With a few exceptions. His mother had been strong and none could doubt the strength of his sister by joining. Mikayla would battle any who threatened those she cared for.
Saran decided he wanted the same. Meek and mild he no longer craved. Not after observing the union his brother, the Overload, shared with his Raasa mate. For all their cold-blooded nature, the reptilian people were free with their hearts. They joined with passionate fervor in something called True Unions and gave of themselves without fail to the fickle emotion love.
It was a strange concept to accept for all of Kaban. Thus when Vaan and Mikayla visited and engaged in embraces without care for who watched, it brought attention to them. His brother was more circumspect in his affection but never did he refuse or move away from the touch of his Raasa mate. The appalling yet fascinating act of kissing drew more stares and caused tongues to wag.
Their joining ignited envy even as it disrupted. Gossip abounded. Many casting scorn for what they considered the Overlord’s softer ways. Some admiring his ability to court death, since Raasa produced a deadly venom in their mouths. Despite the talk, neither changed their behavior and Vaan’s dark glare warned off any who would dare question. A few females wished to tempt him away but it was obvious Vaan only had eyes for his Mikayla.
The Raasa mated for life unlike the easily dissolved joinings of the Kabanian. Displeased brides could walk away from a warrior and the warrior could do the like if not happy with his bride. For years it worked and none seemed bothered. But Saran was.
Drawn without reason why, he studied Vaan and Mikayla intently during his visits to the Raasa compound where they made their home. After the birth of their identical youngling, a rarity among Kaban, a tightening sensation filled Saran’s chest.
When he chose a bride, he wanted someone with fire and passion. He wanted a female to stand by him. Saran searched Melane’s adoring expression. Gentle and willing. He knew this from the moment he accepted her in his bed. But would she fight for him? Would she battle for any youngling she brought forth or would she cower behind those stronger?
The answer scraped along his nerves. He wanted to ask her, to see if she proved him wrong, yet fear of hearing the truth stopped him. She was not to blame for her upbringing. Despite Melane’s sweet nature, she was not a fitting bride for the Warlord he was today. He’d changed in these times. For the better or worse was yet to be seen and he’d not make her suffer by keeping her in his bed.
Perhaps the incident with Bran came at a timely moment and provided the excuse to do this. For now, no Kabanian woman met his need. In frustration, Saran shoved to his feet, Melane moving back quickly.
Her gaze widened before she lowered her startled brown eyes. “Is all well, Warlord?”
Warlord. Cycles of bed play together and she did not push for the privilege of using his name. More anger without direction flared. “Leave me.”
Pain flickered in her gaze, her fingers clenching at her sides and for a moment, Saran thought she would seek to argue. Never had she dared to take such a reckless step. He was a battle hardened warrior with the coveted rank of Warlord. Men quivered in his presence and yet she would try. Or would she? And why did a part of him long for her to do so?
“Go.” He made the order firm and without doubt, though it tore at a part of him to give the directive.
Still she hesitated.
“Melane?”
His toqa twitched, a blend of curiosity and true interest stirring him for the first time in weeks. The idea that she’d actually speak to his abrupt behavior roused him. Other warriors eyed him with envy and broad natured grins each time he approached her and she accepted him freely. Many expressed admiration at having such a commonly female between his sheets. All waited for the time he moved on for the chance to invite her.
Without doubt her figure created attention whenever she entered a room. Her unfettered breasts were bountiful, her hips a handful. Such looks were what had attracted Saran initially. He’d been satisfied with his lot and well pleased until the lure of Vaan’s union enticed him. Others would want her when it became known she no longer shared his bed.
Fury pulled suddenly at the tether he held. He wanted to deny any who sought to take what belonged to him alone. Saran breathed deeply and fought back the strong surge. She would be free to move on as would he.
Melane’s shoulders rounded and her dark head dropped. As he expected, the moment of spirit had been fleeting. Disappointment beat a steady rhythm at Saran. He wanted to shake her. Demand more. But it was not their way and he’d probably frighten her. Hettel, the very idea that he wanted to force a reaction from her frightened him.
