“I checked on you all the time. I kept hope you were a man of worth. Of honor.”
A low growl rumbled forth from his chest. How dare she question his honor? A mere woman of her stature needed to remember her place. “What say you?”
Melane sneered and on her it was not a pleasant look. It spoke of her displeasure with him more than words ever could. “You invited me to your bed again. Your very actions implied we would be together.”
Anger roiled in his gut and the bitterness released like an infection from a lanced wound. Saran lunged forward, waving his half covered right hand in her face. “Do you realize what happened to me? The durvish destroyed me. I am useless and not fit to be Warlord.”
Melane jumped to her feet and slapped a hand to his bare chest. “Do you think I don’t understand? I was there, Saran. I tried to help...I tried.” She sniffled, tears running freely now as she angled her head away. “I thought you were dead when they carried you off. I thought I lost you and when you woke at last and the healer said you would recover, I dropped to my knees and thanked the Blessed One for not sending you to the Hills yet. Do not speak of what you lost when many a warrior has fallen in battle and you live to see another day.”
After her tirade, chest heaving, she sought to move back. Saran caught the material of her dress with his good hand and pulled. She fell atop him with a muffled gasp. His arms went around her waist. As always, the closeness between them roused his desire. His loins heated and his toqa stirred for the first time in days. At least he need not worry over that any more.
“Think you, I wanted this?” he rasped, staring into her eyes as she squirmed to get free. In spite of his injury, he subdued her easily, enjoying her weight on his lap. “I offered invitation as a warrior. A reputable Warlord.”
She ceased fighting and slumped across him. He cradled her close and softened his voice to lessen the impact of what he had to say.
“That is no more, Melane.” Saran allowed himself a brief stroke to the silk of her hair. He soaked in the pleasure of the touch, knowing he would never hold her like this again. Nor would he ever hold another woman in his bed like this again. None would have a broken Warlord.
“You are a fool,” she muttered into his chest.
Saran stiffened, his hand pausing atop her head. “What?”
Air wisped against his skin as she spoke but he missed her words. Using his left hand, Saran tugged on her shoulders and tried to see her face. She resisted, pushing her head beneath his jaw. The vulnerable gesture tugged at the center of his chest. Then her lips grazed his bare shoulders. With the accidental brush of her mouth combined with her breasts nestled in such close quarters, Saran soon found himself battling a groan.
What she did to him. Emotionally no woman pulled this gut level of reaction from him. The desire to push her away clashed with the need to hold her tight. As if keeping her in his arms would allow him to forget all he’d lost. For a short moment, Saran considered rolling her over and sliding between her thighs. Her warm toque would envelop him and he could pretend if only for a fleeting time that he was still a warrior true. Melane’s sob dispelled the notion.
“Melane?”
She trembled against him and buried her face into the hollow of his throat. Wetness dampened his skin. Tears? He’d caused her more tears.
Weary, Saran sighed. His hands hovered above her back until he gave in to the compulsion to run them in what he hoped was a soothing pattern up and down her back. What did he know of gentling a woman? She huddled closer and another loud sniff escaped. It pleased him to know she still wanted him but he no longer had anything to offer. The truth struck him low.
“It is my fault,” she whispered from her position curled against him.
Saran’s gaze went to his right hand, remembered the damage and bit off a growl. “How is this your fault?”
“You followed me. If I stayed close, the durvish—”
“Would have attacked another mayhap,” he interrupted, anger peaking.
Breaking free, she sat up but didn’t leave his bed. Tears left dried tracks on her face. “Your hand. If you hadn’t saved me, you would have...use of your hand.”
Shaking her, Saran snapped, “You will not take blame for this. I forbid it.”
She blinked. Saran hesitated to say more but he didn’t hold her responsible. The thought never crossed his mind that she’d feel this way.
“If you don’t blame me than surely you wish to be up and about.”
“I wish no such.” He’d not left the bed or this room since the accident.
She paled from his harsh words before nibbling her bottom lip in distress. “Is it your arm? The healer managed to save it. The hand...it is not bad.”
