Myla By Moonlight

by Inez Kelley

  The touch of fingers and tongue had removed the mystique but the visual widened her eyes and curved her lip. His legs shuffled the constricting material away with a harsh kick. Oh, she was going to make sure he had a memory to cling to after she left him. One that would fill his nights with remembered passion and heat.

  A sudden thought seized her heart in icy fingertips. He would remember her but another woman would one day warm his bed. Taric would find another woman as Balic had. She knew it and it plunged a dagger into her soul.

  But this night, he was hers. He would always be hers. Myla forced the knot of tears down her throat. How she would miss him.

  Her tongue traced along his shaft, found the pulse there and stroked it. Taric moaned. His palms curled around her shoulders, tugging her toward his mouth. She allowed the slow ascent, dipping her tongue to the curve of his hip, his navel, up to the flat of his sternum. The marked edges of his teardrop burn stuttered her breath. So close to his heart and yet so far from his arms.

  How could she stand to leave him? To face a hollow existence watching from within while he lived a safe life with another? A sob pushed against the swallowed knot in her throat and rose with swelling force. Her mouth filled with salted bitterness while the sweetness of his kiss flowed across her lips. To banish her growing misery, she took his kiss deeper.

  Sadness. Taric tasted sadness. The difference from her normal berry-wine essence jarred him and he yanked his head back, eyes searching her face. “Myla?”

  “Shh.”

  Her hush did little to soothe him. He sat, cupped her cheek and gazed deeply into her liquid eyes. She was near tears. Before he could voice his concern, she flung her hand wide and every candle in the room snuffed itself, plunging the room into darkness. She was hiding from him. His mighty warrior of a magical guardian was hiding her tears in the darkness like a woman.

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  “Love me,” she pleaded.

  Love her he did, without restraint or impediment. The gentle kisses he rained on her cheeks licked away the barest trace of salt. The hands which caressed her eased her trembling from whatever she feared to shivers of pleasure. Aching to bring her whatever joy he could, even the temporary joy of blissful flight, Taric took her to places he never had reached for before. Each touch was softer, more delicate, more prolonged than they had ever shared. Slick beneath his tongue, her feminine flesh quivered in honeyed ecstasy. He stretched her release for an eternity. The rasped sound of his name was tinged with tears.

  Her trembling slowed and Taric rose to embrace her. The shuddered sobs against his shoulder were mingled sorrow and satisfaction. Flushed and warm, her body melted into his, her arms holding him tightly.

  Too tightly. A dark premonition touched him. This didn’t feel like celebrating and looking toward the future, this felt like…goodbye. Panic spiked his blood with an icy spear. A shiver shot through his heated skin.

  This had begun so differently. She’d flirted and teased, pinned him to the bed and rubbed her glorious silk against him, driving him crazy, and now she was crying in his arms. Why? Myla was his everything, his heartbeat and his breath. He knew her like no other in the world did but he could not fathom why she wept now.

  Gliding his lips along the swell of her breast, he grew frantic to erase her unhappiness. He had to dispel the gloom around them. He needed her to laugh, to smile, to find the joy in their loving she always had.

  Inspiration struck with the crack of a whip. Myla had laughed and smiled when she was teasing him, ergo, he would become mouse to her cat. He swallowed his control, his dominance. As prince, he had never been in anyone’s command. He was the command. In their loving, Myla had looked to him for instruction, guidance and direction. Even when she stretched her boundaries, learned and explored, she had never taken the reins. She was his protector but had submitted to his touch. Now, he would be the submissive to see her smile. Willing as he was, it was difficult to make the move.

  Then love gave him the strength to submit.

  He gripped her hips and spun her above him. Myla gasped, her hands shooting out for balance. His back settled against the coverlet, he seated her on his lap and cradled himself in the folds of her wet heat. In the dim light of the open window, his eyes caught hers and he raised his arms, returning his hands to where she had pressed them. He gave her the power of their union. He was hers to command.

  Surprise whisked the sadness from her eyes. Delight and resolve firmed in them, burying her tears. In the faint radiance of a faraway moon, her gaze began to glow. A hint of danger seeped into her face.