“As you wish.” She bowed low and turned to leave.
Her willingness to leave him to this...this desolate feeling as he crumbled inside sent his frustration soaring. As a result, he fell back on instinct. What he knew and trusted came from being a Warlord. A warrior above others.
“Melane,” he called again. She froze, her back to him. Denial rose at what he was about to do. What needed to be done because of his rash actions, yet he pushed forward. “I withdraw my invitation.”
Saying it aloud ripped something loose in his chest but Saran pressed his lips tight to keep from recanting. Her silence pierced the wall he built between them but her head bobbed up and down as she ran out before he could change his mind. The sense of dissatisfaction increased with the closing of the door. Regret followed. This was not how he expected his evening to end.
On a surge of impatience as the look in her eyes replayed in his mind, Saran hurled the nearest thing in his reach at the stone walls. The mug splintered above the fire place, broken wedges clattering to the floor as pieces landed about. He bellowed toward the ceiling, wanting to go after her. He was a Warlord born and true. He did not chase.
Chest heaving, Saran strode across the room and snatched the door open. He stormed down the hall to the lower level, ignoring voices as they hailed him.
Outside he headed for the hapfe stable, hoping a robust ride on one of the more aggressive mounts would soothe this ill humor he suffered. Daviel the stable master greeted him at the doors.
“Your usual mount, Warlord?”
“No.” Saran didn’t stop as his steps led him to the back and the stall containing Rafar.
Black mane lay like silk against the sturdy long brown neck as Rafar’s three large eyes watched Saran closely. The animal hopped to the gate and pawed at the top rim. Sensing his dark mood, Daviel grew quiet and unlatched the door to free Rafar. He went about adjusting the harness and reins then handed the leads to Saran with a low bow. Saran grunted and mounted with a practiced lift.
“Are you taking guards, Warlord Saran?” Daviel asked.
So they could riddle him with questions when his mood was running hot? Saran gritted his teeth to hold back the curses. Still, he had a responsibility to the Kaban people and owed a response. Vaan trusted him to act in his stead and to conduct business in place of the absent Overlord. With that though uppermost in mind, Saran gave his answer. “There will be no guards but I shall return shortly.”
A little time alone would do him well.
***
Melane raced through the halls, down the stairs and managed to contain her hurt until she reached her room. Calmly, she closed the door and turned the lock, thankful the other two servants who shared space with her were not around. She took a deep breath and placed a hand to her breast to still the sharp pangs.
Pressure squeezed and Melane blinked to hold back her tears. Saran had shattered her very heart with an ease that seemed all too familiar.
All this time. All this time she thought...She couldn’t finish. Apparently, whatever she thought had been foolish wishes and dreams. The ache spread from her chest and down to her middle. Melane swallowed and exhaled on a sniff. Tears burned but she refused to let them fall.
Plenty of warriors made it clear they were open to invitation from her. She held out, ignoring the sly looks and glance
s. Her heart wanted only one. Warlord Saran.
For the first time she found someone who brought a flush to her cheeks with soft spoken words. She allowed herself to believe he looked on her as more than a bed sharing partner. Others lasted a night, sometimes a week but never longer. Melane lost count of the times she and Warlord Saran shared his bed.
The first time he escorted her to his room, she’d been nervous. Finally he’d noticed her. Finally he’d seen her as more than one of the many servants in the Galip household. Perhaps, her dreams insisted, he’d accept her as his bride.
Melane choked, shaking and trembling as she pressed her balled fists to her stomach to hold back the ache. More fool her. It was clear after today, the fierce Warlord in charge of Kaban did not think of her beyond the time it took to expend himself within her toque. The act was quick and painless yet unfulfilling. It left her yearning for more though she would never have complained.