All knew he’d suffered greatly in the attack. Not bad meant nothing. Whatever softness he felt vanished and his anger returned full force. “You know not what you speak.”
For a Warlord of his standing this was more than bad. It was his end.
“It doesn’t matter.” Melane grew earnest in her speech and leaned forward. “You must get past this. The dark thoughts must not get you down.”
Saran hitched back in the bed until he rested against the wall firmly behind him. Dark didn’t come close to his thoughts. “You have no idea of what you speak. Do not think you could possibly understand the bitter edges of my pain.”
Melane released an indrawn breath, hurt flashing across her features. Saran cursed but refused to look away. The pit in his stomach grew. Fear reared its ugly head and the need to do violence swirled within.
“Warlord Saran, I but thought to—”
“To what?” He barked without mercy. “Pity me?! I don’t need your pity. I don’t need your care. I don’t need you, Melane. Now, be gone as I asked!”
He yelled the ugly words, knowing he wronged her but unable to stop. She provided too easy a target and Saran needed to vent, to make someone else feel the same wrenching pain clawing at his insides.
***
The loud roar caused Melane to flinch. Only for a moment did she consider fearing this side of Saran. For all their time together, she didn’t recollect him ever having harsh words for any woman who shared his bed. All she wished to do was help him. Did that mean nothing?
“Leave. Can you at least follow direction?”
Her mouth fell open as he continued to berate her. What he said hurt far greater than any weapon. “Warlord Saran?”
Saran froze, his ranting coming to a halt. A lump formed in her throat leaving her lost as to words. She pushed past the thickness in her throat and choked out, “This is not the behavior of the Warlord I love.”
His eyes turned dark and Melane realized she’d said something wrong. Her brain searched for what would bring such an appalled look to his gaze. Love. She’d once more confessed her love for him. A love he either didn’t want or didn’t appreciate. With disappointment plaguing her heart, she stepped back.
“It is good we talked.”
Good indeed, because now she knew where she stood. His empty stare drove home the point as nothing else could. Parts of her heart chipped into tiny pieces, the ache spreading with rapidness and leaving numbness throughout. He started to speak and Melane hesitated. If he would give one sign. One sign her time was not wasted, she would stay by his side.
To her dismay, his lips firmed.
Nothing.
She swallowed when he remained silent. The lump in her throat swelled as breathing became difficult. “Good day, Warlord Saran.”
“Melane.”
Regret coated the sound of her name on his lips. She knew with all her heart he once more planned to destroy her dreams. Foolish dreams Melane shouldn’t have allowed. Her chest pulled tight. “Say no more.”
She shoved up and scrambled from the bed. Using a well of strength she didn’t know she possessed, Melane gave him her back and took a deep breath. She calmly made her way toward the door not letting temper get the best of her as she crossed the room.
&
nbsp; “Melane, wait!”
She ignored him and only stopped when she reached the door with the knob grasped tight in her hand. “I will leave you alone as you asked but you will regret your bitter spirit. I would have been worthy of you, if you but gave me the chance.”
Chapter 13
Melane stomped from Saran’s room muttering dire consequences under her breath and using names for him which would make her mother blush. How dare he! And what a fool she played. How many times would it take before she stopped trying to make him accept what she offered? Frustrated and at a loss, she flounced passed warriors and friends alike without speaking.
Arrogant, stubborn and confident described Saran Galip. Foolish, blind and hard-headed described her. Yes, she oftimes felt he took her presence for granted. His open invitation to share his bed had been her greatest joy. As her first and only lover, Melane appreciated Saran all the more for the moments she caught the gentler sides of his nature.
This time he’d sounded so sincere before the attack. Her lips twisted. His mood switched as easily as a woman’s. Right now all he could think of was his pain and loss. Melane understood that. She really did but she wasn’t less and his ill manners could not be so easily ignored. The hard-headed Warlord could stew for all she cared.
She drew up short on a snivel. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to be treated with such rage directed at her.
