussing over how tired she must be. It was interesting to see the fierce warrior so soft with his mate.
It was good.
Anna and, there he was! Joseph had come as well. Clara looked at Anna, she smiled and Clara knew that all would be well.
They made their way back to the Royal Manse, the long walk made pleasurable by the company and Lillian said, “Clara, I must say you do not look like a Queen!”
Clara laughed. “I do not dress as such except for ceremonial events. It is not who I am.”
Clarence walked beside her. “Some do not need royal garb to be royal, my Queen.”
She smiled at him for he was always formal. “Thank you, Clarence.”
“I agree. It is bearing, not wardrobe, that make one seem royal.”
Lillian looked at her mate amused. “And how many royals do you know?”
Jack blushed and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Wench, you will learn your manners!” he said playfully and all laughed at his teasing.
Finally inside and introductions made to Peter, he closed the doors of the Royal Manse, sliding the bolt in place.
“Masters Charles, Bracus and Matthew will be here to receive momentarily, my Queen.”
Clara inclined her head toward Peter. “Thank you.”
The group milled about in the huge foyer looking at all the strange appointments scattered about. Clara was sure it looked as unique to them as their dwellings had to her.
It was Anna though that startled Clara with a gasp, her hand going to her mouth. Turning, Clara saw that she was staring at the stained glass rendering of the mermaid, Clara’s birth mother.
“Who is this?” Anna asked through her fingers.
Clara was not yet ready to admit her discovery so she responded rather vaguely, “It is a rendering after an actual person. I do not know who.”
Anna stared at it then said, “I have seen this woman, I know of her people.”
Clara stopped breathing- Anna had just recognized her mother, she may know her whereabouts.
Clara forced herself to remain falsely calm and Jack and Joseph looked at her strangely. They were sensing something. She tried harder to calm herself. “Where does she hail from?” she asked carefully.
“Her people are of the sea.”
“Do you say they live by the sea?”
She shook her head, looking at Clara. “Do you not see the throat slits?” she asked pointing at what looked like seaweed.
They approached the window, Joseph and Jack beside her, as curious as she. Clara could not see it…
“There!” Jack said. “Do you not see how the seaweed curls at the neck, changing color into gold striations?”
Joseph nodded his head, excited. “This would explain much.”
Clara was lost and then Charles, Bracus and Matthew appeared.
Jack explained everything to them.
Charles broke in, “This means, that this woman,” and he looked directly at Clara who had a wave of fear strike her. Dear Guardian, say nothing, she thought.
“Exists in the ocean?” he finished.
Thank Guardian.
Anna was shaking her head. “No, that is not what I meant. They do not have a tail and fins, as fish. They can breath on land and in the sea. That is what we know.” Then she looked at the males of the Band. “They look as you do, but can breathe in the waters.”
Charles and she looked at each other.
She was of both worlds; one in which they had never known about. They looked up at the window, clearly seeing how the artist had used “seaweed,” to twine gills delicately like silver and gold lace against a lovely, pale throat. It was cleverly done, but if one knew what they were looking for, it was quite obvious.
Bracus and Matthew approached her and Charles stood his ground. It had been a trying month with the three men determined to be her future king. She admired them all and was glad that she had the excuse of royal duties and oyster fields to tend so things progressed slowly. But the males of the Band were impatient for her to choose, and she realized that it may be some time before she did. She needed to discover who she was, where she came from. She would find her birth people; these strange creatures of sea and earth.
****
She sat at the round table, the rectangular table long put away, as Clara did not liken to having anyone at the head of a table. With Bracus at her right and Matthew at her left, she was left facing Charles dead ahead. Their eyes met and Clara knew that travel was in her future, as did he. Looking at Bracus, his hazel eyes softening as he looked upon her and then turning into Matthew’s intense blue stare, she knew that these men would be a part of it.
Gazing around her, she recognized she was the happiest she had ever been, her “mother”, the drunken Queen, was no more. Her kingdom was ruled with fairness and democracy as her father would have wanted and an important alliance had been formed. The Prince had not been seen these past months and it was safe to assume that he had succumbed to the wilderness. A suitor on each side, what worry could she have?
Yet… Clara felt there was more, had to be more. She would journey to this sea and there she would uncover the remainder of her destiny, with whomever shared it with her.
The End
Read on for the exciting first chapter of book 2,
The Savage Blood
The Savage Blood
Book Two of the Savage Series
by Tamara Rose Blodgett
The Savage Blood
Book Two of the Savage Series
by Tamara Rose Blodgett
Copyright © 2011 Tamara Rose Blodgett
http://tamararoseblodgett.blogspot.com
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
Edited by Stephanie T. Lott
For The Girls:
Aaron, Becky, Evie, Memrie and Shana Benedict
CHAPTER 1
East
Clara discreetly wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow. The sun hung overhead, its merciless heat beating down on the group. A trickle of sweat crawled down the back of her neck and she was all at once through with the entire day.