According to the others she spoke to, it was the way of it. Only warriors took pleasure in the act and a woman endured. When she voiced interest in exploring the subject of bed play further, scandalized gazes silenced her immediately.
Some females encouraged Melane to press Saran for jewels and other gifts while she held his attention. All laughed at her idea of him taking her to bride.
“Warlord Saran can have anyone he wishes. Why would he limit his needs to one?” a friend asked.
“Warriors are lusty creatures. They can not be satisfied with one female,” another said.
And lastly. “If he settles it will be with a fitting bride. His brother, Overlord Vaan, is mated to a Raasa. Rumor claims he will not return. Mayhap Saran will be Overlord. Think you, he would stay with a servant such as you when his options are many?”
Their points seemed valid and spoke of experience far more vast than hers but their words hurt. They rang with a truth Melane could not deny after this night. Her dreams and hopes were just that. Stories for a youngling, her father would have said. Fanciful thoughts, her mother would call them if she still lived. Thoughts Saran encouraged with his warm smile and eager strokes as she lay beneath him. Compliant to his desire.
He rutted and she maintained her silence for him to appreciate her willingness to give him what he needed.
And for what?
To have him dismiss her as easily as he dismissed any servant in the household. A lone tear fell unbidden down her cheek when she blinked. Melane stared at the wall unseeing the colorful tapestry. Her mind’s eye played over the time she spent with Saran during these last months.
Always willing. Always available.
With a firm press of her lips, Melane forced back the urge to fall to the floor and cry. She would think of Saran no longer. Going forward the process to free her heart would begin. As others said in the past, and as he proved with his simple actions—he would never claim her as his bride.
Accepting the truth of it struck like a blow and Melane bent over as her breath quickened. The empty room spun around her and seemed to reinforce the loneliness seeping into her pores.
“I can do this,” she bit out. “I will move past this.”
Her heart would bleed but it was not an impossible task. Others managed with poise and grace. So would she. None liked a clinging female who did not remember her place.
Decision made, Melane straightened and unlocked the door. If her heart ached and her vision grew blurry, she ignored it.
Chapter 4
Melane worked with the other servants who were doing a final check on the main dining hall. The Overlord was due to arrive shortly with his family and Warlords. The household was in an uproar to see things in order to meet the exacting standards left in place from his time in residence. None wanted attention called to anything left unkempt.
“Melane, take a rest. One would think the Overlord here to visit you personally.”
She jumped from the sound of Lanna’s voice coming from behind her. Lanna was in charge of all household help. Titters followed in Lanna’s wake as she came to stand beside Melane in the hall on the lower level. Two ladies, dressed in the Galip blue and silver livery, joined them.
“I think Melane only wishes to make a good impression.” Neera spoke in defense of her nerves.
Melane considered her friend. Neera’s blue eyes, startling among Kabanians, gentled as she stared at Melane. Neera alone knew the truth of it. Not because Melane confided to her but because they shared a similar crushed dream. An unspoken hope.
Lanna patted Melane on the shoulder. “Be at ease. The Overlord has never complained and though he brings the Raasa, she has never spoke ill of our home.”
The women were hesitant to accept Mikayla. They didn’t go out of their way to dislike her but her manner was completely different from anyone they knew. Her beliefs and behavior went against all that Kabanian women were raised to believe.
A woman’s place was behind her warrior for protection. She did not go against him and voice complaints. Mikayla followed neither tenet. Her culture was completely different from anything they had ever experienced. She often stood at Overlord Vaan’s side and while not overt, she was rumored to defy him as well.
Their youngling were another point of talk. The girls were beautiful and sweet. Innocence rang true and despite the oddity of their eyes and baby fangs that would grow deadly with age, the Kabanian adored and accepted them a lot easier than their mother.
Drums sounded and resounding shouts went up from outside. Lanna grinned and smoothed her hair down, though the black waves lay neatly about her shoulders as usual. She patted her breasts and plumped the mounds until they threatened to overflow the bodice of her solid blue gown. Though he no longer sought a bride, the appeal of Vaan Galip had not faded. If anything, his absence made the women sigh in pleasure whenever he visited.