  Taric held his breath, sure she was about to shift to her jaguar but she didn’t. The sensuality of her cat flowed through her body and she stretched above him, arching her back with feline fluidity. Blood rushed to his groin and he throbbed against her softness.

  Her hungry kiss stole his breath and he couldn’t stop his hands from falling to her waist, drawing her closer. Admitting he was a terrible submissive, he stroked her spine.

  Her tongue dove into his mouth. Did he imagine it or was her tongue rougher? It licked at his mouth with sandpapered grit. Shivers of forbidden ecstasy wracked his bones. Without thought, his hands slid into her hair, angling her head to reach her mouth more, to deepen the kiss.

  Myla nipped his lips with fierceness and he nipped back. His reaction pleased her and she purred deep in her chest. The erotic sound stirred his blood. She did not want a submissive, she wanted a playmate. She wanted a mate.

  Along his cheek and neck, Myla nuzzled and purred, scoring with sharp bites. A pure animal essence filled the room and something inside Taric responded. Ancient urges surged.

  He needed her now.

  She rocked along his fully rigid shaft and her moan grew. He tried to lift her, to enter the heat he craved but she clamped her knees to his hips. Thrusting upward, he tried again but she rode his attempt with a chuffing laugh. She was in control and not ready to permit him release yet.

  Instinct gripped them. Her nostrils flared. Openmouthed, she inhaled. Her pink tongue darted out, tasting the passion in the air before sliding across lips he wanted again. Her chest heaved and her eyes glowed. A savory flavor colored her kiss, blackberry with a hint of spice. It increased his hunger until he was famished for her. The heat between them had never been hotter. It scorched him, inflamed him.

  With catlike grace, she arched her back and ground against him, tormenting him. His hands cupped her breasts, the tight peaks begging for his touch. She snarled her pleasure and leaned into him. The pebbled tip he tongued beaded tighter, changing her snarl to a trill.

  Without warning, Myla raised her hips and seated him in her velvet grip. Exquisite elation bolted through him and he moaned against her breast. Had she ever been this hot inside? Was she always this slick for him? How could she be tighter than the first time he took her?

  Passion seized him and he thrust up. She rotated her hips, taking him deeper, and his groan mixed with her purr. Myla arched and circled, rose and fell, sheathed and milked. A fine sheen of sweat coated them both. With the promise of relief within reach, Taric rocked hard into her and she pulled away. Her weight left his hips. A chill rushed him, her body heat fleeing, but his desire spiked higher.

  Myla leaned back on the mattress and a feminine mrrrow echoed in the room.

  “Come and get me, Taric. Take me.”

  He needed no further prompting. He burned for her. He lunged and she rolled. His hands, which had aimed for her hips, met her smooth, rounded bottom. She leapt to her knees and caught his eyes over her shoulder. Like the Myla-cat in Claverham Castle, she shook her tail at him, winking in pure human wanton lust.

  Primal need took hold. Rising to his knees, he plunged inside without mercy. Rumbled satisfaction vibrated his ribs as he filled her from behind, deeper than ever before. He gasped as her wet walls surrounded him with a fiery heat.

  Heat. Yes, Myla acted like a cat in heat, arching into his thrusts, pushing back to hi
m with a growling rumble. An instinctual hunger propelled him and all thoughts of gentleness were lost. He was as much an animal as she was. Gripping her hips, he let the basal need take over.

  Flesh met flesh with an intensity which blanked his mind to everything but the feel of her, the scent of their joining and the pounding of his blood. A harsh grunt slipped from his tongue and she responded with a guttural chuff. If she was in heat, she took him with her and baked him with her fire.

  Against the linen sheets, her fingers curled and scraped with a loud rasp. A vise-like tremor shook her sheath and she shot upward, her shoulders meeting his chest. With her head against his neck, Myla ground down and back, a wordless scream ripping from her throat.

  Taric’s arms wrapped around her waist, holding her rhythmically undulating body. A lightning blast began in his gut and burst out with a pulsing white heat. Part of his soul tore away, fractured with intensity. He shuddered within her, spilling with a force he’d never dreamt of.

