Pleasure and pain blended until there was no line between the two as the final climax ripped through her. Massive hands gripped her hips, slamming her down on him so hard that she knew she'd find bruises in the morning, but at that moment she just didn't care.
His seed spilled into her in a hot gush that threatened to ruin pillows that would cost a working man half-a-month's wages. She would ask the gods forgiveness later, but right now she truly didn't care. Her breath caught in an exhausted sob as she collapsed at his side.
* * * * *
Seanen spent the last of his energy rolling to one elbow to look down at her, cuddled against him, half buried in the pillows. "Say my name."
She didn't open her eyes. "Seanen." That sexy, sleep-drugged voice made it sound like an endearment.
"I just wanted to be able to remind myself when you break my heart tomorrow that you were really here. That this wasn't a mistake, that you know who I am."
She smiled, still without opening her eyes. "You are Seanen of the House of Lindall, a trusted member of House Lochinvar. You're also the best operative the Rogues Guild has to offer. You come highly recommended. And it is you who will break my heart. But not tonight."
No one knew he belonged to the Rogues Guild. No one. Even other members of the guild rarely knew one another. She knew too much. How had she–unless …
"Do you have a token for me?"
She raised up enough to scan the room for her scattered clothing. "In my bag. Told you we needed to talk. Wanted to explain…"
Seanen let himself relax as he kissed the spot where the pulse beat in her neck, pushing her back down into the pillows. "Perhaps we shall leave tomorrow to its own fate then, Ambassador Yarwyn."
She groaned. "Ambassador. Ha. I told you I'd been reduced to carrying messages like a first year guild member."
A guild Ambassador who held his token. Seanen chuckled softly in the darkness. "So you did, M'Lady. So you did."
Chapter Three
He'd been three days without a bath, marching for hours in the hot sun with an army at his back, sleeping alone in his bedroll with the woman he wanted close enough to touch and so far out of reach that she might as well have been a continent away. Now she had him sprawled on a cliff, two hundred meters above the good, solid earth, and she wanted him to look over the edge.
Seanen fingered the small hand-struck bronze coin, flipping it from knuckle to knuckle like a trainer toy. She'd bought his soul with that tiny little coin. Absently he ran his fingertip over the coin's inscription. Tokens from the Rogues Guild were not easily obtained. She had to know someone, have some pull somewhere.
The woman knew too much of him and he too little of her. Just the thought of her slim naked body disrupted his reasoning. He'd known her in the most intimate way a man could ever know a woman, yet he still knew nothing of who she was, what she stood for, what made her tick. He was being led about like a fool pup. A blind fool pup.
Yarwyn turned slightly on the narrow ledge, studying him with a shrewd, assessing gaze. "You still don't trust me."
He was cranky and irritable, and he knew precisely why. The closeness of her body to his on the ledge wasn't helping things at all. "You could have killed me in my sleep any of the four nights. You didn't. I'd say I trust you about as much as any man ever could."
Yarwyn pulled his head toward her, kissing him in a way that was sure to distract his attention from the mission at hand. "I don't recall getting much sleep the last three nights. I can't seem to sleep without your arms around me."
Seanen grazed the back of his knuckles over the light chainmail shirt she wore, gauging from her face more than from what he could feel when her breast responded to his touch. If it hadn't been for this cliff she had him sprawled on, he'd have taken her then and there, and damn the army below. "I trust you in my bedroom. That doesn't mean I have a great deal of faith in this plan of yours. I've never fought beside you. Just because you haven't killed me outright doesn't mean you're not going to get yourself and me killed."
Yarwyn looked annoyingly pleased at his response. "You're worried about me."
He shrugged noncommittally. "You get yourself killed, I'm next."
She inched forward, until she was almost hanging out over the cliff. Seanen took a deep breath, steadying himself as he grabbed at the back of her belt. He hadn't bothered to tell her how little he cared for heights. Not a trait one really expected in a thief.
"See there? That is the main entrance."
Yarwyn pointed to a set of wide iron bound doors that appeared to be the only entrance into the forbidding stone wall. Those doors were, unfortunately, straight down over the side of the sheer two hundred meter high cliff. Seanen was suddenly very thankful they had marched the morning through without stopping to break their fast with a midday meal. He pulled back from the cliff's edge, drawing in his breath sharply before he dared to speak. "You mean to walk in the main doors in broad daylight?"
"That might work, but that's not the plan. My sources tell me there is another way in. A tunnel that leads from the moat into the dungeon, directly below the main halls. My plan is to assume our disguises then enter through the tunnel. Then I lead you about until we find what we're looking for."
Seanen risked another quick glance over the ledge. "What makes you think that water is empty?"
She stared at him blankly. "The water? In the moat?"
"Orcs are said to fill their moats with all sorts of foul things to keep trespassers out."
Yarwyn shrugged. "We are seasoned warriors. I doubt we will meet anything we cannot handle."
Seanen pulled back again, further this time, and regained his feet.
"Where are you going?"
He shrugged. "If I'm going to die it won't be on top of this gods-forsaken cliff. Lets get to work."