Clapping her hands, Lanna directed them to leave. “All is well. The Overlord has arrived. Mayhap his handsome Warlords will be in need of bed play.”
Excitement filled the halls as Melane hurried to follow everyone out of the servants section. A vast array of rooms opened from the central corridor that ran the length of the two level home. Used to the magnificence of the house, she paid little attention to the rich tapestries aligning the wall, the upholstered furniture in the Galip colors or the other lavish displays of wealth. Melane skidded along the gleaming polished floors as she rushed through the double doors leading outside.
Ignoring everyone else, she searched around for one man’s tall form. From the top of the steps she could see warriors and Warlords milling about. Stern features cracked with smiles and swords were hefted in the air, blades down and hilts up. Low chanting grew louder.
“Overlord! Overlord!”
“All hail the Overlord!”
Thunderous hooves distracted her from the search. Melane shielded her eyes as hapfe stormed onto the grounds, dust whirling about. Caught up in the vibrant energy, she couldn’t help smiling. Her heart picked up its beat and she stood on her toes to see over the large phalanx of warriors now filling the yard.
“A fala fir Galip randala!”
The loud roar picked up and was repeated by every warrior present. Her head jerked to the side and she saw him at last. Despite how they ended, Melane’s heart stuttered. Warlord Saran. Brother to the Overlord. A man who owned her heart and gave no care to the gift.
Tall and of broad shoulder, he stood above those parting before him. The black cross chest harness emphasized every dip and swell of his strong torso on display. Powerful thighs framed by the black leathers he wore strained beneath the material. The tight muscles of his buttocks flexed with every thud of his boots as he stormed across the courtyard.
Melane swallowed. Desire replaced her excitement. His features lightened at the approach of ten Warlords led by the Overlord himself and another person she couldn’t see perched on a hapfe to Overlord Vaan’s right.
With rapid strides, Saran reached the first bi-pedal mount and grabbed the leads as the animal came to a
rearing halt. “Welcome, brother.”
Vaan’s midnight gaze roamed the crowd gathered. He paused his hapfe by the cluster of servants where Melane stood. She inhaled sharply from the intensity of his stare and didn’t release her breath until he looked elsewhere.
“Greetings, Saran.” Vaan’s voice boomed with little effort. He threw his leg over his mount in a lithe move and leaped down to the ground. He went directly to the rider she had not been able to see and held up his hand to the Raasa woman.
Mikayla’s brows pinched tight but after a moment, she grinned and accepted his help to dismount. Melane heard the tales that spoke of the Su-Su’s affinity for hapfe. An experienced rider, she did not have need of Vaan’s assistance. In light of that, her concession caused another ripple of curiosity for Melane. She tried to understand the Overlord’s desire for one so other.
Thin and not as tall as a Kabanian woman, Mikayla seemed almost fragile. One might consider her pretty if they discounted the deep golden tones of her skin that never changed colors with the seasonal shifts, her strange yet compelling green eyes which bore a distinctive diamond shape and contracted during conversation. When she grinned as she did now, fangs flashed reminding all that, while a peaceful race, the Raasa were capable of producing deadly venom that could kill or burn in an instant.
“Greetings, Saran,” Mikayla chirped right before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
Melane froze at the familiarity implied in the gesture. It took conscious effort to uncurl her fingers from the tight fists they’d formed. Vaan gripped his mate about the waist with one arm and pulled her back against his front. He glowered at Saran whose laugh rang freely.
The Warlords who accompanied Overlord Vaan began to dismount and she noticed what she had missed upon first sighting. Warlord Kavan held a sleeping youngling against his shoulder and Warlord Balal cradled her sister. A tiny fist was shoved between the rosy lips and her green eyes took in the surroundings with keen intelligence that bellied her youth.
Unexpected Bride (Warlord Series Book 6) Page 3