Bracus approached with the flask of water and Clara gave a tired smile, accepting it from his large hand gratefully.
“Queen Clara,” he looked down at her upturned face, “take respite.” Bracus shielded his eyes from the sun’s brightness, gauging the day’s time. “We have traveled without rest for six hours. It is one hour until dusk. Let us break for camp.”
Clara looked around at her weary contingent. They had been traveling for days now and still they seemed to cover no distance. They had only one map, an amateurish affair that gave iconic points as an afterthought. No one, save Anna, had traveled this route.
How had she thought this an idyllic journey of adventure? What it was was a bug infested, heat laden, tiresome affair. Normally in good spirits, she found herself frazzled and not coping well.
She nodded to Bracus, correcting absently, “Just Clara, Bracus.”
He nodded, giving her a tender smile she did not deserve and began to bark orders to the rest of the Band.
Matthew’s eyes met hers intensely and she turned away, undone by the simple look. In all fairness, she had allowed a courtship to ensue that was like a noose about her neck, slowly tightening until breath was a luxury.
The forest lay to their left (North, she corrected) and her Royal Guard, Charles, Clarence and the men of the Band hauled their travel accompaniments the entirety of the steep incline. Dragging it behind horses, their belongings bundled atop leather skins tethered to wooden poles, they made their way.
Charles found her and helped her pull up the rear, two of the Guard flanking her.
She was Queen, after all. A moniker she was still not comfortable with. It had been nearly a year since the disastrous events involving Queen Ada, the battle with the fragment and her position of alliance with the Clan of Ohio.
She had discovered she was part of a tiny human female group called the select. Apparently they were a perfect match for males of the Band. But what does one do when you are the best match for two of the Band?
That, Clara had determined, was something she was yet to answer.
As the time drew near for her to choose, she was alarmingly undecided and the two Band members were becoming increasingly hostile toward each other. For the sake of harmony between her sphere and the clan she must choose.
Soon.
“Clara,” Charles said her name, so deep in her musings she had forgotten he was there and had inadvertently slowed her pace to a crawl. Increasing her stride she moved as fast as he.
“I do apologize. I was one hundred spheres away,” she answered, exasperated.
Charles looked down at Clara and thought there was too much on her young shoulders. He had thought this many times over the past year. Her courtship with the two of the Band, Matthew and Bracus, should have cooled his feelings for her. On the contrary. It had increased his desire to rule by her side. She did not feel as he. Instead, she had been consumed by this worthless quest to find her kin.
Her supposed kin.
They reached the crest of the hill and he took her elbow. Clara looked up at him. “Do not begin to preach about this, Charles.” She snatched her arm away.
His eyes narrowed on her. She did not safeguard herself. It was Charles’ burden to insist on her protection for she would not protect herself. He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand.
“Let us agree to disagree Charles,” she said, her eyes pleading to let the subject rest. They had argued endlessly this winter. She would not see reason. She wished to find this elusive mother. This woman that had gills as the Band. Charles thought it folly.
He took both her arms again and pulled her close to him, his eyes roving the vicinity for witnesses. They had entirely too little privacy and he loathed it.
“Stop it,” she wiggled in his grasp and his hands tightened on her just shy of painful.
“You do not need to do
this Clara. Let us turn back. You have a kingdom to rule,” he shook her slightly and her eyes widened. “Do you forget your duty?”
“I have never forgotten, Charles,” she hissed back at him, tears burning the back of her eyelids. What had happened to their friendship?
Matthew appeared out of nowhere, his eyes lighting on the hands which held Clara.
“Take your hands off of her before I break them at the wrists, sphere-dweller,” Matthew said with quiet menace.
Charles’ eyes flicked to Matthew’s and Clara said, “We were having an exchange.”
“He may speak with you and need not use his hands,” Matthew said as Charles’ hands fell away from Clara’s forearms.
She fought not to rub her hands over where they had been.
Matthew saw her expression and reading it correctly his gills expanded, the pink innards like ribbons against his throat as he came forward, his hands balling into fists.
Charles moved forward to meet him.
Clara scurried between them, placing a hand on Matthew’s chest, covered by a lightweight tunic. The bronze skin of his throat was a testimony to their month of travel Outside.
“Stop it, both of you,” she commanded in a low voice.
“What is happening here?” Thomas asked, his hand hovering over the dirk he wore at his hip, the deep violet vest he wore lifting in the breeze.
Matthew did not turn but kept his eyes on Charles’. “Your Queen’s adviser,” Matthew spit the word out like errant phlegm, “has seen fit to lay hands upon her.”
Thomas released his dirk, the sound of it escaping the leather a harsh memory to Clara’s ears. She reacted quickly so things would not escalate. “It is fine, Thomas. Charles and I… we have a difference of goals.”
The Pearl Savage Page 29