Barbarian's Prisoner

by Abella Ward

  He pulled on a fresh pair of pants and a white shirt as he raked a hand through his damp hair. He saw the man that looked back at him in the mirror.

  It unnerved him that she had that effect on him. No woman had bothered him before... Maybe her Magi powers were at work here. But her powers still needed to be awakened. Her powers... She didn’t know her magic needed an awakening. He needed to tell her that fact and claim her...

  And she was right, Lorcan was not his King. He couldn’t trust the bastard either. There must be some other way to get rid of the lethal collar.

  Then it hit him... she was a Magi, and if he could awaken her magic, she could break through the dark magic that bound the collar. But there was a problem. Would she let him awaken her magic?

  He would see about that. He went to the door and walked out of his chambers. He needed to talk to her.

  Chapter 7

  Sleep evaded Arana. All she could think of was the kiss she had shared with Arathor. And she had loved every moment of it: the heady scent of him, the feel of his hard body against hers, his deep low voice, and the way he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. And his silver hair... oh, she could run her fingers through those silky strands all day.

  She had promised herself never to get involved with any man. Men were selfish creatures who only lived to torture women. She was sick of being a puppet in her brother’s hands, and now she didn’t want another man to take his place.

  She was stronger than this. Yes, she would not allow her feelings get in the way... but her stubborn heart would still make her think of the way his strong hand cupped her chin... And those chiseled lips... lips that dexterously moved against hers, making her legs go weak. She wanted more of him.

  Stop it! Stop thinking about him, Arana, she told herself. He was an assassin, a killer, one who would kill her the moment he got the chance.

  Then why did she feel a lump in her throat when she considered that he wasn’t meant for her? Tears threatened to overflow and she wondered how a simple kiss had churned that deeply buried desire within her. His kiss stirred a deep need that she thought she didn’t have. No man had triggered such a want in her. Living in the castle had made her think men were simply not worth it. Since she had met Arathor, her life had turned upside down... He said she was a Magi and she didn’t understand what that meant. She didn’t know who or what she was anymore, and the strange thing was, it seemed he knew more about her than anyone else.

  She got out of bed and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. She took a sip and set the glass down. A throbbing headache was beginning to pound at her temples as she rubbed there with both hands.

  She was about to lay back down when the door lock beeped. Someone was at the door. Her heart racing, she reached for the tranquilizer dart she kept on the nightstand.

  “Computer, is it safe to open the door?”

  Security Level 1, analyzing. No threat has been detected. All clear, the electronic voice of the computer replied.

  Partially satisfied, she took a deep breath to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

  “Computer, unlock the door.”

  A few seconds later, and after one or two beeps, the door silently slid open.

  Arathor stepped inside without even asking. The door closed behind him. She unconsciously staggered backward and tightened the grip on the device as she pointed it at him, her hand shaking terribly. She grabbed her shaking hand with the other, trying to keep it stable. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. It was futile. One look at him and her legs went weak as his intense gray gaze pierced her. She blinked and looked away, catching her breath. Suddenly, the room felt stuffy.

  “Arana...” he said softly when he saw the fear in her eyes. His chest constricted then. He didn’t want her to fear him. It was as if she saw death whenever he came near her.

  “Stay away from me!” she squeaked, stepping further away from him.

  “Listen to me, Arana,” he said gently in his low voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He stepped forward, towering over her as she backed against the wall, the dart still pointed at him. “I just want to talk.”

  But she wasn’t listening. Panic rose like a wave within her and she stabbed at his chest with the dart. And it was futile. The steel needle bent and only created a tear in his shirt, the hard skin underneath remaining untouched.

  Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks as the useless object slipped from her hands. Before she collapsed, Arathor took her in his arms and held her.

  She sobbed, her face buried in his strong chest. His arms protectively wrapped around her. He let her cry, let her vent out all her anger, frustration, and pent-up emotion. And he was painfully aware of how soft and fragile she felt as he held her. Her sweet scent dazed him to no end as his fingers entangled themselves in her loose hair. He pulled her closer and the warmth of her body left him wanting more.

  It was a while before she realized she had been in his arms far too long. She pulled away awkwardly. She went toward the sofa and sat down.

  “Tell me the truth, Arathor. My brother sent you to kill me, didn’t he?” she asked him, pulling herself together.

  “Computer, dark wine, please,” Arathor demanded before he answered her. He came around and took down his sword and put it away. He then sat down at a respectable distance beside her.

  “Yes. He did,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, no,” she said as a fresh wave of panic took over, making her stomach turn to knots.

  ““But I’m here to protect you,” he said, gazing at her when he saw her panic again. “Arana... You are my mate. And I owe you my life,” he said in a low voice.

  “I could never be your mate,” she said scathingly.

  He winced and took a swig of his own wine as he handed her a glass. “It’s true. Lorcan sent me here to kill you and bring back your head. But I couldn’t kill you even if I wanted to...”

  “Well, good to know,” she said dryly.