* * * * *
Yarwyn folded her mailshirt and undertunic into a leather satchel, hiding it carefully in a recess of the small cave's stone wall. She picked up the corked vial and held it for a moment, steadying herself.
Waves of concern rolled off of him, but not for himself. Concern for her. He truly cared about her. That frightened her more than any Orc ever could. "Are you sure?" he asked for the tenth time.
She shook her head. "It's not dangerous."
"It is if it doesn't work. Or if our own men see you. Or if you're wrong."
She shook the vial gently. "Do you have a better plan?"
He shrugged. "I'm a thief. You stay here and I break into the castle, find what we need, and escape."
Yarwyn wished his plan weren't so temptingly simple. She glanced at him again. He stood waiting, all but naked, ready to trust his life into her hands, and all he worried about was her. He held his arms crossed over his naked chest defiantly, his oiled skin reflecting the light of the small campfire and outlining the tight, bunched muscles where his jaw knotted with tension. He'd wrapped a piece of worn, frayed tartan around his waist, concealing his other distractions. "You're too clean," she objected.
"Give it a few minutes. I won't stay this way."
That was hard to argue with. Yarwyn uncorked the bottle and drank, holding her nose as the vile concoction threatened to gag her. When it was down, she threw the bottle into the fire, crouching close to its meager light to watch for the changes.
Nothing.
Five, and then ten minutes passed. Still nothing. Her stomach churned with revulsion as the potion refused to settle. She edged away from the fire, fearing the worst, using all her willpower to prevent the inevitable. There was no privacy to be had in the small cave, but she stumbled toward the darkness of the far back corner. It was no use. He was there beside her, his huge hands stroking over her back, supporting her, offering comfort as her body rejected the enchanter's brew. When she would have collapsed into the dirt, sobbing in defeat, he scooped her up and carried her, careful to press her head against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It's not your fault, little Ranger
. We will find another way."
"No. There is no other way. I was too weak. I have ruined everything."
"Do you not know the Rogue's Guild motto? There is always another way. Trust me, little one. Even a castle such as this one has a back door. I will find it. Our mission will not fail."
The mission had already failed. Perhaps it had failed before it ever began. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks and onto his chest.
"Yarwyn."
He had stopped beside the fire, still holding her as if she weighed nothing at all. Yarwyn raised her eyes to his face, sensing a tightness in his voice. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Look. Look at your hand."
She splayed her fingers over his heart, her hand a tiny presence in the deep hollow of his breast bone. A dark presence. Her skin had turned a deep shade of dusty ebony. Mingled joy and fear warred for dominance. "Everywhere? Did it really work?"
Seanen set her down, walking slowly around her as she stood naked beside the fire. "Everywhere." She feared his next question for she wasn't altogether certain of the answer, but he had to ask. "How long will it last?"
"Supposedly up to a month, unless I take the antidote. I never tried it. I couldn't afford to be found out back in the Human city. Even if I hadn't been recognized, I'd have been killed on sight. And now, since it didn't stay down, I know not whether I will have the full effect…"
Seanen gathered her waterproof pack and slug it over his shoulder. "Then we better work quickly."
* * * * *
The water was cold and murky, as dark as the sky above, and things floated past. Seanen didn't want to know what sort of things, as long as none attacked him. He suspected many of those things were long dead anyway. None of them seemed to have been reanimated.
He was a good swimmer, having grown up fishing naked in the ice locked northern ocean. He could stay under water for many minutes at a time, having learned the art of controlling his breathing, but he was, as were all of his race, totally night blind. The pendant around his neck gave off a weak glow, lighting up a path that reached as far as Yarwyn's aimlessly kicking feet.
She was not a strong swimmer. In another place and time, her technique might have amused him. He could have done this more easily without her, simply by following the curve of the stone wall. At least they weren't anywhere where he had to look down…
He wished fervently he hadn't indulged that thought. The thing that swam under him moved fast, undulating through the water with a speed that belied its bulk. Seanen wished again that he'd kept at least his dagger, but a prisoner would carry no weapons. Maybe it was just passing by. Maybe–
Maybe Yarwyn's feet looked like dinner, kicking ineffectively as they were.
The worm-like monster changed from placid to ominous as it opened its massive jaws, revealing multiple rows of gleaming white teeth that lit up eerily in the glow of the tiny crystal pendant. Yarwyn chose that exact moment to head for the surface, twisting herself just out of the monster's range as Seanen dove head first towards its snout. Using the only weapon he had handy, he punched it soundly between the eyes, or at least where its eyes should have been. Changing targets, the thing writhed itself around, its long serpentine body attempting to trap this new attacker within its coils.
His hammering fists had no apparent effect except to enrage the monster. Wicked teeth snapped shut on the place where he'd been as he dove under it, hiding under its jaw, looking for something softer, more vulnerable. He found a target in the fleshy underside of the throat, where the hinging jaw made the skin more elastic of necessity. The sluggish beat of its pulse throbbed against his hand as he buried his fist up to the wrist in the fleshy throat. He could reach it here, but he couldn't kill it. Not with his fists. And eventually he would run out of air.