  Until he tasted the salt of her skin, he hadn’t realized his teeth had sunk into the curve of her neck. She’d made him an animal and the sensation was deliciously erotic.

  Both gasping, sucking air in greedy gulps, they remained upright and joined, unwilling to move, to lose the connection. Finally, exhaustion settled and Myla began to tremble. Taric laid her onto the sheet, sliding his own quaking body beside hers.

  What had happened? How had she turned him into such a raging beast? Smoothing the dark curls away from her temples, he stared into her flushed face in awe.

  Myla lay serene and tranquil, her dewy skin soft beside his, and Taric marveled at her. So many emotions had rippled through him today—fear and confusion, horror and embarrassment, rage and fury, joy and ecstasy. Each and every one she’d experienced with him. Was their bond so potent, so close that he’d reacted to her felinity? Did she have that much control over him?

  Acceptance filled him. He knew she did. He was completely in her power. There was no place he’d rather be.

  With dawning sadness, Taric bit his inner lip. If Myla were truly real, he’d have given her his child tonight. He knew it deep in his soul, had felt that small part of himself flow to her with a joyous hope. He traced the quivering swell of her belly and mourned what could not be. Not yet. A vow stiffened his lip. He would make her real, make her a mother to his son. How he knew his child would be a son he couldn’t answer, but he knew it, felt it in his marrow. A son he would name Batu Rakasic—Gift of the Moonlight.

  His gentle stroke opened her eyes and she stared up at him with a love so severe it stole the little breath he had. A single tear leaked out, coursing toward her hair.

  “I love you, Taric. I always shall. No matter…where or what I am, know that you have my heart.”

  He dipped his head to kiss her when she stiffened. An intuitive glaze painted her face and she bolted upright in the bed.

  ab

  Lunian found her husband on the rooftop. Most people didn’t know Balic often escaped to the top of Thistlemount to think but she knew him well. Unlike their home, Nemury castle boasted many tin-covered peaks and vaulted rooflines. Only this small portion was flattened, used for boiling pots of oil or water in case of invasion. Its central location in Eldwyn had rendered that need virtually unnecessary. The fire pits had been long swept clean.

  Two wall torches fought off the darkness and turned the back of Balic’s honeyed head to burnished gold. Well into his fifties, Balic defied aging. What little gray hair he had blended with the wheat to all but disappear. His broad shoulders hunched, he leaned in one of the crenelated valleys surveying the sky. Like when Lunian first saw him two summers ago, he made her heart race.

  She slipped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “You snuck away from the guards. I sent them to bed but I’m sure you’ll hear grumbling in the morning.”

  His palm stroked her arm. “I needed the air. The view here’s not much different than home.”

  “Stars are stars, they don’t change. What has you troubled? Taric’s trial is over and his wedding not far off. Marchen has been deposed and will have trouble maintaining his armies from outside Eldwyn. I’d think you’d be celebrating.”

  “Marchen is a boil. Just when you think he’s gone, he’ll fester back, angrier than ever. No, if anything, the next months will be the bloodiest. I’ve wounded his pride.”

  “Wounded pride, hah. That man should be flayed alive for what he did to that poor child’s mind. Did you see her? She has no wits left, that monster. And Emeric is a soft-bellied fish. He makes my skin crawl with his twitchy expressions. How could any man damage two innocent children like that?”

  “His hate devoured what mind his magic hadn’t.” With a sigh, Balic turned in her embrace and circled her waist. “I don’t want to talk about Marchen anymore.”

  His smile let her know exactly what he was thinking and he lowered his lips to her neck. She shook her head. “Balic, hasn’t anyone told you that you’re no longer eighteen summers? You’re supposed to be past the age of raging lust.”

  “I think I missed that decree,” he teased, nuzzling below her ear.

  “Hmm, I see that. You and your son both have no restraint in this area.”

  He pulled back slightly and twisted his lip. “I suppose I should say something to him about that.”

  “Now that would be the royal pot calling the kettle black. You certainly didn’t wait until our wedding.”