  “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but eventually you will,” he said, quietly gazing at her. “Arana, you are a Magi. Do you understand what it means?” he asked her as she sipped her wine nonchalantly. The wine seemed to help as she was now a little more relaxed, he noticed.

  “What happened to your wings and horns?”

  “I am in full human form right now. Arana, please, listen to me,” he said. She thought he was genuinely concerned. “Now, do you know what it means to be a Magi?”

  “That I am some kind of witch with magical powers?” she began.

  “A witch you are, but a Magi is much more than that. You are a witch born with rare magic – powerful magic that courses through your veins. Arana, Magi are half-bloods with dragon blood in them,” he explained as she gazed at him and then looked away as if he could see what she was thinking. She was shy. Very shy...

  “What? How’s that possible? I’m human. My father was human.”

  “And what about your mother?” he said in a low voice. “Was she human too?”

  “I...um... I don’t know about my mother. Father never talked about her. I don’t even have a picture of her.”

  “What happened to her?” he asked, his intense gaze now bore into her...

  “She, uh...died in childbirth... That’s all I know,” she shifted uncomfortably and drained her glass. She set it down on the table near her.

  She touched the stone at her neck. “This stone necklace is the only thing I have that belonged to her. Father said I could keep it.”

  “The Chain of Huzosh...” Arathor whispered. “Your mother was no human. She was a Drakonaar. And I can see you have Drakonaar blood in you.”

  She had her mother’s eyes.

  “Okay, I’m confused. Who are these Drakonaar again?”

  “They are the Ice Dragons of Iovis. Very powerful dragons,” he said. What he didn’t tell her was that they were fierce rivals of the fire-breathers. And a Slazaryn m
ating with a Drakonaar was considered taboo. It was an unforgivable sin.

  And yet, he was drawn to her. His dragon squirmed inside him whenever he saw her, desperate to claim her as his mate.

  “Wow... It’s so hard to believe all that you are saying,” she ran her fingers through her long red hair as she tried to process all the information, and his chest constricted again...

  What was he saying? She was some half-blood, a Magi with powerful magic and what did he call her mother’s stone? Huzosh something... It all seemed so surreal. She was definitely going insane.

  “Is it hard to believe your gift of healing is one of the powers you possess?” he asked. Oh, why was she so beautiful? She had that ethereal light about her, and he had a hard time focusing on the subject at hand. He looked away and drained his glass.

  “One of my powers? And if you know so much about the Magi, tell me how I ended up here?” she asked, frowning.

  “Your magic has not been awakened, but the chain of Huzosh saved you from the fire when you teleported here,” he said as his eyes moved over her breasts, which were small and perky under her nightshirt. The soft cotton pants she wore subtly showed her slender curves. But his face was a mask – it gave away nothing of the emotions he felt. Only his darkening eyes held the storm of desire that was beginning to form beneath the surface. And he was greatly unnerved by it. What was she doing to him? All he wanted to do was grab her, rip her clothes off, and take her to bed... which was so near...

  Focus Arathor. “You need to awaken your magic, and only then will you know the kind of powers you possess. Trust me, it is much more than healing,” he said as he took a deep breath, trying to calm his beating heart that thudded wildly in his chest. “And once your magic is awakened, it will lengthen your lifespan and slow down aging. You could live up to seven to eight hundred years and still look young.”

  “You seem to know so much about the Drakonaar and the Magi. What about you, fire-breather? What’s your story?”

  He silently gazed at her for a while. “I have lived a long time. And I know a lot of things,” he said quietly.

  “Really? How old are you? Thirty-three?” she said and he laughed. He hadn’t laughed like that before. Not that he could remember.

  “No, much older... I am two hundred and seventy years old, according to your timeline.”

  “Oh my god... You are old...” she said in a low voice and he shrugged, raising a perfectly arched brow. “It’s amazing how you manage to look so young...” She faltered as she gazed at him. He seemed so different now that they were casually chatting.

  He got up and went to refill his glass and she saw how tall he was... “We are not immortal, but we don’t age after thirty. And we can live up to a thousand years,” He took off his hood and jacket and stood only in dark pants and a gray shirt, his back to her as he waited for the wine. It was a shirt that stretched sensually over the taut sinew of his back.

  “Oh, that’s quite a long time...” she whispered distractedly. Arana’s mouth suddenly went dry. She ran her tongue over her lips. “Um, Arathor... why did you choose to become a mercenary?”

  “I didn’t. Long ago, when my family, the Darthoridan clan, ruled the kingdom of Trorth, a meteorite hit our home planet, destroying most of the civilization. I was only a kid back then. After the catastrophic event, the rebel clans waged a war against us. My family was killed. My mother... the queen,” he paused as a lump formed in his throat. “The queen flew away with me, leaving the king to fight the enemy. She put me to sleep in a hibernation pod... and...” He faltered as he took a swig. His mother’s image flashed before him. She was covered in blood and he was desperately trying to bang against the glass of the pod. He wanted to save her, but it was futile. She was already dead. He closed his eyes and shuddered... The memory was still as clear as day. “She got killed.” The words almost choked him as he took another swig.

  She stared at his back and then slowly got up and walked up to him.