No more, she mentally declared. She would not fall for his tender words and soft looks a second time. If she wanted to have love and a family, it would not include the stubborn Warlord, who refused to stand by his promises. So focused on her ire, Melane missed the group of people hurrying through the hall in her direction and slammed into a body.
“Whoa!”
A tangle of arms and legs followed before Melane caught herself upright only to come face to face with slanted green eyes. Childish giggles erupted next. Melane glanced down at two little youngling grinning up at her.
“I didn’t mean to hit you,” an accented voice said in Kabanian.
Melane blinked. Standing next to her with a pleasant smile was the Su-Su of one of the most powerful Raasa homes and none other than mate to the Overlord.
“I’m Mikayla,” she continued, her use of Kabanian not quite flawless but impressive. “We are here to see Saran.”
“Of course.” Heat shimmered up Melane’s neck as her gaze landed on the tall imposing man standing next to Mikayla.
His long black hair fell from a leather cord at his nape well beyond the typical length a warrior maintained. No kutthra to signify his unavailability. Sharp cheekbones and angles made up a harsh but handsome face. His bare chest gleamed with tanned skin from his time in the hotter clime of the Raasa land, black straps forming an X pattern from which his sword hung in the back. Admittedly, Saran’s body was cause for stares but the Overlord’s muscles had muscles, all sleekly spread over his tall frame and ending in tight black leather pants.
Blushing, Melane dropped into a quick bow of respect. “Sire, my apologies.”
“Nonsense.” Mikayla waved at the youngling. “These are our girls, Erana and Arane.”
More giggles but neither spoke. One wore a leather chest harness over a blue tunic and the handle of a wooden sword poked over her shoulder, the style similar to her father’s. The other wore a matching blue tunic and black leggings. Standing together, Melane had no idea how to tell them apart. Fascinated, she smiled at their adorable features.
The Overlord prodded his mate and acknowledged Melane with an imperious nod. “We are to see Saran.”
At his gruff voice, Melane hurried to step aside. Mikayla aimed a frown at the Overlord who met her stare head on, a glint of humor in his gaze. Melane shivered wondering how the petite woman held her own against the Warlord, who bested many fierce warriors to be in his position. Perhaps she should take note.
Mikayla huffed at his lack of remorse and turned to Melane. “I apologize for his manners but after the news we received, we’re understandably anxious to make sure all is well with his brother.”
Overlord’s Vaan’s mouth twisted and the humor in his eyes faded. No one could doubt the love the brothers shared. As soon as word reached the Overlord of Saran’s accident, he’d demanded to know every detail. She was sure he would have been here sooner if not for the need to prepare his family for the journey.
Melane tipped her head again. “I can well understand. Be warned, he is not in a pleasant mood.”
Far from it.
“Of this I am not surprised,” Overlord Vaan growled, placing a hand on the shoulders of the youngling and nudging them forward.
Mikayla smiled. “I hope to see you later.”
Melane managed not to flinch from the sight of the fangs displayed by the gesture. The group took their leave and headed toward the room she had fled. Hopefully Warlord Saran greeted them with more favor than he did her.
***
Saran dropped his head back on the pillow and cursed himself for ten kinds of fool. The pain in Melane’s gaze was hard to miss. She wanted him, admitted to caring for him. No, he corrected. She admitted to loving him. The concept almost unheard of in Kaban but evident in the fact she allowed him to see she spoke truth by the emotion revealed in her brown eyes.
A brisk knock on the door had him jolting upright. Anticipating Melane’s appearance, Saran sat up. Disappointment flared when it opened to reveal his brother, Mikayla and their youngling.
“Saran!”
The two identical girls bounced toward him and dove onto his chest. Half on the bed and half off, Saran reached down and tugged them both up, ignoring the pain it caused. One immediately sat on his chest and the other cuddled into his side, both comfortable and at ease. An unwilling smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. They smelled of sunshine and berries.
Mikayla chuckled and leaned over to press her lips to his temple. Her odd habit of kissing didn’t cause its usual bolt of terror. Not after he’d experienced the softness of Melane’s lips.