  “You were a widow, not a maiden. Taric’s been a grown man for a long time but still, he let his nobility slide. He shouldn’t have taken her innocence.”

  “He didn’t.” She rubbed her nose with his, her hands sliding into his hair. “She gave herself. The way I understand it, since she gave her innocence freely, there isn’t the burden of a tearing each time. It seems that freely given means permanent.”

  His hands gripped her firmly and held her away from him, a frown marring his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Her virginity.” Lunian stepped back to his chest but Balic’s mind was on things other than her kisses now. “Myla explained that all her wounds heal when she returns to Taric. When I asked about her virginity, she said it didn’t return and her only reason for that occurring was because Taric didn’t take it, she gave it with love.”

  Balic turned from her and began to pace slowly, rubbing his lip with a finger. “It hasn’t returned?”

  “No, she said not. Why?”

  His chestnut eyes sparkled like candle flames when he smiled at her, their fire warming her. “Lu, you’re amazing. You may have just saved Taric the heartache of searching.”

  “How?” Puzzled, she returned his boisterous kiss and caught his arm before he darted for the door. “Balic, what are you talking about?”

  “If she freely gave her virginity and stayed…opened, then what if she freely gives away her magic?”

  “You mean she might have the power to become human herself and not know it?”

  “Worth a try, don’t you think?” Excitement erased the lines from his face.

  She leapt into his arms. Hope blossomed through her. After so many seasons of bloodshed and hurt, Taric deserved peace and love. So did her husband. And if she had given the smallest aid in finding that peace, then she was content.

  Balic chuckled, spinning her around. The deep sound blended with her loud laugh and filled the rooftop. She delighted in his laughter, his hope, his joy. Love swelled her heart and leaked out on her laughter. Hidden in her lively kiss was the soft creak of a door.

  His hands cupping her cheeks, Balic arched his brows. “Let’s go ask her. I’ve a dying need to hear the word ‘Grandpapa’.”

  A breath raced across her chin from her affronted snort. “Well, I am quite content to wait to hear ‘Grandmama’. Besides, you can’t go barging in on them now. I’m sure they’re…celebrating. Wait until morning.”

  Balic shook his head stubbornly and gripped her hand. “No. This is too important. Come on, the sooner we ask,
the sooner we know—and the sooner we can go to bed.”

  “Balic, I’m not sleepy.”

  He pulled her toward the door, a sultry smirk tilting his mustache. “Neither am I, Lu, now come on.”

  Lunian’s giggle tickled her throat before it began to burn with choking pain. The last sound she heard was the scream of her name.

  ab

  “What?” His breath rasping loudly, Taric cupped Myla’s cheek. “What is it?”

  “Danger. Death.”

  “Where? What kind of danger?” Sliding from the sheets, he grabbed his breeches.

  Myla tugged her shift over her head. She didn’t bother with a gown, shoes or hair combs but tore from the room, her words lingering longer than her body. “Marchen…your father…on the roof.”

  “Myla!” Yanking his pants up, he grabbed his sword and raced after her but her feet were swifter. He paused to bang on Bryton’s door before throwing it open. Bryton shot straight up in the bed, a mass of blonde beneath him. “The roof, now! Marchen’s there.”

  Bryton’s curse followed him as Taric ran toward the stairs. The cold stone steps felt damp beneath his bare feet but they didn’t slip. He skipped two and three at a time up the circular pathway. Night air whistled through the opened door, from where the sound of clanging steel never ceased, growing louder when he crested the top.

  Myla stood just outside the doorway, her luminescent eyes trained on the two men battling viciously before her. Taric gulped air but it stuck in his chest.

  His stepmother lay prone on the stone floor. Eyes opened wide, her arm stretched to cradle her head, a deep slice across her throat. Blood no longer pumped from the wound. Her heart was no longer beating.

  Before he could spare a prayer for her, a flash of green snapped his head to the left but Myla was already there. Emeric Marchen charged with a poorly held sword above his head. Marchen’s son might have been a comical sight if the moon hadn’t winked so wickedly off the blade.