  “I still dream about her. Blood is all over her body. Her eyes are vacant and staring in space... dead, lifeless. And I am helpless,” he said in a quiet voice. He never shared his dream with anyone, and he wondered why he had just shared it with her.

  “And when I woke up years later, everything had changed, and I was taken as a slave. Nobody knew I was the only survivor of the Darthoridan clan. For years, I trained as a gladiator till I grew up to serve the new king,” he finished.

  She gently placed a hand on his back. “I’m sorry. So, you are the lost prince...”

  “The prince died a long time back, Arana. I am only a mercenary with the blood of many staining my soul. And I don’t know if I can save what is left of my soul,” he turned and gave her a sidelong glance in a way that made her want to reach out to him and comfort him.

  “And you spare women and children, thinking somehow it would save your soul...” she said softly.

  How wrong she had been. She could see his pain now. He pulled her into his arms and she let him. She wanted him... He gazed deep into her eyes, and in the next moment, his mouth was on hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She moaned, letting his tongue slide inside her mouth. He stroked her with his own, sucking and demanding, urgent and needy, as his hands caressed her slender back.

  He shoved his one hand in her mane of red hair and, with the other, he grabbed her behind and pulled her closer. His hip grinding into hers, the bulge in his pants straining against the leather, she moaned into his mouth, driving him over the edge.

  Pulling her closer, his hand moved under her loose shirt and reached her breasts. She wore no bra. He cupped her breast while his thumb circled her nipple. Her nipple peaked under his touch. Suddenly, he pulled away and took off her shirt and pulled down her pants. She wore no panties, and he liked that.

  She stood naked before him, and he admired her beauty: her ivory skin and light nipples, that cascade of red hair that fell down her back, her slender waist, and the shadowy triangle between her legs... Oh, she was a vision to behold. She was petite but lovely. His dragon stirred inside, restless and impatient.

  He picked her up and took her to bed, gently putting her down. Quickly pulling off his shirt and pants, he stood before her as she gazed at him in awe.

  Arana gasped as she saw the god-like man standing in front of her. Her eyes roved over his naked body, his taut muscles and impressive length making her squirm. The subtle scales on his shoulders and upper chest gleamed in the dim light of the room.

  “You sure about this?” he asked her. And when she simply nodded, he moved inside the covers and was on top of her. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers running through his silky silver-white hair.

  His mouth covered hers once more, fiercely claiming her as his own, as his hands roved over her breasts and then reached lower and deeper between her legs.

  She moaned and arched her back as his fingers slipped inside her wet warmth while his thumb flicked her clit. He watched her, as his fingers moved in and out, round and round, till she was building and building. He brought her over the edge and stopped and left her aching...

  “No, please...” she moaned and found him gazing at her. His steel gray eyes, darker than ever, lit up with embers... He moved down, trailing soft kisses down her neck, and reaching her breasts. He languorously sucked on each soft breast, teasing the nipples till she writhed beneath him. She felt his hard shaft near her thighs. He moved further down her belly, down, and sucked on her clit. He kissed, sucked, and licked her warm sex, flicked her clit with his tongue, and she couldn’t stop moaning...

  It was too much... And then he plunged his tongue inside her. And it wasn’t long before she screamed in ecstasy, her whole body shaking with the rippling waves of her orgasm. And while she was falling, he moved and plunged deep inside her, filling her to the brim.

  “Oh...” she gasped and moaned loudly, arching her back, and when she opened her eyes, he was gazing at her with a glazed look. It was the first time she
had let any man inside her. And it felt good. She couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, but the stormy fire in his eyes betrayed him. He wanted to possess her – her body and soul. He loved the way her warmth clenched him.

  He started moving, then. Slowly at first, then faster. In and out, in and out, he thrust deep into her as she moved her hips, matching his rhythm. And his dragon danced to the music of fire and ice, working a magical song that brought them both to the edge. Her orgasm rippled against him, again and again, and he finally groaned, spilling his dragon seed inside her.

  Chapter 8

  She stood tied to the beam inside the golden cage... The flames leaped up, and in that instant, she saw a dragon fly toward her... Its great leathery wings flapping and its golden amber eyes...

  It was him... She knew it before he came near... But the heat from the fire was becoming unbearable...

  The cage came apart, and then she was airborne. Large talons clamped around her waist as the ground slipped away far below...

  And she woke up...

  Sweat beaded her forehead and neck. One of his arms was wrapped around her naked breasts. She was overheated from lying with her back against his. She turned and saw him... It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. In his sleep, he looked so vulnerable. She reached up and lightly ran a finger over his dark brow.

  Arathor stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at the beautiful woman in his arms and thought he had definitely gone insane. All reason, logic became irrelevant when he looked at her. She was the one woman he thought someone like him could never have, and here she was in his arms, gazing at him in awe.

  “Arana...” he said hoarsely. Her soft blue eyes were luminous, and he could drown in those clear depths never to return. He bent down and planted a kiss on her lips. She lifted her chin and yielded to his demanding mouth, moaning against him.