“The Blessed One favors you.”
Vaan growled but his mate ignored him to plop a hip on the edge of Saran’s bed. The intimacy disturbed Saran and he glanced anxiously at his brother. The formidable Overlord folded his arms over his chest and glared. “It would seem my mate’s concern for your health was unwarranted.”
Without disturbing the youngling crowding him, Saran offered his left arm in greeting. Vaan stepped forward to grasp it and squeeze firmly, affection in his easy smile. “Welcome, Vaan.”
A snort accompanied the release of his arm. “You do not appear in dire straits. The healer warned they had need to take the arm.”
Saran couldn’t control his flinch. Losing the use of his hand was one thing. If he’d lost the arm completely, Saran wasn’t sure he’d have recovered. “I am ever grateful you withheld permission.”
“Not I, brother. You had a staunch supporter who forbid the action.”
Vaan’s statement pulled his attention away from the youngling on his chest tugging at strands of his hair. Saran glanced from Mikayla and back. “If not you, who would dare defy the healer?”
“Melane.” A cheeky grin followed Mikayla’s answer.
The response only served to remind Saran of their recent exchange. Shoulders stiff, he spoke through gritted teeth. “You allowed another to speak on your behalf? A female not my bride?”
Vaan shrugged, not showing a care for Saran’s upset. “The message was delayed in reaching me. I knew of the attack from the first missive. Somehow Melane held sway and the other messages came much too late for my response.” Vaan braced his hands on his hips and shot a dark look at his mate. “Mikayla was insistent she come along to verify you were on the mend or we would have arrived sooner.”
Which meant his brother had to bring his Warlord guards, as well as his youngling. A trip not easily managed if one wanted to hurry.
“We are here, which is most important.” Mikayla glowered at Vaan over her shoulder. His brother met her gl
are for glare, until the Raasa female shrugged and faced Saran. “And you are recovering?”
Unwilling to engage her in a similar conversation about his lack of worth, Saran merely agreed and held firm to the youngling hitched to his side. “I am recovering.”
Another thought crossed his mind and would keep Mikayla from questioning him further. “How goes matters with the Shadow Warriors and the Aerilians?”
Vaan’s face darkened as he snarled. “Not. Shaina spoke with Tylis and has decided only an apology and a sizeable parcel of land from their territory will suffice. Tylis was less than pleased and put off further talks. They are at an impasse.”
Saran shook his head in humor. “She is a warrior true.”
The Shadow Queen had reason to be angered with the blue-skinned Aerilians. No doubt if Tylis wanted her to agree to another alliance, he’d eventually cede the land.
Chapter 14
Vaan wanted Saran to stay in Kaban.
Saran knew this. The day he’d visited with Mikayla and the youngling, his brother adamantly refused to let Saran step down. He tried to remain firm but Vaan left and a messenger came days later stating his wishes for Saran to come to Raasa for training. He’d tried to defer but each message grew more and more demanding until the last in which Vaan warned him to expect Kavan, Argan and Ramar. Now the moment had arrived.
Saran kept his glare directed at the Warlords now making their way toward him. Warlords from Raasa. After Saran refused to travel to Raasa, Vaan used his authority as the Overlord to gain what he wanted.
“This is a fool’s errand,” Saran declared.
Kavan’s stride never slowed as he approached and didn’t stop until he reached Saran. The Warlord who matched him in size and breadth of chest only hitched his shoulder. “My Overlord explained I was needed.”
Another Warlord joined them after dismounting his hapfe. Saran knew him well also. Ramar offered him a nod of acknowledgment. “Morning tide, Saran.”
The sneer on Saran’s lips twisted tighter as he noted the dark shadow forming in the center of the courtyard. The inky blackness faded to reveal the stern visage of the only Warlord a match to his brother in strength and skills. Argan, the new Shadow King, spared a glance at the curious stares he received for his unusual arrival, then headed in Saran’s direction. His menacing grimace stopped anyone from speaking to him.
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