Air. Even if it had gills, which he'd yet to encounter, the thing had to breath. Seanen stretched his arms around its thick body, burying the top of his head into the soft fleshy under side of its jaw. He felt it make a soft strangled wheeze as he tightened his arms with all the strength he possessed, thrusting his head against its soft inner organs. It thrashed wildly, trying to get its massive body coiled around its smaller attacker, but it could not reach him without strangling itself.
Desperate, the thing rose up out of the water, standing almost on end, trying to smash him against the forbidding stone walls, bringing sound back into Seanen's world with an eerie rush that seemed almost deafening. He gulped in air while throwing his body weight away from the wall, shifting the creature's balance so that they toppled back down, falling far below the surface, down to the murky depths where the thing must spend its days.
The maddened creature began to spin like a gyro, its every twist threatening to break Seanen's hold. Still he maintained his grip, butting the top of his head up even harder as he felt soft structures give beneath his relentless pressure. He felt its gasping gurgle as the fragile windpipe collapsed, felt it gasp what surely would have been a cry of pain had there been any sound at all. It was dying. They both knew its remaining minutes were numbered. If only Seanen could manage to hang on, he had won.
The twisting stopped as quickly as it had begun. The creature launched itself straight down, surging forward toward the depths of the moat, as if seeking out its lair. Seanen felt his ears pop with the depths, felt breath giving way as he struggled not to panic. Surely there was only one of them. The moat was not big enough to support more than one such creature. If it had had a mate, the other would have come by now to help her dying partner. Surely…
One last flick of its mighty body drove the thing into a vast underwater cavern, totally devoid of any light. It ceased its movement, going flaccid in his arms. Seanen relaxed his grip, swimming back along the length of the creatures body. He'd won, all right. Now there was just one problem. Several tons of dead worm blocked the only way out, and he was out of air.
Chapter Four
Yarwyn searched frantically for the opening of the mote in the stone wall. It had to be here. She knew it was here. The drawings had shown it right here.
Terror pushed her beyond her limits as she searched again, determined to find her way to safety. Seanen was gone. She knew he was gone, had felt him disappear from her under that water, leaving her mind free of his emotions for the first time in over a week. He'd bought her safety with his life, and by the gods she would not waste his sacrifice. Her hands traced over every stone, pushing, pulling, looking for a trigger that might spring a trap door, swing open a porticos, anything.
A few feet further. She would search just a few feet further. Perhaps she'd lost track of the distance in the dark. Perhaps–nothing. Her hands encountered nothing. One moment there was a wall, the next moment there was nothing. She kicked forward, turning awkwardly in the water as she tried to explore the opening.
"What are you doing, fool?" The words were spoken in the musical lilt of Dark Elvin. Dark arms reached to pull her out of the water. "Do you not know this water is not for swimming? Foul things live in there! You could have been eaten alive!"
She wanted to cry, to kiss the ground, to fall on her knees and thank the gods for their mercy in sparing her, to scream her rage at Seanen's loss. Instead she had to begin her deceit. She was a Dark Elf female, a Priestess. She wrapped her shredded dignity around herself, becoming austere and remote–and in control. If this was ever going to work, she had to maintain control.
"Fool? You dare call me fool?"
The smaller male pulled back in fear, recognizing her for who and what she was. "I beg your pardon, Mistress. I–I thought you but an acolyte, fallen into the moat."
And well he might fear her. She had the right to kill him for such impertinence. "I did not fall in. I jumped in. I had a prisoner–a large man-thing. He got away. I tried to catch him, but the foul worm attacked him and dragged him under the water."
The young male searched the black waters with his eyes. She knew his night vision was excellent–much better than hers. He shook hi
s head. "I see no remains, but he must be dead, Mistress. Nothing survives the worm."
She swallowed hard. "What is your name?"
"Élandine, Mistress. Of the House of Tamall."
"Well, Élandine, since you are but a male, I will explain this slowly, so that you might come to understand. I captured my prisoner here within these walls. The man-things are attempting to invade the castle."
"Pardon, Mistress, but man-things are always attempting to invade the castle."
"This one was inside, I tell you, within the walls. If there was one there will be more. We must search the keep!"
The young male glanced up at her as if she'd quite lost her mind. "As you wish, Mistress, but will this not alert the hierarchy that you have lost your prisoner?"
Yarwyn bit the inside of her lip, thinking rapidly. This was the one part of her deception she had not had the opportunity to study thoroughly. The politics of the Dark Elves were so alien to her thinking. She could not accept the young male's advice without admitting that he was right, which no Dark Elf Priestess would ever do. And yet he was right. And she should have known that, considered the politics before she spoke. Well, Rangers had their own politics, and she knew a few things. "I said search. I have no intention of alerting anyone."
She caught her breath as the Dark Elf suddenly pulled a torch from its bracket on the wall and moved it toward her face. His fingers reached out, darting quickly to her hair. She was sure she'd been discovered, failing to fool even one of his race.
What she saw when he drew back his hand made her almost wish her fears had been confirmed. The young male held a leach in his hand. Humor tinged his voice. "Mistress, before we bring you before the King and raise the alarm that the castle has been invaded by crazed man-things, please allow me to order you a bath and dry clothes."
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 11